The Complete Plays of J. M. Barrie - 30 Titles in One Edition. Джеймс Барри
— a dear letter, Tom?
PROFESSOR. It is, indeed.
MISS GOODWILLIE. I’ll try to be glad.
PROFESSOR. Agnes, do you know what is in this letter?
MISS GOODWILLIE. I can guess.
PROFESSOR. You could never guess, dear sister. Look, do you see what Miss Lucy has written on it: ‘Found in the old letterbox between the lining and the woodwork.’ (He hands it to her and she reads.)
MISS GOODWILLIE. Tom, do you think — it can be — ?
PROFESSOR. It is Bob Sandeman’s letter at last!
MISS GOODWILLIE. Henders must have found it. (She reads.)
Tom, he was true to me!
PROFESSOR. To think of it lying in that box all these years, and now Bob is dead.
MISS GOODWILLIE. But he was true to me!
PROFESSOR. And does that make such a difference, Agnes?
MISS GOODWILLIE. Difference! Oh, Tom!
PROFESSOR. Dear sister!
(They embrace.)
If only Bob’s letter hadn’t come too late.
MISS GOODWILLIE. Too late for me, Tom, but not too late for you.
PROFESSOR. How can it affect me? (Softly) Agnes, you thought it was from Miss Lucy to me.
MISS GOODWILLIE. She knew it was my letter and she let me have it. How good of her.
PROFESSOR. Of course she did, Agnes. She is as fond of you as you are of her.
MISS GOODWILLIE. Courage, Tom, I am going to see her now.
PROFESSOR. But what difference can it make to me, Agnes?
MISS GOODWILLIE. You shall see, you shall see. Oh, Tom, I nearly tore it up. (Exit into house.)
PROFESSOR. But why?
(PROFESSOR shakes head hopelessly, HENDERS comes, wheeling barrow containing luggage. He whistles cautiously for EFFIE. PROFESSOR looks out of window and sees him.)
Whose luggage is that, Henders?
HENDERS. Miss White’s.
PROFESSOR. What! Where are you taking it?
HENDERS. To the station.
PROFESSOR. Miss White is going away?
HENDERS. Did you no ken?
PROFESSOR. Wait a moment. I am coming out.
(As he goes EFFIE comes out.)
HENDERS. Effie, the Professor didna ken Miss Lucy was going away.
EFFIE. Going away? I didna ken myself.
HENDERS. What can be her meaning? Dagont! Men are reasonable beings, but women —
EFFIE. What are women?
HENDERS. Well, the most I can say for them is that they are beings capable of reason.
(PROFESSOR comes out.)
PROFESSOR. Where is Miss White going?
HENDERS. To London, she said.
PROFESSOR. Impossible!
HENDERS. You can ask hersel’, for she’s coming ahint me.
PROFESSOR. Ha! (Exit.)
EFFIE. I’ll tell you a pretty thing. He’s in love wi’ her.
HENDERS. As I am wi’ you.
EFFIE. Away wi’ you. I’m Pete’s property.
HENDERS. But you would rather be mine.
EFFIE. That may be.
HENDERS. It must be! It’s human natur’. There are some men born wi’ a power over women that no lassie can resist. They are what may be called dead shots. Now, Effie, I am far frae vain, but you canna deny that I am one o’ these men!
EFFIE. I canna deny it.
HENDERS. Exactly! But when the like o’ me wants a thing, he has to get it. Now you are the thing I want.
EFFIE. I like the sound of you fine, but I’m promised to Pete.
HENDERS. I have been working on Pete, and, as you ken, he wants to cry off.
EFFIE. YOU’ve been slow in coming to me.
HENDERS. Just because I want to make Pete pay for his impudence. And pay in cash — I’m a practical man.
EFFIE. Henders, if you and me — it would be fine!
HENDERS. And it’s to be. You’re my darlin’, Effie, what am I to you?
EFFIE. Nothing so long as I’m promised to Pete. Here’s the Professor coming with Miss Lucy.
HENDERS. Quick, give me a kiss.
EFFIE. Na, I’m Pete’s as yet. You have no rights.
HENDERS. I’ll have the rights before the nine o’clock bell rings, but I would like to kiss you once without the rights.
EFFIE. Ay, weel, I’ll be true to Pete till nine o’clock.
(Softly) But I’ll keep what you ‘re wanting ready for you, Henders.
(effie goes into house. As henders goes, professor and lucy enter.)
PROFESSOR. Of course, if you are determined to leave us — we must let you go, Miss Lucy.
LUCY. It is better so.
PROFESSOR. I have driven you away.
LUCY. No — I — I want to go.
PROFESSOR. If I had only kept my presumption to myself.
LUCY. You are everything that is good and noble.
PROFESSOR. Good and noble! If you only knew what I think of myself.
LUCY. I know so well. You think you are quite old, don’t you? and entirely without personal attraction?
PROFESSOR. Of course I know I am getting old — and I was always very plain. It doesn’t matter now, but it used to depress me when I suddenly saw my face in a lookingglass. I would have had quite a different youth if there had been no lookingglasses.
LUCY. And you are very dull, aren’t you?
PROFESSOR. I have been a dull man all my life. My students laugh at my absent-mindedness. Children in the street mimic my ungainly ways. Pity when children don’t like you. Pity! Can’t be helped!
LUCY. You are quite sure that in the eyes of my discerning sex you could never compete with pretty young gentlemen in tall, stiff collars?
PROFESSOR (sadly). I can’t wear tall collars, Miss Lucy, can’t wear them. (Anxiously) If you think you could like me better in a tall collar —
LUCY. No, indeed, I wouldn’t.
PROFESSOR. Missed his chance, missed his chance. I never knew what to say to any woman but you, Lucy. I liked to see them if they were pretty and they didn’t know that I knew whether they were pretty or not, but I always knew. Miss Lucy, you won’t believe it, but I once had a smile — quite a nice smile.
LUCY. A smile!
PROFESSOR. It was when I was at school. It was a mixed school, girls as well as boys, you know. And the girls had a plebiscite about which boy had the sweetest smile — and I won! Queer! Made me selfconscious, and I have never smiled since.
LUCY. You would win for the sweetest smile to-day.
PROFESSOR. Kind, Miss Lucy, but no good. Curmudgeon now.
LUCY. Don’t.
PROFESSOR. I had nothing to offer