A bedroom shared by GRAINGER and BRENTNALL in the cottage of MRS PLUM. Both men are dressing. GRAINGER goes to the door and calls to MRS PLUM.
GRAINGER: Bring me some collars up.
BRENTNALL: And what are you going to do?
GRAINGER: God knows.
BRENTNALL: How much money have you got?
GRAINGER: Four damn quid.
BRENTNALL: Hm! — You’re well off, considering. But what do you think of doing?
GRAINGER: I don’t know.
BRENTNALL: Where do you think of going Saturday?
GRAINGER: Hell.
BRENTNALL: Too expensive, my boy — four quid won’t carry you there.
GRAINGER: Oh chuck it, Billy.
BRENTNALL: What the Hanover’s the good of chucking it? You’re not a blooming cock robin, to take no thought for the morrow.
Enter MRS PLUM with the collars.
MRS PLUM: Gee, I’m sorry I forgot ‘em, Dr Grainger. I’m ever so sorry.
GRAINGER: Don’t fret yourself about that, Mrs Plum. You’re all right, you are.
MRS PLUM: Gee, but I can’t get it out of my head, that there what you’ve just told me.
GRAINGER: You want to sneeze hard, Mrs Plum. That’ll shift it.
MRS PLUM (laughing): Hee-hee — hark you there now. And have you got rid of it off your mind, Dr Grainger?
GRAINGER: My head’s as clear as a bell o’ brass, Mrs Plum. Nothing ails me.
MRS PLUM: My word, it doesn’t. My word, but you’re looking well, you’re a sight better than when you come. Isn’t he, Mr Brentnall?
BRENTNALL: He’s too healthy for anything, Mrs Plum — he’s so healthy, he’d walk slap into a brick wall, and never know he’d hurt himself.
MRS PLUM: Gee — I don’t know. But that there as you told me, Dr Grainger —
GRAINGER: Here, you go and see if that’s Jack Magneer, and if it is, let him come up.
MRS PLUM: You’re a caution, you are that, Dr Grainger.
Exit MRS PLUM.
BRENTNALL: The girl is gone on you, the kid is yours. You are a married man, and you mean to abide by your family?
GRAINGER: What the devil else is there to do?
BRENTNALL: Very well. Have you bothered about another job?
GRAINGER: No — I did when I was in Wolverhampton. Look what a fiendish business it is, offering yourself and being refused like a dog.
BRENTNALL: So you’ve taken no steps.
GRAINGER: No.
BRENTNALL: And you’ve absolutely no idea what you’re going to do on Saturday, when you’ve finished here?
GRAINGER: No.
BRENTNALL: And yet you mean to stick by your wife and kid?
GRAINGER: What else can I do?
BRENTNALL: Well, you’re a beauty! You’re just skulking, like a frightened rabbit.
GRAINGER: Am I, begad?
BRENTNALL: Are you fond of the kid?
GRAINGER: I shouldn’t like anything to happen to it.
BRENTNALL: Neither should I. But the feelings of your breast towards it — ?
GRAINGER: Well, I’m a lot fonder of that youngster at my digs in Wolverhampton — you know —
BRENTNALL: Then you feel no paternal emotion?
GRAINGER: No. Don’t talk rot.
BRENTNALL: How often have you been over to see your wife?
GRAINGER: Once.
BRENTNALL: Once since you were married?
GRAINGER: Yes.
BRENTNALL: And that when the baby was first born?
GRAINGER: Yes.
BRENTNALL: And you’re living — which, a recluse, or a gay bachelor?
GRAINGER: You can imagine me a recluse.
BRENTNALL: You’re a blossom, Georgie, you’re a jewel of a muddler.
GRAINGER: How could I help it! I was careful enough with the girl — I never thought, to tell you the truth, that — here’s Jack!
BRENTNALL: That what?
GRAINGER: Shut up. Jack’s a fine fellow.
BRENTNALL: Needs to be, to match you.
GRAINGER: Now Bill Brentnall, none of your sark.
JACK’S VOICE: How long are you going to be?
GRAINGER: How-do Jack! Shan’t be a sec. Come up.
Enter JACK MAGNEER — aged 33 — very big, a farmer, something of a gentleman, wears leggings and breeches, and a black bow tie.
JACK: Seem to be donning yourselves up — how are you?
GRAINGER: Mr Magneer — Mr Brentnall: Jack — Billy.
JACK: Yis, quite so. How are you, Billy?
BRENTNALL: I’m very well. You’re Miss Magneer’s brother?
GRAINGER: Sally’s.
JACK: Yis, I am, and what of it?
BRENTNALL: Oh — only you are lucky.
GRAINGER whistles gaily.
JACK: What you whistling for, George lad? Aren’t I lucky?
GRAINGER: I wish Sally was my sister, Jack.
JACK: Yis, you do, an’ so do I, George lad — then me an’ you’d be brothers. — Oh, my good God, are you going to be all night titivating yourselves up?
GRAINGER: Jack’s in a hurry.
JACK: No I’m not, but damn it all —
GRAINGER: Alright Jacko, alright. I know she’s a very nice girl —
BRENTNALL: Where are you taking me?
GRAINGER: To see some real fine girls.
JACK: Not so much fine girls, Billy — some damn nice girls, nice girls, mind you.
GRAINGER: Quite right, Jacko. (Seriously.) No, but they are, Billy, real nice girls. Three sisters, orphans.
JACK: An’ the oldest of them will happen to be Mrs Grainger — eh, what?
GRAINGER: Liar!
JACK: You see Billy, it’s like this. I’m glad you’ve come, because it levels us up. I believe you’re a nice chap. Don’t you take me wrong. I mean you’re not one of these damn sods as can see nowt in a girl but — you know.
BRENTNALL: Yes.
GRAINGER: Yes, Billy knows. Most moral young man.
JACK: Fooling apart, George, aren’t they nice girls?
GRAINGER: Really nice girls, they are.
JACK: But you see, there’s three of ’em — an’ we’ve never been but two of us — d’you twig?
BRENTNALL: I twig.
JACK: But no fooling, mind you.
BRENTNALL: Thanks for your caution, Mr Magneer.
JACK: Oh no, no. Nothing of the sort: only they are nice girls — you see what I mean — oh no, Billy —
GRAINGER: And three of ‘em.
BRENTNALL: And the odd one falls to me. Thanks, I was born to oblige.
JACK: Now Billy, no. I want you t’have a good time. You see what I mean. I’m willing to step aside. You’re here only for a bit — I’m always here. So I want you —
GRAINGER: “I want all of you t’have a good time.”
JACK: Yis, I do. I do that, George.
GRAINGER: That’s always Jacko’s cry— “I want you t’have it your own road. I’m willing any road. I want you t’have a good time.” Self-effacing chap is Jack.
BRENTNALL: Do I put on a dinner jacket?
GRAINGER: Good God, no — have you brought one?
BRENTNALL: Well — I might have to dine at some people’s down towards Ashbourne.
CURTAIN