Chapter XII: Act III

SCENE 2: _Cavendish Square_, MANNOCK’S _library_.

_It is afternoon, two days later._ MANNOCK _is alone, restlessly
doing nothing_. ARTHUR _comes in._

ARTHUR. Busy?

MANNOCK _(looking up_). No ... no.

ARTHUR. Thought I’d say good-bye. I’m just off.

MANNOCK. Off?

ARTHUR. Yes, that’s right, isn’t it? You said you didn’t want me till the end of the month.

MANNOCK (_remembering_). Oh!... Oh, yes. (_He remembers that now he won’t want_ ARTHUR _at all_) Yes. (_With an effort_) What are you going to do?

ARTHUR. Going to Marjory’s for a week. Then down to Cornwall for a little golf.

MANNOCK (_remembering his elder daughter_). Marjory.... Yes. (_How complicated life is!_)

ARTHUR. Any messages for any of them?

MANNOCK. Yes--no. I’ll write. (_To himself_) Yes, I shall have to write to Marjory.

ARTHUR. Right. Then if I’m back by the 30th, that will do?

MANNOCK (_after a silence_). Arthur!

ARTHUR. Yes?

MANNOCK. I’ve sent in my resignation.

ARTHUR. Your resignation? Why? Oh, I see. The old resignation stunt. Hasn’t that been rather overdone?

MANNOCK. You don’t understand, Arthur----

ARTHUR. All these political tactics--there’s something so tawdry about them, so shoddy, so----Sorry, Father, I was forgetting. I’m a neutral now. Well, I suppose I shall get used to them.

MANNOCK. I say again, I have resigned my seat in the Cabinet.

ARTHUR (_with a smile_). If you’re not careful, the P.M. will accept it, and then where will you be?

MANNOCK (_sharply_). Out of the Cabinet, which is where I want to be.

ARTHUR. Not really? Why? (MANNOCK _shrugs his shoulders_.) No, but why, Father?

MANNOCK. I’m tired of it. I want to get out of it all.

ARTHUR (_eagerly_). I say! You’re not crossing over, are you? How terribly sporting of you!

MANNOCK (_firmly_). I’m giving up politics altogether.

ARTHUR (_his jaw falling_). Giving up----? Then what about me?

MANNOCK. That’s been worrying me.

ARTHUR. Worrying you! I should think it had! You made me chuck a jolly good job to come to _you_, and then when it’s been filled up by somebody else----

MANNOCK. Are you sure? I hoped that perhaps----

ARTHUR (_shaking his head gravely_). I say, Father, this really is a bit steep.

MANNOCK (_humbly_). I’m very sorry, Arthur. I’m to blame. I never ought to have persuaded you to come to me. It was your career to choose for yourself. I’m sorry.

ARTHUR (_still aggrieved_). You practically ruin a man’s life----

MANNOCK (_smiling sadly_). Twenty-two, aren’t you? No man’s life is ruined at twenty-two. (_With sudden emotion_) Oh, my God, to be twenty-two again!

ARTHUR. Well, but I mean----

MANNOCK. Arthur, forget all that I’ve said to you, will you, just for a week? Enjoy yourself at Marjory’s, don’t say anything to her about it, and I’ll write to you. I can’t talk about it now--not for another week. Will you do that for me?

ARTHUR (_reluctantly_). Oh, all right. (_Looking thoughtfully at his father_) You know, I believe it _is_ a stunt, after all. A super-stunt. I don’t know what the game is----

_Enter_ DIGBY.

DIGBY. Mr. Eversley is here, sir.

MANNOCK. Yes, that’s right, Digby. Show him in here.

ARTHUR (_to_ DIGBY). Is the car here?

DIGBY. Yes, sir.

[_He goes out._

ARTHUR. Then I’ll be getting on. (_Holding out his hand_) Good-bye, Father--and I’ll wait for your letter.

MANNOCK. Yes. (_Taking his hand_) Good-bye, Arthur. (_When will he see him again?_) Good-bye, old boy. Good luck to you always.

ARTHUR (_a little surprised_). Thanks!

[_He goes out._

(MANNOCK _walks up and down, thinking, thinking. How difficult it
all is!... Then_ DIGBY _announces_ EVERSLEY.)

DIGBY. Mr. Eversley.

MANNOCK (_eagerly_). I knew you would come. (_To_ DIGBY, _who still waits_) What is it? (DIGBY _presents a letter_) Oh, put it down. (DIGBY _walks across to the writing-desk and places the letter there_) Were you in London, or did I drag you up from the country? I had to see you.

[DIGBY _goes out_.

EVERSLEY. Well, I _was_ at home, but of course I was only too glad to come up, if you wanted me.

MANNOCK (_looking at him fondly_) I never ought to have let you go, Teddy. I ought always to have kept you with me.

EVERSLEY (_happy at the “Teddy”_). And what should _I_ have been doing all the time?

MANNOCK (_settling him in a chair_). Nothing. Just admiring me. What else is a Squier for?

EVERSLEY. What else? The world is full of Nites and Squiers--the admired and the admiring. I wonder which are the happier?

MANNOCK (_gently_). The loved and the loving.

EVERSLEY. Yes. Which are the happier, Dick?

MANNOCK (_suddenly, after a little silence_). Got your pipe with you? (EVERSLEY _nods_.) Well, fill it, then.

EVERSLEY (_taking it out_). It is filled.

MANNOCK. Well, light it, then.

EVERSLEY (_lighting it_). There! (_He smokes._)

MANNOCK. Teddy, I’m giving it all up.

EVERSLEY. All what?

MANNOCK. Everything. Politics. My career. My successful career.

EVERSLEY (_smoking placidly_). Any particular reason?

(MANNOCK _looks at him, and hesitates. Then he gives reasons--but
not the particular reason._)

MANNOCK. It’s odd how wrapped up in my career I have been. I never saw it from outside. I’ve been looking at it lately. I think it was you--that other night--who made me struggle outside and look at it. You were the first. That was the beginning of it.

EVERSLEY. I had no idea I was precipitating a political crisis. What did I say?

MANNOCK. You said, “And then success closed in on you.”

EVERSLEY. Yes, I remember. But I apologised for it.

MANNOCK. It’s a stifling thing, success. It shuts out so much. (_Gently_) All the lovely things, all the precious things ... I’ve been looking back at my career. After all, he’s in a position of trust, a Cabinet Minister. He is responsible for the happiness of the people, his fellow countrymen and women. How often have I thought of their happiness? How often of my personal triumph--my success? What are all our intrigues for, our strategy, our tactics? To improve the condition of England? Or to improve our personal position? I look back on my career, and never once can I say, “He did that for others.”

EVERSLEY. The others are no better.

MANNOCK. That isn’t a very proud thought for----

EVERSLEY. For a Dreadnought Nite?

MANNOCK. Don’t!... Oh, my God, to be twenty-two again!

EVERSLEY. What would you do?

MANNOCK. Live. There is so much that I have missed. All the lovely things of life. But, perhaps, even now, it isn’t too late.

EVERSLEY (_after smoking in silence for a little_). And so you’re giving it all up?

MANNOCK. Yes. This is between ourselves, of course, until it is made public.

EVERSLEY. Of course.... It’s a big career to give up, as the world judges it.

MANNOCK (_a little vain of his sacrifice_). I suppose it is.

EVERSLEY. They were talking politics in the train--as they always do--and one or two of them were saying that you ought to be the new Chancellor of the Exchequer.

MANNOCK (_pleased_). Oh? Oh, but I shouldn’t have been anyhow. Mowbray.

EVERSLEY. They didn’t seem to think very much of Mowbray.

MANNOCK. He’s the obvious man.

EVERSLEY. A little too obvious, they felt....

MANNOCK (_after a pause_). It was my one ambition in the old days.

EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Not such very old days.

MANNOCK (_a little annoyed_). You know what I mean ... I wanted to be that, even more than to be Prime Minister. It fascinated me.

EVERSLEY. It would terrify _me_.

MANNOCK. I think I’ve only realised lately how much I wanted it; how certain I was I could be one of the Great Ones.... It may never come now. (_Remembering suddenly_) Well, of course _now_ it never will--obviously. (_He sighs_) I’m well out of it all. But even if--I mean Mowbray--well, he’ll last this Government--and after the next Election, who knows? (_He is thoughtful._)

EVERSLEY. And what are you going to do when you retire?

MANNOCK. Teddy, you do think I’m right, don’t you?

EVERSLEY. Well, I don’t quite know all the circumstances, do I?

MANNOCK. I must have _you_ on my side. Everybody here--well, naturally----

EVERSLEY. They think you’re mad? They’ve sent for the doctor?

MANNOCK. They simply don’t believe it. But _you_--you’re not prejudiced--_you_ think----?

EVERSLEY. Aren’t I prejudiced?

MANNOCK. You?

EVERSLEY (_through clouds of smoke_). I had a friend once. I lived with him, played with him, made plans with him, for--how many years? I was fond of him, Dick. I don’t think he knew how fond we were of him, Sally and I; two of the admiring ones, the loving ones; yes, the happier ones. Then I lost him ... and more than twenty years afterwards I found him again. And he was dead. Now you say that he is coming to life again, and you ask me to tell you--quite without prejudice--whether I should like him to come to life again.... It is a little difficult for me, Dick, to be quite unprejudiced.

MANNOCK (_remorsefully_). Teddy!

EVERSLEY (_a little wistfully_). But--I _should_ like to find him again, you know. Just to talk to him about those--rather jolly days.

MANNOCK. They _were_ good days.

EVERSLEY. Perhaps we didn’t realise at the time how good they were.

MANNOCK. Do you remember--(_he breaks off impetuously_) Oh, Teddy, there are a hundred things I want to talk to you about, a hundred things I want to tell you.

EVERSLEY. Well, that’s why I came.

MANNOCK. I know. (_Suddenly_) Teddy! I--(_and then he pulls himself up_) No, I can’t tell you now. Not here. I must see you--where can I see you? Not in this house. Where can I see you, where can we really talk?

EVERSLEY. Couldn’t we dine together somewhere?

MANNOCK. Yes, that’s it. Somewhere where we can be by ourselves. Now, let me think----

EVERSLEY. “The Cock,” in Fleet Street? Not many people there in the evening.

MANNOCK. That will do.... I wonder what you’ll think.... But I can’t tell you here.... I’ll call for you. Where are you staying? Your club?

EVERSLEY. I am staying with friends. At Porchester Terrace. But they don’t expect me to dinner.

MANNOCK. Then I’ll call for you at a quarter to eight. What number? You’d better write it down. (EVERSLEY _takes out a card_) Got a pencil?

EVERSLEY (_feeling in his pockets_). Somewhere.

MANNOCK (_going to the desk_). Here you are. (_And then he sees the letter and stops short._)

EVERSLEY (_finding his own_). It’s all right. (_He writes the address._)

(MANNOCK _gazes at the letter. This is from the Prime
Minister--to accept his resignation. So his career is over. He
stands there, letter in hand, breathing heavily as if he had been
running._ EVERSLEY _looks at him in surprise_.)

MANNOCK. When did this----

EVERSLEY. What is it?

MANNOCK (_turning, letter in hand_). How long----

EVERSLEY. Your butler brought it in, didn’t he, when he brought _me_ in?

MANNOCK. Yes, of course.

EVERSLEY. Don’t mind me, Dick, if it’s important.

MANNOCK. No, no, it’s nothing. I----

(LADY JANE _comes in, followed by_ BERTIE. _They are obviously
excited._)

LADY JANE (_eagerly_). Richard! (_She sees_ EVERSLEY) Oh, I--(_coldly_) Oh, how do you do, Mr. Eversley?

EVERSLEY. How do you do, Lady Jane? I was just going. (_He and_ BERTIE _nod to each other_) Well, good-bye, Dick. (_Giving him the card_) Here’s the address. And a quarter to eight?

MANNOCK (_mechanically_). Yes, yes. Good-bye. (_He rings the bell, and puts down the card._)

EVERSLEY (_to_ LADY JANE). Good-bye. (_To_ BERTIE) Good-bye. (BERTIE _nods_.)

LADY JANE (_with an effort_). Oh, but we mustn’t drive you away like this.

EVERSLEY (_smiling pleasantly_). But I really was going. Good-bye.

LADY JANE. Good-bye.

[DIGBY _is there to show him out. He goes._

(_All this time_ MANNOCK _has been standing with the unopened
letter in his hands, fingering the envelope_.)

LADY JANE (_in suppressed excitement_). Richard! Bertie says.... Why, what’s that? (_She is looking at the letter_) But that’s--why don’t you open it? That’s the letter. Open it! Open it!

MANNOCK (_dully_). This is just acknowledging and accepting my resignation.

LADY JANE. But have you opened it yet? (_She snatches it from him, looks at it, and gives it back to him_) But you haven’t opened it yet! Open it! Bertie says----

BERTIE. The omens are distinctly favourable. But--well, now we shall know.

MANNOCK (_opening it_). It’s only just to accept my resignation. (_He reads. You can see at once that it is not that._)

LADY JANE. (_watching his face_). It is! (MANNOCK _looks in front of him, seeing visions_) May I--(_she takes the letter from him_) I must. (_She reads_) Oh, well done, Richard!

(MANNOCK _stands there, breathing heavily. To be Chancellor of
the Exchequer!_)

BERTIE. He has? (_She nods_) By Jove! Congratulations!

LADY JANE. I never thought----

BERTIE. Well, I don’t know. Mowbray has a good deal against him one way and another.

LADY JANE. Yes. But I was almost afraid to hope.

BERTIE (_proudly_). Didn’t I tell you to leave it to him? (_He nods towards_ MANNOCK.)

LADY JANE. Yes, you were quite right, Bertie. (_She looks admiringly at her husband._)

BERTIE. Of course, I know all about the resignation stunt--it’s as old as the hills. But if you can do it with conviction, you can still pull it off sometimes.

LADY JANE. Yes, yes.

BERTIE. Mannock carried conviction--that’s where he’s such an artist. The P.M. really thought he was going. Didn’t dare to lose him. Prepared to offer anything to keep him.

LADY JANE. Yes.

BERTIE. I’ve always said that, in the matter of political strategy, Mannock can give them all points. Even the P.M. I knew he’d pull it off.

LADY JANE. Richard! (_She means “Come and talk to us.”_)

MANNOCK (_his control suddenly giving way_). So you knew I’d pull it off? (_He is almost shouting._)

BERTIE. Rather!

MANNOCK. I can give ’em all points in political strategy?

BERTIE. I’ve always said so.

MANNOCK. And I carry conviction--eh?--that’s where I’m such an artist.

BERTIE. Exactly. (MANNOCK _gives a loud, bitter laugh_.) Well, I mean----

MANNOCK (_half hysterically_). An artist! That’s what I am. Carry conviction! I carried conviction all right. I pulled _your_ leg pretty well, Bertie. (_To_ LADY JANE) _And_ yours. You thought I meant to resign--yes, you did, both of you--you thought I meant it--you were frightened to death, yes, you were. You thought I really meant to give it all up. So did Arthur. I had Arthur in here just now--frightened to death--thought I meant to give it all up--talked about _his_ career--his career!--my God!--frightened to death he was, just like you two. Ha! I pulled your legs pretty well. Resign? Why the devil should I resign? Haven’t I got what I always wanted? You ask Reader--he’ll tell you--the supreme goal for any man to reach. Chancellor of the Exchequer--_that_ gives you power. Me! I’ve done it! Just pure strategy. Pretending I wanted to give up politics. Why should I? Success--it closes in on you! My God, there’s nothing I can’t do! Nothing! (_His voice rises almost to a shriek, as he drops into a chair, and sits there, his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking with long, tearless sobs._)

BERTIE (_soothingly_). I say, old fellow----

LADY JANE (_quietly_). No. Go, Bertie.

BERTIE. Oh, right. (_Going_) I’ll come in this evening if I can. He’ll be all right? (_She nods._) Right.

[_He goes out._

LADY JANE (_putting an arm calmly on_ MANNOCK’S _shoulders_). It’s all right now, Richard. I know how you must feel. It has been a very anxious time for both of us. But it’s all over now. You’ve got what you wanted. I’m proud of you, very proud of you.

MANNOCK (_pulling himself together_). I’m sorry. I----

LADY JANE (_calmly_). It’s all right. I understand perfectly. The strain--naturally.

MANNOCK. Yes.

LADY JANE. I’ll leave you now. You’ll want to be alone. But come and talk to me afterwards.

MANNOCK (_nodding_). Yes.

LADY JANE (_giving him the letter_). You’ll want to answer this.

MANNOCK. Yes. Thank you.

LADY JANE (_looking at him admiringly_). I’m very proud of you, Richard.

[_She goes out._

(_Alone_, MANNOCK _walks slowly to his desk, a tired man. There,
he sees_ EVERSLEY’S _card, picks it up, looks at it, puts it
down, and takes up the telephone_.)

MANNOCK (_at the telephone_). Hullo! Come in, will you? (_He goes back to his chair and waits._ READER _comes in, note-book in hand_.) I want a telegram sent at once. To Mr. Eversley. You’ll find a card on my desk. (READER _goes there_). Got it? With an address in Porchester Terrace.

READER. Yes, sir. (_He writes down the name and address and waits._)

MANNOCK. “Afraid cannot dine to-night.”

READER (_writing_). “Afraid cannot dine to-night.”

MANNOCK. That’s all.

READER. Signed?

MANNOCK. Yes, “Dick.” ... (_An end to this weakness. He corrects himself firmly_) No--Mannock.

READER. “Afraid cannot dine to-night. Mannock.” ... Anything else, sir?

MANNOCK. No.... Yes.... Yes.... (READER _waits_) Another telegram.

READER (_waiting_). Yes?

MANNOCK. Lady Carchester, Enderways, Riley, Yorkshire.

READER (_murmuring to himself_). Enderways, Riley, R-I-L-E-Y?

MANNOCK. Yes.

READER. Yorkshire. (_He waits_).

MANNOCK (_after a long pause_). “I beg your pardon.” (READER _says nothing_. MANNOCK _looks up_) That’s all.

READER. Oh, I beg--I see--I didn’t understand. (_Writing_) “I beg your pardon.”

MANNOCK. We had a--a discussion. I--I was wrong. I have found out since that I was wrong. This is--(_he shrugs_).

READER (_pleasantly_). A very graceful way of saying so, if I may be allowed----

MANNOCK (_to himself_). Graceful!

READER (_after waiting_). Signed? Or will she understand?

MANNOCK. She will understand. (_To himself, ashamed_) I think she will understand.... All right, Reader.

[READER _goes out_.

(MANNOCK _walks slowly to his desk. For a little while he sits
there, holding the letter in his hand...._

SALLY _is dead. He has killed her. No good explaining,
apologising, whining, to a person whom you have killed. Let him
be man enough to spare her that last insult. No, there’s nothing
to say. It was_ EVERSLEY _and that damned tune that got into a
man’s head, and made him dream.... The sweetness of her in his
dream! But that was twenty-five years ago. They’re dead now; both
dead.... But--Chancellor of the Exchequer! It will be in all the
papers to-morrow. Chancellor of the Exchequer! What will the
papers say? What will people say? Everybody will see it.... Sally
will see it. Will know, will understand. No, there’s nothing to
be said. That damned tune, that damned dream. O Sally, Sally,
Sally! Don’t! Don’t come into my dreams again...._

_So for a little he sits, thinking. Then, with a bitter,
contemptuous laugh, he tosses away his thoughts and comes back to
the letter. Chancellor of the Exchequer! Briskly he dips his pen
into the ink, and writes to the Prime Minister._)

_Printed in Great Britain by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences in this work and consultation of external sources. Some hyphens in words have been silently removed and some silently added when a predominant preference was found in the original work. Except for those changes noted below, original spellings in the text and inconsistent or archaic usage have been retained.

Page 31: “Madame Boolager” replaced by “Madame Boulager”.
Page 74: “I I don’t know” replaced by “I don’t know”.

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Page numbers for Acts and Scenes have been added to the original Table of Contents. The formatting of Scene titles was also standardized.

New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.