Part 19

GEOFFREY. What, another! (To ST. HERBERT.) Woman has disappointed me as a fighter. She’s willing enough to strike. If you hit back, she’s surprised and grieved.

ST. HERBERT. She’s come to the game rather late.

GEOFFREY. She might have learned the rules. (To JAWBONES.) Which particular one is it that has failed to meet with their approval?

JAWBONES. It’s rather a good one, sir, from our point of view: “Why she left her ’appy ’ome.”

GEOFFREY. I don’t seem to remember it. Have I seen it?

JAWBONES. I don’t think you ’ave, sir. It was Mr. Sigsby’s idea. On the left, the ruined ’ome, baby crying it’s little ’eart out—eldest child lying on the floor, scalded—upset the tea-kettle over itself—youngest boy in flames—been playing with the matches, nobody there to stop ’im. At the open door the father, returning from work. Nothing ready for ’im. On the other side—’er, on a tub, spouting politics.

GEOFFREY. (To ST. HERBERT.) Sounds rather good.

JAWBONES. Wait a minute. There was a copy somewhere about—a proof. (He is searching for it on the desk—finds it.) Yus, ’ere ’tis. (To GINGER.) Catch ’old.

(JAWBONES and GINGER hold it displayed.)

That’s the one, sir.

ST. HERBERT. Why is the working man, for pictorial purposes, always a carpenter?

GINGER. It’s the skirt we object to.

GEOFFREY. The skirt! What’s wrong with the skirt?

GINGER. Well, it’s only been out of fashion for the last three years, that’s all.

GEOFFREY. Oh! I see. (To ST. HERBERT.) We’ve been hitting them below the belt. What do you think I ought to do about it?

ST. HERBERT. What would you have thought yourself, three weeks ago?

GEOFFREY. You and I have been friends ever since we were boys. You rather like me, don’t you?

ST. HERBERT. (Puzzled.) Yes.

GEOFFREY. If I were to suddenly hit you on the nose, what would happen?

ST. HERBERT. I understand. Woman has suddenly started hitting man on the nose. Her excuse being that she really couldn’t keep her hands off him any longer.

JAWBONES. (He has pinned the poster to the wall.) They begun it. To ’ear them talk, you’d think as man had never done anything right.

GEOFFREY. He’s quite right. Their posters are on every hoarding: “Who’s made all the Muddles? Man!” “Men’s Promises! Why, it’s all Froth!” “Woman this Time!” I suppose it will have to go.

JAWBONES. (Hopefully.) Up, sir?

GEOFFREY. No, Jawbones. Into the dust-heap with the rest.

(JAWBONES is disgusted. GINGER is triumphant.)

GEOFFREY. I must talk to Sigsby. He’s taking the whole thing too seriously. It will be some time before we reach that stage. (To JAWBONES.) Ask Mrs. Chinn to bring me a cup of tea.

(JAWBONES goes out.)

(He seats himself at table and takes up some correspondence. To GINGER.) Are you waiting for any one?