Fanny’s First Play · The Play · Act III (2/2) (1/4)
Bobby Juggins.
Juggins Sir?
Bobby Morosely sarcastic. Sir be blowed!
Juggins Cheerfully. Not at all, sir.
Bobby I’m a gaol-bird: you’re a respectable man.
Juggins That doesn’t matter, sir. Your father pays me to call you sir; and as I take the money, I keep my part of the bargain.
Bobby Would you call me sir if you weren’t paid to do it?
Juggins No, sir.
Bobby I’ve been talking to Dora about you.
Juggins Indeed, sir?
Bobby Yes. Dora says your name can’t be Juggins, and that you have the manners of a gentleman. I always thought you hadn’t any manners. Anyhow, your manners are different from the manners of a gentleman in my set.
Juggins They would be, sir.
Bobby You don’t feel disposed to be communicative on the subject of Dora’s notion, I suppose.
Juggins No, sir.
Bobby Throwing his paper on the floor and lifting his knees over the arm of the chair so as to turn towards the footman. It was part of your bargain that you were to valet me a bit, wasn’t it?
Juggins Yes, sir.
Bobby Well, can you tell me the proper way to get out of an engagement to a girl without getting into a row for breach of promise or behaving like a regular cad?
Juggins No, sir. You can’t get out of an engagement without behaving like a cad if the lady wishes to hold you to it.
Bobby But it wouldn’t be for her happiness to marry me when I don’t really care for her.
Juggins Women don’t always marry for happiness, sir. They often marry because they wish to be married women and not old maids.
Bobby Then what am I to do?
Juggins Marry her, sir, or behave like a cad.
Bobby Jumping up. Well, I won’t marry her: that’s flat. What would you do if you were in my place?
Juggins I should tell the young lady that I found I couldn’t fulfil my engagement.
Bobby But you’d have to make some excuse, you know. I want to give it a gentlemanly turn: to say I’m not worthy of her, or something like that.
Juggins That is not a gentlemanly turn, sir. Quite the contrary.
Bobby I don’t see that at all. Do you mean that it’s not exactly true?
Juggins Not at all, sir.
Bobby I can say that no other girl can ever be to me what she’s been. That would be quite true, because our circumstances have been rather exceptional; and she’ll imagine I mean I’m fonder of her than I can ever be of anyone else. You see, Juggins, a gentleman has to think of a girl’s feelings.
Juggins If you wish to spare her feelings, sir, you can marry her. If you hurt her feelings by refusing, you had better not try to get credit for considerateness at the same time by pretending to spare them. She won’t like it. And it will start an argument, of which you will get the worse.
Bobby But, you know, I’m not really worthy of her.
Juggins Probably she never supposed you were, sir.
Bobby Oh, I say, Juggins, you are a pessimist.
Juggins Preparing to go. Anything else, sir?
Bobby Querulously. You haven’t been much use. He wanders disconsolately across the room. You generally put me up to the correct way of doing things.
Juggins I assure you, sir, there’s no correct way of jilting. It’s not correct in itself.
Bobby Hopefully. I’ll tell you what. I’ll say I can’t hold her to an engagement with a man who’s been in quod. That’ll do it. He seats himself on the table, relieved and confident.
Juggins Very dangerous, sir. No woman will deny herself the romantic luxury of self-sacrifice and forgiveness when they take the form of doing something agreeable. She’s almost sure to say that your misfortune will draw her closer to you.
Bobby What a nuisance! I don’t know what to do. You know, Juggins, your cool simple-minded way of doing it wouldn’t go down in Denmark Hill.
Juggins I daresay not, sir. No doubt you’d prefer to make it look like an act of self-sacrifice for her sake on your part, or provoke her to break the engagement herself. Both plans have been tried repeatedly, but never with success, as far as my knowledge goes.
Bobby You have a devilish cool way of laying down the law. You know, in my class you have to wrap up things a bit. Denmark Hill isn’t Camberwell, you know.
Juggins I have noticed, sir, that Denmark Hill thinks that the higher you go in the social scale, the less sincerity is allowed; and that only tramps and riffraff are quite sincere. That’s a mistake. Tramps are often shameless; but they’re never sincere. Swells⁠—if I may use that convenient name for the upper classes⁠—play much more with their cards on the table. If you tell the young lady that you want to jilt her, and she calls you a pig, the tone of the transaction may leave much to be desired; but it’ll be less Camberwellian than if you say you’re not worthy.
Bobby Oh, I can’t make you understand, Juggins. The girl isn’t a scullery-maid. I want to do it delicately.
Juggins A mistake, sir, believe me, if you are not a born artist in that line.⁠—Beg pardon, sir, I think I heard the bell. He goes out.
Bobby*, much perplexed, shoves his hands into his pockets, and comes off the table, staring disconsolately straight before him; then goes reluctantly to his books, and sits down to write. Juggins* returns.
Juggins Announcing. Miss Knox.
Margaret* comes in. Juggins* withdraws.
Margaret Still grinding away for that Society of Arts examination, Bobby? You’ll never pass.
Bobby Rising. No: I was just writing to you.
Margaret What about?
Bobby Oh, nothing. At least⁠—How are you?
Margaret Passing round the other end of the table and putting down on it a copy of Lloyd’s Weekly and her purse-bag. Quite well, thank you. How did you enjoy Brighton?
Bobby Brighton! I wasn’t at⁠—Oh yes, of course. Oh, pretty well. Is your aunt all right?
Margaret My aunt! I suppose so. I haven’t seen her for a month.
Bobby I thought you were down staying with her.
Margaret Oh! was that what they told you?
Bobby Yes. Why? Weren’t you really?
Margaret No. I’ve something to tell you. Sit down and lets be comfortable.
She sits on the edge of the table. He sits beside her, and puts his arm wearily round her waist.
Margaret You needn’t do that if you don’t like, Bobby. Suppose we get off duty for the day, just to see what it’s like.
Bobby Off duty? What do you mean?
Margaret You know very well what I mean. Bobby: did you ever care one little scrap for me in that sort of way? Don’t funk answering: I don’t care a bit for you⁠—that way.
Bobby Removing his arm rather huffily. I beg your pardon, I’m sure. I thought you did.
Margaret Well, did you? Come! Don’t be mean. I’ve owned up. You can put it all on me if you like; but I don’t believe you care any more than I do.
Bobby You mean we’ve been shoved into it rather by the pars and mars.
Margaret Yes.
Bobby Well, it’s not that I don’t care for you: in fact, no girl can ever be to me exactly what you are; but we’ve been brought up so much together that it feels more like brother and sister than⁠—well, than the other thing, doesn’t it?
Margaret Just so. How did you find out the difference?
Bobby Blushing. Oh, I say!
Margaret I found out from a Frenchman.
Bobby Oh, I say! He comes off the table in his consternation.
Margaret Did you learn it from a Frenchwoman? You know you must have learnt it from somebody.
Bobby Not a Frenchwoman. She’s quite a nice woman. But she’s been rather unfortunate. The daughter of a clergyman.
Margaret Startled. Oh, Bobby! That sort of woman!
Bobby What sort of woman?
Margaret You don’t believe she’s really a clergyman’s daughter, do you, you silly boy? It’s a stock joke.
Bobby Do you mean to say you don’t believe me?
Margaret No: I mean to say I don’t believe her.
Bobby Curious and interested, resuming his seat on the table beside her. What do you know about her? What do you know about all this sort of thing?
Margaret What sort of thing, Bobby?
Bobby Well, about life.
Margaret I’ve lived a lot since I saw you last. I wasn’t at my aunt’s. All that time that you were in Brighton, I mean.
Bobby I wasn’t at Brighton, Meg. I’d better tell you: you’re bound to find out sooner or later. He begins his confession humbly, avoiding her gaze. Meg: it’s rather awful: you’ll think me no end of a beast. I’ve been in prison.
Margaret You!
Bobby Yes, me. For being drunk and assaulting the police.
Margaret Do you mean to say that you⁠—oh! this is a letdown for me. She comes off the table and drops, disconsolate, into a chair at the end of it furthest from the hearth.
Bobby Of course I couldn’t hold you to our engagement after that. I was writing to you to break it off. He also descends from the table and makes slowly for the hearth. You must think me an utter rotter.
Margaret Oh, has everybody been in prison for being drunk and assaulting the police? How long were you in?
Bobby A fortnight.
Margaret That’s what I was in for.
Bobby What are you talking about? In where?
Margaret In quod.
Bobby But I’m serious: I’m not rotting. Really and truly⁠—
Margaret What did you do to the copper?
Bobby Nothing, absolutely nothing. He exaggerated grossly. I only laughed at him.
Margaret Jumping up, triumphant. I’ve beaten you hollow. I knocked out two of his teeth. I’ve got one of them. He sold it to me for ten shillings.
Bobby Now please do stop fooling, Meg. I tell you I’m not rotting. He sits down in the armchair, rather sulkily.
Margaret Taking up the copy of Lloyd’s Weekly and going to him. And I tell you I’m not either. Look! Here’s a report of it. The daily papers are no good; but the Sunday papers are splendid. She sits on the arm of the chair. See! Reading: “Hardened at Eighteen. A quietly dressed, respectable-looking girl who refuses her name”⁠—that’s me.
Bobby Pausing a moment in his perusal. Do you mean to say that you went on the loose out of pure devilment?
Margaret I did no harm. I went to see a lovely dance. I picked up a nice man and went to have a dance myself. I can’t imagine anything more innocent and more happy. All the bad part was done by other people: they did it out of pure devilment if you like. Anyhow, here we are, two gaolbirds, Bobby, disgraced forever. Isn’t it a relief?
Bobby Rising stiffly. But you know, it’s not the same for a girl. A man may do things a woman mayn’t. He stands on the hearthrug with his back to the fire.
Margaret Are you scandalized, Bobby?
Bobby Well, you can’t expect me to approve of it, can you, Meg? I never thought you were that sort of girl.
Margaret Rising indignantly. I’m not. You mustn’t pretend to think that I’m a clergyman’s daughter, Bobby.
Bobby I wish you wouldn’t chaff about that. Don’t forget the row you got into for letting out that you admired Juggins she turns her back on him quickly⁠—a footman! And what about the Frenchman?
Margaret Facing him again. I know nothing about the Frenchman except that he’s a very nice fellow and can swing his leg round like the hand of a clock and knock a policeman down with it. He was in Wormwood Scrubbs with you. I was in Holloway.
Bobby It’s all very well to make light of it, Meg; but this is a bit thick, you know.
Margaret Do you feel you couldn’t marry a woman who’s been in prison?
Bobby Hastily. No. I never said that. It might even give a woman a greater claim on a man. Any girl, if she were thoughtless and a bit on, perhaps, might get into a scrape. Anyone who really understood her character could see there was no harm in it. But you’re not the larky sort. At least you usen’t to be.
Margaret I’m not; and I never will be. She walks straight up to him. I didn’t do it for a lark, Bob: I did it out of the very depths of my nature. I did it because I’m that sort of person. I did it in one of my religious fits. I’m hardened at eighteen, as they say. So what about the match, now?
Bobby Well, I don’t think you can fairly hold me to it, Meg. Of course it would be ridiculous for me to set up to be shocked, or anything of that sort. I can’t afford to throw stones at anybody; and I don’t pretend to. I can understand a lark; I can forgive a slip; as long as it is understood that it is only a lark or a slip. But to go on the loose on principle; to talk about religion in connection with it; to⁠—to⁠—well, Meg, I do find that a bit thick, I must say. I hope you’re not in earnest when you talk that way.
Margaret Bobby: you’re no good. No good to me, anyhow.
Bobby Huffed. I’m sorry, Miss Knox.
Margaret Goodbye, Mr. Gilbey. She turns on her heel and goes to the other end of the table. I suppose you won’t introduce me to the clergyman’s daughter.
Bobby I don’t think she’d like it. There are limits, after all. He sits down at the table, as if to to resume work at his books: a hint to her to go.
Margaret On her way to the door. Ring the bell, Bobby; and tell Juggins to show me out.
Bobby Reddening. I’m not a cad, Meg.
Margaret Coming to the table. Then do something nice to prevent us feeling mean about this afterwards. You’d better kiss me. You needn’t ever do it again.
Bobby If I’m no good, I don’t see what fun it would be for you.
Margaret Oh, it’d be no fun. If I wanted what you call fun, I should ask the Frenchman to kiss me⁠—or Juggins.
Bobby Rising and retreating to the hearth. Oh, don’t be disgusting, Meg. Don’t be low.
Margaret Determinedly, preparing to use force. Now, I’ll make you kiss me, just to punish you. She seizes his wrist; pulls him off his balance; and gets her arm round his neck.
Bobby No. Stop. Leave go, will you.
Juggins appears at the door.
Juggins Miss Delaney, Sir. Dora* comes in. Juggins goes out. Margaret hastily releases Bobby*, and goes to the other side of the room.
Dora Through the door, to the departing Juggins. Well, you are a Juggins to show me up when there’s company. To Margaret and Bobby. It’s all right, dear: all right, old man: I’ll wait in Juggins’s pantry till you’re disengaged.
Margaret Don’t you know me?
Dora Coming to the middle of the room and looking at her very attentively. Why, it’s never No. 406!
Margaret Yes it is.
Dora Well, I should never have known you out of the uniform. How did you get out? You were doing a month, weren’t you?
Margaret My bloke paid the fine the day he got out himself.
Dora A real gentleman! Pointing to Bobby, who is staring open-mouthed. Look at him. He can’t take it in.
Bobby I suppose you made her acquaintance in prison, Meg. But when it comes to talking about blokes and all that⁠—well!
Margaret Oh, I’ve learnt the language; and I like it. It’s another barrier broken down.
Bobby It’s not so much the language, Meg. But I think⁠—He looks at Dora and stops.
Margaret Suddenly dangerous. What do you think, Bobby?
Dora He thinks you oughtn’t to be so free with me, dearie. It does him credit: he always was a gentleman, you know.
Margaret Does him credit! To insult you like that! Bobby: say that that wasn’t what you meant.
Bobby I didn’t say it was.
Margaret Well, deny that it was.
Bobby No. I wouldn’t have said it in front of Dora; but I do think it’s not quite the same thing my knowing her and you knowing her.