One Day More - Page 2

that ran away to sea sixteen years ago and never did give a sign
of life since! Don't I remember seeing people dodge round corners out
of his way when he came along High Street. Seeing him, I tell you.
(_Groan_.) He bothered everybody so with his silly talk of his son being
sure to come back home--next year--next spring--next month------. What
is it by this time, hey?

Bessie. Why talk about it? He bothers no one now.

Carvil. No. They've grown too fly. You've got only to pass a remark on
his sail-cloth coat to make him shut up. All the town knows it. But he's
got you to listen to his crazy talk whenever he chooses. Don't I hear
you two at it, jabber, jabber, mumble, mumble------

Bessie. What is there so mad in keeping up hope?

Carvil (_Scathing scorn_). Not mad! Starving himself to lay money
by--for that son. Filling his house with furniture he won't let anyone
see--for that son. Advertising in the papers every week, these sixteen
years--for that son. Not mad! Boy, he calls him. Boy Harry. His boy
Harry. His lost boy Harry. Yah! Let him lose his sight to know what real
trouble means. And the boy--the man, I should say--must 've been put
away safe in Davy Jones's locker for many a year--drowned--food for
fishes--dead.... Stands to reason, or he would have been here before,
smelling around the old fool's money. (_Shakes Bessie's arm slightly_.)
Hey?

Bessie. I don't know. May be.

Carvil (_Bursting out_). Damme if I don't think he ever had a son.

Bessie. Poor man. Perhaps he never had.

Carvil. Ain't that mad enough for you? But I suppose you think it
sensible.

Bessie. What does it matter? His talk keeps him up.

Carvil. Aye! And it pleases you. Anything to get away from your poor
blind father.... Jabber, jabber--mumble, mumble--till I begin to think
you must be as crazy as he is. What do you find to talk about, you two?
What's your game?

(_During the scene Carvil and Bessie have crossed stage from L. to R.
slowly with stoppages_.)

Bessie. It's warm. Will you sit out for a while?

Carvil (_Viciously_). Yes, I will sit out. (_Insistent_.) But what can
be your game? What are you up to? (_They pass through garden gate_.)
Because if it's his money you are after-------

Bessie. Father! How can you!

Carvil (_Disregarding her_). To make you independent of your poor blind
father, then you are a fool. (_Drops heavily on seat_.) He's too much of
a miser to ever make a will--even if he weren't mad.

Bessie. Oh! It never entered my head. I swear it never did.

Carvil. Never did. Hey! Then you are a still bigger fool.... I want to
go to sleep! (_Takes off' his hat, drops it on ground, and leans his
head back against the