Complete works of hall c.., p.654
Complete Works of Hall Caine, page 654
Then bring ‘em in, boys — bring ‘em in.
(The four lads hurry out A, and at once return with four spinning wheels, which they place in a semi-circle. NANCY and MEG bring four stools from different parts of the room. The four girls sit and spin, while MARY stands in the middle to sing the solo; and the lads stand behind the girls.)
MARY.
(Sings.) When Christ was born in Bethlehem,
ALL.
Sing glory to the Lord!
MARY.
The children, great and small,
Crowned Him with royal diadem,
As King above them all.
The children’s crown by Him was borne,
Until He bare the Crown of Thorn.
ALL.
Sing glory to the Lord!
(KATE bends low over the babe, sobbing.)
GRANNIE.
Aw, you should a heard me. I could put the shake in. I could, though.
PETE.
(Soothingly.) There, there! Let me hould your hand, Kirry.
MARY.
(Singing.) The little child in every land,
ALL.
Sing glory to the Lord!
MARY.
His subject is by right.
He leads it with a loving hand
To realms of glorious light.
(She advances towards the infant with hands outstretched, as in blessing.)
O pure in heart, keep thy heart pure,
And make the road to heaven sure,
ALL.
Sing glory to the Lord!
PETE.
(With folded hands and upturned face, very solemnly.) Aw yes, keep his heart as pure as his mother’s, I beseech Thee, O Lord!
ALL.
(Hushed.) Amen!
(KATE breaks down.)
PETE.
Kate! Kitty! Kirry!
NANCY.
There, now, you’ve upset her between ye. Think she’s made of cast-iron? (To KATE.) Give me the child, Miss Kate.
PETE.
Listen to that, now. Miss Kate! Mrs. Peter Quilliam, woman! Mrs. Capt’n Peter Quilliam!
Let me lift the lil one, Kitty.
KATE.
(Almost fiercely, as if defending the child.) No, no, not you!
PETE.
(Good-humouredly, amazed?) Why not? What are you afraid of, at all at all? Can’t a man hould his own child, Kirry? Give him to me, the young rascal!
NANCY.
D’ye know how to hould him?
PETE.
Hark at the woman! Do ye think it’s the first christening I’ve ever been at? Last time I was parson myself.
(Exclamations and laughter.)
So I was. Parson Pete! And godfather and god-mother, too. And the baby was Peter Quilliam.
(Laughter.)
Peter Quilliam, I’m telling ye, and no laughing matter! It was at Kimberley. There’s always a truck o’ women about a compound, and one of ‘em had a child, and it was the death of her, and she couldn’t take rest because it hadn’t been christened. There wasn’t a parson for fifty miles, and it was night-time, and the woman -stretched by the camp fire and sinking fast. “What’s to be done?” says the men. “I’ll do it,” says I. And I did. One of the boys got a pannikin of water, and I dipped my hand in it. “What’s the name?” says I; but the poor thing was past speaking. So I gave the child my own name, though I didn’t know the mother from Noah’s Aunt. “I baptise thee, Peter Quilliam, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.” Then the girl died happy, and what for shouldn’t she? The words were right, and the water was right, and if the hand wasn’t as clean as usual, maybe Him that’s above wouldn’t bother about the difference. But give me the baby, Kirry. (He takes the baby.)
GRANNIE.
Aisy, now, Pete — aisy!
PETE.
Is it aisy broke they are, Grannie? Aw, Kitty, the beauty it is, though! And the big! As big as my fist already. And as fat as a blue-bottle! (Suddenly nervous.) Nancy! I’m frightened! S’pose I w’as to squeeze him? Take him, quick! Quick! he’s going to howl!
NANCY.
(Taking the baby.) So would you howl, ye clumsy omahaun, if you were held the wrong end up! (She moves to stairs.)
PETE.
Where are you taking him?
NANCY.
Upstairs. To his bottle, of course.
GRANNIE.
Put the tongs over the cradle, Nancy; it’s a pity to tempt the fairies. The lil people are shocking bad for changing.
(NANCY goes upstairs and through door B with the child.)
PETE.
And, Nancy!
NANCY.
(From bedroom.) What is it?
PETE.
Is that windy in the bedroom open?
NANCY.
Yes.
PETE.
Then shut it — do you want to freeze my baby?
DOCTOR.
Let it have fresh air, Pete. It will be all the better for it.
PETE.
Will it? (Calling.) Nancy, is that windy open?
NANCY.
Didn’t you tell me to shut it?
PETE.
Then open it. Do you want to stifle my baby?
KATE.
Leave it to Nancy, Pete. She knows what to do.
PETE.
With ordinary babies maybe — just ordinary, common babies —
(Crash heard upstairs.)
(Runs to foot of stairs.) Is it killed?
NANCY.
Is what killed?
PETE.
My baby?
NANCY.
Baby’s asleep. It was the coal-scuttle.
PETE.
(Mopping his forehead.) The coal-scuttle! Phew!
DOCTOR.
You’re too anxious, Mr. Quilliam.
PETE.
Maybe. But I’m only a beginner at babies, ye see, and they take a heap of learning.
DOCTOR.
(To the VILLAGERS.) Now, friends, we’ll leave our patient alone.
POSTMAN.
Ay, ay, sir.
PETE.
Thank you. (Shaking hands.) Thank you, Billy! (He presses a coin in his hand.) A pinch of snuff, you know. Thank you, Sarah! Here’s a pound o’ tea. (To the OTHERS.) I’ve had a table set out under the orchard trees. Grannie will look after you. Won’t you, Grannie?
GRANNIE.
Needs must — other people being so moidered about the baby. But it’s a right angel you are, Pete, and God bless ye!
(GRANNIE is helped out A.)
PETE.
By the time you’ve drunk the baby’s health the new Deemster will be here, boys.
TOM.
Mr. Philip Christian? Is he Deemster already then?
PETE.
The Home Secretary’s nominated him, anyway.
TOM.
That’s a good job done, Capt’n.
(ALL approve and go out A. merrily.)
CAESAR.
Let us hope and pray he’ll make as good a Deemster as his father and his grandfather before him.
PETE.
I’ll go bail on that, Caesar.
DOCTOR.
I wondered he was not with us — he was god-father. (Crosses to KATE.)
PETE.
Too busy to come to the christening, but he’s coming to see his name-child presently.
(ROSS CHRISTIAN has entered A . through the LADS and LASSES, etc., as they went out.)
ROSS.
His name-child, is it?
(KATE starts.)
PETE.
Yes, his name-child, Mr. Ross. Whom else d’ye think I’d call my only son after?
ROSS.
Most appropriate, certainly. Not too late to congratulate the mother, I hope? (Crosses to KATE.)
DOCTOR.
(Who has been talking to KATE, taking leave.) Now, remember. We must be cheerful. We must eat and drink and sleep. A glass of port, now and then, will do us no harm.
PETE.
Port!
(To MEG, who has been in and out of door A.) Here, Meg! (Gives her money.) Run into Ramsey and get the best bottle of port they’ve got. Take care coming back, though. If you smash it, I’ll smash you!
MEG.
Goodness me!
(Exit A.)
DOCTOR.
That’s all right, then! We’ll soon have those white cheeks rosy again! My hat! (Goes up stage to find it.)
CAESAR.
(At PETE’S side, quietly, pointing to ROSS.)
(ROSS is talking to KATE.)
I don’t like to see that young man in this house, Pete.
PETE.
(Lightly.) What’s the odds — he’ll make Kirry laugh a bit.
CAESAR
Some laughter is bitter as the waters of Marah, man. A loose liver, a transgressor, a prodigal who is bringing his father’s grey head down to the grave. He should never be allowed inside a God-fearing house. Pete, are ye blind? Haven’t I told ye?
PETE.
I trust my wife, Caesar.
CAESAR.
Hah! Well — I’ve warned you. Doctor, I’m coming your way.
DOCTOR.
Past twelve o’clock, Caesar. No free consultations in the afternoon, you know. (As they go out A.)
CAESAR.
Do you stop doing good by the clock, then?
(Exeunt.)
PETE.
I’ll see ye to the gate, gentlemen. Back soon, Kitty! Keep her cheerful, Mr. Ross!
(Exit A.)
ROSS.
Rather a stiff job, eh, Kate?
KATE.
What?
ROSS.
Keep you cheerful. Afraid I’m not quite the man for it. What?
KATE.
Then why do you stay?
ROSS.
I obey orders. Pete’s always telling other people to keep you cheerful. First Philip, now me. Wonder why?
KATE.
He’s always trying to make me happy.
ROSS.
Trying to make others make you happy. Can’t do it himself, eh?
KATE.
Mr. Ross, I’m not very well nowadays —
ROSS.
Can see the change myself, Kate.
KATE.
What change?
ROSS.
The change in you, my dear. When Pete was abroad yours was the happiest face in the Island, but now —
KATE.
There is no change.
ROSS.
Isn’t there? Then why have you grown so thin and pale since your marriage, Kate? To-day even, when you ought to be happy, your eyes are red and your —
KATE.
It’s your fancy — your fancy —
ROSS.
Is it? Anybody but a fool — or Pete — could see it, though. And anybody but Pete — or a fool — could guess the reason.
KATE.
There is no reason.
ROSS.
I think there is, my dear. The old, old reason. Shall I tell you what that is? You find you’ve married the wrong man.
KATE.
It’s not true. He’s a good man — a good, generous, big-hearted man — too good — oh, much too good for me!
ROSS.
Perhaps! I’ve seen a lot of life, Kate, and if I’ve learned anything, I’ve learnt this — that a good man a man — who is too good — is no good to live with.
KATE.
Be quiet! I won’t listen to a word against him. His devotion to me —
ROSS.
(Sympathetically.) I know. His devotion wears the life out of you. You’re up against it every hour of the day. You mustn’t do this, or say that, or think the other, for fear of seeing a pained look in his dog-like eyes. Oh, I know! I know! But you were never made for this sort of thing, Kate. You’re not a speckled hen. You want life and joy and a man who can understand and appreciate you. (KATE covers her ears.)
KATE.
Oh, leave me alone! Leave me alone!
ROSS.
All this you had when Philip was looking after you —
(He comes closer to her — suggest Marguerite and Mephistopheles.)
But those days are gone, my girl! Philip is a respectable man now. Deemster-elect, you know. Good Lord alive! No more cakes and ale for Master Philip!
KATE.
(Harassed.) I don’t understand a word you say.
ROSS.
Of course you don’t. But you will by and by. And when you do, think of me. In London! In London, Kate! Lord! the time I’d give you if you’d only make up your mind to leave that chucklehead of a Pete.
(Re-enter PETE.)
KATE.
Here comes that chucklehead of a Pete. Say that to him, if you dare!
PETE.
They’re as merry as sandboys out there. How are you getting on here?
KATE.
I think Mr. Ross Christian has something to say to you, Pete.
PETE.
To me? What may that be, Mr. Ross?
ROSS.
(Going up to PETE, confusedly.) Eh, well, I was just saying, won’t you come up to our house some day, when I come back, for a bit of dinner? Bring the wife. Glad to see you, you know.
PETE.
Maybe. We’ll see. Some day, perhaps. Going away, are you?
ROSS.
Yes, back to London. Have to catch the night boat. Here’s my London address. (Produces card.)
PETE.
Don’t know that I’ll want it, though.
ROSS.
(Putting card on KATE’S lap.) You may. Keep it, Mrs. Quilliam. You never know. (Going, stopping.) By the way, there was something else I wanted to speak about.
PETE.
What was that, sir?
ROSS.
People say you’ve come home a rich man, Captain, and my father is a bit short of money — wants
a little on mortgage — splendid security — best land in the Island, you know.
PETE.
Never do my own business, Mr. Ross.
ROSS.
No?
PETE.
Always leave it to your cousin Philip.
Ross.
Just so. (With a glance at KATE.) I’ve noticed that.
PETE.
So, if you’ve anything to say, better say it to him.
ROSS.
(Snubbed.) Exactly.
PETE.
You’ll excuse me now, sir, but the Deemster is coming soon, and, being a great friend of ours —
ROSS.
(Sneering.) How nice!
PETE.
What’s nice, sir?
ROSS.
When the friend of the wife is the friend of the husband also.
PETE.
Just so. We’re getting up a bit of a “do” for the Deemster, though, and —
ROSS.
A demonstration, eh? A procession — a band, perhaps?
PETE.
Certainly. I play the drum.
(Laughing insolently.) Ah! A difficult instrument to — er — carry, isn’t it?
PETE.
Like myself there, sir; and like you, it’s a pretty aisy thing to beat.
(PETE goes to open door. PHILIP enters.) Phil! Dear old Phil! You’re the very man we’re wanting, and here ye are! There’s Kirry! Speak to her, Phil.
ROSS.
Helloa, Phil, old man! Not seen you since that day at the “Manx Fairy.” Kitty wasn’t married then, and now you are to be Deemster! Funny world, eh? Things get so damnably mixed up in it!
PETE.
(Who has been rattling latch of door.) I don’t see —
ROSS.
Of course you don’t. Your end of the triangle never does.
PETE.
Triangle? What triangle?
ROSS.
The everlasting triangle of husband, wife, and friend. By-bye.
(Exit doer L.)
PETE.
(Closing door.) Now, what did the omathaun mean by that, I wonder?
PHILIP.
Let him go, Pete. He’s not worth thinking of.
PETE.
Bad luck to him, anyway. Caesar was right. He’s only a wastrel. One of the men with a hump-backed conscience. Lots o’ that sort going about now, boy! But you’re Deemster at last, Phil! Judge of the Island, Kirry. Mind what you’re at, girl, or the Deemster will lock you up as soon as look at ye!
PHILIP.
Only Deemster-elect, Pete. I have still to be sworn in. (With a shudder.)
PETE
And when will that be?
PHILIP.
A week hence — in Castle Rushen, you know.
PETE.
Gough bless me! Full state, eh? All the nobs around ye, and you top dog! Well, ye deserve it, and as sure as my name’s Peter Quilliam, Kate and I will be there to see. We’ll take the baby — eh, dear?
KATE.
(Nervously.) No, no. I cannot go. It’s impossible.
PETE.
All right, dearie. Don’t worry. (Aside to PHILIP.) Bit off to-day. Doctor’s been looking at her. Nothing wrong — only nerves. Got to be kept cheerful, and you’re the very man to do it. You won’t drop us, now you’re Deemster, Phil?
PHILIP.
You know that, Pete. I’ve brought — I’ve brought my christening present. (Produces case holding a silver cup.)
PETE.
(Taking cup.) Kate! Look at it! Isn’t it a beauty? Little Phil will keep it as long as he lives — the gift of his godfather and the best man in the Island, bar none.
(MARY puts her head in at door A.)
MARY.
Capt’n Pete!
PETE.
Hulloa!
MARY.
They want ye in the road — quick!
PETE.
(With a wink.) All right! I’m coming.
KATE.
(Afraid of being left alone with PHILIP.) Where are you going, Pete?
PETE.
(Aside, to KATE.) Hush, woman! A secret! (Aloud.) The boys are wanting a bit of practice with the band, so I’m going to the barn to join them. (Lifting drum on to his shoulders.) There’s a drum for you, now! No snickerty bit of a kettledrum, but something a man can beat. (Is going to beat drum, when he suddenly remembers the baby, and looks round.) Oh, murder! To think of me forgetting that baby asleep upstairs! Stay with Kirry while I’m in the barn, Phil. Cheer her up. It’s you to do it, boy. S’long.
(Exit with drum L.)
PHILIP.
What’s the matter, Kate? Are you unhappy?
KATE.
Can’t you see? His love is killing me. I can’t bear it. I can’t! I can’t! He never speaks to me but he tortures me. He never touches me but he stings me like a scorpion. If he would only ill-use me — strike me — beat me — I could bear it — I could live. But this worship — this perfect, unselfish love — Oh! oh! oh!
