Major Barbara · Act II (2/2) (2/5)

| | Barbara*, brisk and businesslike, comes from the shelter with a notebook, and addresses herself to Shirley. Bill, cowed, sits down in the corner on a form, and turns his back on them. | | Barbara | Good morning. | | Shirley | Standing up and taking off his hat. Good morning, miss. | | Barbara | Sit down: make yourself at home. He hesitates; but she puts a friendly hand on his shoulder and makes him obey. Now then! since you’ve made friends with us, we want to know all about you. Names and addresses and trades. | | Shirley | Peter Shirley. Fitter. Chucked out two months ago because I was too old. | | Barbara | Not at all surprised. You’d pass still. Why didn’t you dye your hair? | | Shirley | I did. Me age come out at a coroner’s inquest on me daughter. | | Barbara | Steady? | | Shirley | Teetotaller. Never out of a job before. Good worker. And sent to the knockers like an old horse! | | Barbara | No matter: if you did your part God will do his. | | Shirley | Suddenly stubborn. My religion’s no concern of anybody but myself. | | Barbara | Guessing. I know. Secularist? | | Shirley | Hotly. Did I offer to deny it? | | Barbara | Why should you? My own father’s a Secularist, I think. Our Father⁠—yours and mine⁠—fulfils himself in many ways; and I daresay he knew what he was about when he made a Secularist of you. So buck up, Peter! we can always find a job for a steady man like you. Shirley, disarmed, touches his hat. She turns from him to Bill. What’s your name? | | Bill | Insolently. Wot’s that to you? | | Barbara | Calmly making a note. Afraid to give his name. Any trade? | | Bill | Who’s afraid to give his name? Doggedly, with a sense of heroically defying the House of Lords in the person of Lord Stevenage. If you want to bring a charge agen me, bring it. She waits, unruffled. My name’s Bill Walker. | | Barbara | As if the name were familiar: trying to remember how. Bill Walker? Recollecting. Oh, I know: you’re the man that Jenny Hill was praying for inside just now. She enters his name in her notebook. | | Bill | Who’s Jenny Hill? And what call has she to pray for me? | | Barbara | I don’t know. Perhaps it was you that cut her lip. | | Bill | Defiantly. Yes, it was me that cut her lip. I ain’t afraid o’ you. | | Barbara | How could you be, since you’re not afraid of God? You’re a brave man, Mr. Walker. It takes some pluck to do our work here; but none of us dare lift our hand against a girl like that, for fear of her father in heaven. | | Bill | Sullenly. I want none o’ your cantin’ jaw. I suppose you think I come here to beg from you, like this damaged lot here. Not me. I don’t want your bread and scrape and catlap. I don’t believe in your Gawd, no more than you do yourself. | | Barbara | Sunnily apologetic and ladylike, as on a new footing with him. Oh, I beg your pardon for putting your name down, Mr. Walker. I didn’t understand. I’ll strike it out. | | Bill | Taking this as a slight, and deeply wounded by it. Eah! you let my name alone. Ain’t it good enough to be in your book? | | Barbara | Considering. Well, you see, there’s no use putting down your name unless I can do something for you, is there? What’s your trade? | | Bill | Still smarting. That’s no concern o’ yours. | | Barbara | Just so. Very businesslike. I’ll put you down as Writing. the man who⁠—struck⁠—poor little Jenny Hill⁠—in the mouth. | | Bill | Rising threateningly. See here. I’ve ’ad enough o’ this. | | Barbara | Quite sunny and fearless. What did you come to us for? | | Bill | I come for my girl, see? I come to take her out o’ this and to break ’er jawr for her. | | Barbara | Complacently. You see I was right about your trade. Bill, on the point of retorting furiously, finds himself, to his great shame and terror, in danger of crying instead. He sits down again suddenly. What’s her name? | | Bill | Dogged. ’Er name’s Mog Abbijam: thats wot her name is. | | Barbara | Oh, she’s gone to Canning Town, to our barracks there. | | Bill | Fortified by his resentment of Mog’s perfidy. Is she? Vindictively. Then I’m goin to Kennintahn arter her. He crosses to the gate; hesitates; finally comes back at Barbara. Are you lyin’ to me to get shut o’ me? | | Barbara | I don’t want to get shut of you. I want to keep you here and save your soul. You’d better stay: you’re going to have a bad time today, Bill. | | Bill | Who’s goin to give it to me? You, props. | | Barbara | Someone you don’t believe in. But you’ll be glad afterwards. | | Bill | Slinking off. I’ll go to Kennintahn to be out o’ the reach o’ your tongue. Suddenly turning on her with intense malice. And if I don’t find Mog there, I’ll come back and do two years for you, selp me Gawd if I don’t! | | Barbara | A shade kindlier, if possible. It’s no use, Bill. She’s got another bloke. | | Bill | Wot! | | Barbara | One of her own converts. He fell in love with her when he saw her with her soul saved, and her face clean, and her hair washed. | | Bill | Surprised. Wottud she wash it for, the carroty slut? It’s red. | | Barbara | It’s quite lovely now, because she wears a new look in her eyes with it. It’s a pity you’re too late. The new bloke has put your nose out of joint, Bill. | | Bill | I’ll put his nose out o’ joint for him. Not that I care a curse for her, mind that. But I’ll teach her to drop me as if I was dirt. And I’ll teach him to meddle with my Judy. Wots iz bleedin’ name? | | Barbara | Sergeant Todger Fairmile. | | Shirley | Rising with grim joy. I’ll go with him, miss. I want to see them two meet. I’ll take him to the infirmary when it’s over. | | Bill | To Shirley, with undissembled misgiving. Is that ’im you was speakin on? | | Shirley | That’s him. | | Bill | ’Im that wrastled in the music all? | | Shirley | The competitions at the National Sportin Club was worth nigh a hundred a year to him. He’s gev ’em up now for religion; so he’s a bit fresh for want of the exercise he was accustomed to. He’ll be glad to see you. Come along. | | Bill | Wots ’is weight? | | Shirley | Thirteen four. Bill’s last hope expires. | | Barbara | Go and talk to him, Bill. He’ll convert you. | | Shirley | He’ll convert your head into a mashed potato. | | Bill | Sullenly. I ain’t afraid of him. I ain’t afraid of ennybody. But he can lick me. She’s done me. He sits down moodily on the edge of the horse trough. | | Shirley | You ain’t goin. I thought not. He resumes his seat. | | Barbara | Calling. Jenny! | | Jenny | Appearing at the shelter door with a plaster on the corner of her mouth. Yes, Major. | | Barbara | Send Rummy Mitchens out to clear away here. | | Jenny | I think she’s afraid. | | Barbara | Her resemblance to her mother flashing out for a moment. Nonsense! she must do as she’s told. | | Jenny | Calling into the shelter. Rummy: the Major says you must come. | | | Jenny comes to Barbara, purposely keeping on the side next Bill, lest he should suppose that she shrank from him or bore malice. | | Barbara | Poor little Jenny! Are you tired? Looking at the wounded cheek. Does it hurt? | | Jenny | No: it’s all right now. It was nothing. | | Barbara | Critically. It was as hard as he could hit, I expect. Poor Bill! You don’t feel angry with him, do you? | | Jenny | Oh no, no, no: indeed I don’t, Major, bless his poor heart! Barbara kisses her; and she runs away merrily into the shelter. Bill writhes with an agonizing return of his new and alarming symptoms, but says nothing. Rummy Mitchens comes from the shelter. | | Barbara | Going to meet Rummy. Now Rummy, bustle. Take in those mugs and plates to be washed; and throw the crumbs about for the birds. | | | Rummy takes the three plates and mugs; but Shirley takes back his mug from her, as there it still come milk left in it. | | Rummy | There ain’t any crumbs. This ain’t a time to waste good bread on birds. | | Price | Appearing at the shelter door. Gentleman come to see the shelter, Major. Says he’s your father. | | Barbara | All right. Coming. Snobby goes back into the shelter, followed by Barbara. | | Rummy | Stealing across to Bill and addressing him in a subdued voice, but with intense conviction. I’d ’av the lor’ of you, you flat eared pignosed potwalloper, if she’d let me. You’re no gentleman, to hit a lady in the face. Bill, with greater things moving in him, takes no notice. | | Shirley | Following her. Here! in with you and don’t get yourself into more trouble by talking. | | Rummy | With hauteur. I ain’t ’ad the pleasure o’ being hintroduced to you, as I can remember. She goes into the shelter with the plates. | | Bill | Savagely. Don’t you talk to me, d’ye hear. You lea’ me alone, or I’ll do you a mischief. I’m not dirt under your feet, anyway. | | Shirley | Calmly. Don’t you be afeerd. You ain’t such prime company that you need expect to be sought after. He is about to go into the shelter when Barbara comes out, with Undershaft on her right. | | Barbara | Oh there you are, Mr. Shirley! Between them. This is my father: I told you he was a Secularist, didn’t I? Perhaps you’ll be able to comfort one another. | | Undershaft | Startled. A Secularist! Not the least in the world: on the contrary, a confirmed mystic. | | Barbara | Sorry, I’m sure. By the way, papa, what is your religion⁠—in case I have to introduce you again? | | Undershaft | My religion? Well, my dear, I am a Millionaire. That is my religion. | | Barbara | Then I’m afraid you and Mr. Shirley won’t be able to comfort one another after all. You’re not a Millionaire, are you, Peter? | | Shirley | No; and proud of it. | | Undershaft | Gravely. Poverty, my friend, is not a thing to be proud of. | | Shirley | Angrily. Who made your millions for you? Me and my like. What’s kep’ us poor? Keepin’ you rich. I wouldn’t have your conscience, not for all your income. | | Undershaft | I wouldn’t have your income, not for all your conscience, Mr. Shirley. He goes to the penthouse and sits down on a form. | | Barbara | Stopping Shirley adroitly as he is about to retort. You wouldn’t think he was my father, would you, Peter? Will you go into the shelter and lend the lasses a hand for a while: we’re worked off our feet. | | Shirley | Bitterly. Yes: I’m in their debt for a meal, ain’t I? | | Barbara | Oh, not because you’re in their debt; but for love of them, Peter, for love of them. He cannot understand, and is rather scandalized. There! Don’t stare at me. In with you; and give that conscience of yours a holiday Bustling him into the shelter. | | Shirley | As he goes in. Ah! it’s a pity you never was trained to use your reason, miss. You’d have been a very taking lecturer on Secularism. | | | Barbara turns to her father. | | Undershaft | Never mind me, my dear. Go about your work; and let me watch it for a while. | | Barbara | All right. | | Undershaft | For instance, what’s the matter with that outpatient over there? | | Barbara | Looking at Bill, whose attitude has never changed, and whose expression of brooding wrath has deepened. Oh, we shall cure him in no time. Just watch. She goes over to Bill and waits. He glances up at her and casts his eyes down again, uneasy, but grimmer than ever. It would be nice to just stamp on Mog Habbijam’s face, wouldn’t it, Bill? | | Bill | Starting up from the trough in consternation. It’s a lie: I never said so. She shakes her head. Who told you wot was in my mind? | | Barbara | Only your new friend. | | Bill | Wot new friend? | | Barbara | The devil, Bill. When he gets round people they get miserable, just like you. | | Bill | With a heartbreaking attempt at devil-may-care cheerfulness. I ain’t miserable. He sits down again, and stretches his legs in an attempt to seem indifferent. | | Barbara | Well, if you’re happy, why don’t you look happy, as we do? | | Bill | His legs curling back in spite of him. I’m ’appy enough, I tell you. Why don’t you lea’ me alown? Wot ’av I done to you? I ain’t smashed your face, ’av I? | | Barbara | Softly: wooing his soul. It’s not me that’s getting at you, Bill. | | Bill | Who else is it? | | Barbara | Somebody that doesn’t intend you to smash women’s faces, I suppose. Somebody or something that wants to make a man of you. | | Bill | Blustering. Make a man o’ me! Ain’t I a man? eh? ain’t I a man? Who sez I’m not a man? | | Barbara | There’s a man in you somewhere, I suppose. But why did he let you hit poor little Jenny Hill? That wasn’t very manly of him, was it? | | Bill | Tormented. ’Av done with it, I tell you. Chock it. I’m sick of your Jenny Ill and ’er silly little face. | | Barbara | Then why do you keep thinking about it? Why does it keep coming up against you in your mind? You’re not getting converted, are you? | | Bill | With conviction. Not me. Not likely. Not arf. | | Barbara | That’s right, Bill. Hold out against it. Put out your strength. Don’t let’s get you cheap. Todger Fairmile said he wrestled for three nights against his Salvation harder than he ever wrestled with the Jap at the music hall. He gave in to the Jap when his arm was going to break. But he didn’t give in to his salvation until his heart was going to break. Perhaps you’ll escape that. You haven’t any heart, have you? | | Bill | Wot d’ye mean? Wy ain’t I got a ’art the same as ennybody else? | | Barbara | A man with a heart wouldn’t have bashed poor little Jenny’s face, would he? | | Bill | Almost crying. Ow, will you lea’ me alown? ’Av I ever offered to meddle with you, that you come noggin’ and provowkin’ me lawk this? He writhes convulsively from his eyes to his toes. | | Barbara | With a steady soothing hand on his arm and a gentle voice that never lets him go. It’s your soul that’s hurting you, Bill, and not me. We’ve been through it all ourselves. Come with us, Bill. He looks wildly round. To brave manhood on earth and eternal glory in heaven. He is on the point of breaking down. Come. A drum is heard in the shelter; and Bill, with a gasp, escapes from the spell as Barbara turns quickly. Adolphus enters from the shelter with a big drum. Oh! there you are, Dolly. Let me introduce a new friend of mine, Mr. Bill Walker. This is my bloke, Bill: Mr. Cusins. Cusins salutes with his drumstick. | | Bill | Goin to marry ’im? | | Barbara | Yes. | | Bill | Fervently. Gawd ’elp ’im! Gawd ’elp ’im! | | Barbara | Why? Do you think he won’t be happy with me? | | Bill | I’ve only ’ad to stand it for a mornin’: ’e’ll ’av to stand it for a lifetime. | | Cusins | That is a frightful reflection, Mr. Walker. But I can’t tear myself away from her. | | Bill | Well, I can. To Barbara. Eah! do you know where I’m goin’ to, and wot I’m goin’ to do? | | Barbara | Yes: you’re going to heaven; and you’re coming back here before the week’s out to tell me so. | | Bill | You lie. I’m goin to Kennintahn, to spit in Todger Fairmile’s eye. I bashed Jenny Ill’s face; and now I’ll get me own face bashed and come back and show it to ’er. E’ll it me ’ardern I ’it ’er. That’ll make us square. To Adolphus*. Is that fair or is it not? You’re a genlmn: you oughter know. | | Barbara | Two black eyes won’t make one white one, Bill. | | Bill | I didn’t ast you. Cawn’t you never keep your mahth shut? I ast the genlmn. | | Cusins | Reflectively. Yes: I think you’re right, Mr. Walker. Yes: I should do it. It’s curious: it’s exactly what an ancient Greek would have done. | | Barbara | But what good will it do? | | Cusins | Well, it will give Mr. Fairmile some exercise; and it will satisfy Mr. Walker’s soul. | | Bill | Rot! there ain’t no sach a thing as a soul. Ah kin you tell wether I’ve a soul or not? You never seen it. | | Barbara | I’ve seen it hurting you when you went against it. |