第 7 页

SIR PATRICK. Give her your own address; and then we'll see. [To the

maid] Youll have to be content with that for the present, my girl.

[Ridgeon gives her his card]. Whats your name?

THE MAID. Minnie Tinwell, sir.

SIR PATRICK. Well, you write him a letter to care of this gentleman; and

it will be sent on. Now be off with you.

THE MAID. Thank you, sir. I'm sure you wouldnt see me wronged. Thank you

all, gentlemen; and excuse the liberty.

She goes into the hotel. They match her in silence.

RIDGEON [when she is gone] Do you realize, chaps, that we have promised

Mrs Dubedat to save this fellow's life?

BLENKINSOP. Whats the matter with him?

RIDGEON. Tuberculosis.

BLENKINSOP [interested] And can you cure that?

RIDGEON. I believe so.

BLENKINSOP. Then I wish youd cure me. My right lung is touched, I'm

sorry to say.

RIDGEON } { What! Your lung is going?

B.B } { My dear Blenkinsop, what do you

} [all { tell me? [full of concern for

} together] { Blenkinsop he comes back from the

} { balustrade].

SIR PATRICK } { Eh? Eh? Whats that?

WALPOLE } { Hullo, you mustn't neglect this,

} { you know.

BLENKINSOP [putting his fingers in his ears] No, no: it's no use. I know

what youre going to say: Ive said it often to others. I cant afford to

take care of myself; and theres an end of it. If a fortnight's holiday

would save my life, I'd have to die. I shall get on as others have to

get on. We cant all go to St Moritz or to Egypt, you know, Sir Ralph.

Dont talk about it.

Embarrassed silence.

SIR PATRICK [grunts and looks hard at Ridgeon]!

SCHUTZMACHER [looking at his watch and rising] I must go. It's been a

very pleasant evening, Colly. You might let me have my portrait if you

dont mind. I'll send Mr Dubedat that couple of sovereigns for it.

RIDGEON [giving him the menu card] Oh dont do that, Loony. I dont think

he'd like that.

SCHUTZMACHER. Well, of course I shant if you feel that way about it. But

I dont think you understand Dubedat. However, perhaps thats because I'm

a Jew. Good-night, Dr Blenkinsop [shaking hands].

BLENKINSOP. Good-night, sir--I mean--Good-night.

SCHUTZMACHER [waving his hand to the rest] Goodnight, everybody.

WALPOLE { B. B. { SIR PATRICK { RIDGEON { Good-night.

B. B. repeats the salutation several times, in varied musical tones.

Schutzmacher goes out.

SIR PATRICK. Its time for us all to move. [He rises and comes between

Blenkinsop and Walpole. Ridgeon also rises]. Mr Walpole: take Blenkinsop

home: he's had enough of the open air cure for to-night. Have you a

thick overcoat to wear in the motor, Dr Blenkinsop?

BLENKINSOP. Oh, theyll give me some brown paper in the hotel; and a

few thicknesses of brown paper across the chest are better than any fur

coat.

WALPOLE. Well, come along. Good-night, Colly. Youre coming with us, arnt

you, B. B.?

B. B. Yes: I'm coming. [Walpole and Blenkinsop go into the hotel].

Good-night, my dear Ridgeon [shaking hands affectionately]. Dont let us

lose sight of your interesting patient and his very charming wife. We

must not judge him too hastily, you know. [With unction] G o o o o o o

o o d-night, Paddy. Bless you, dear old chap. [Sir Patrick utters a

formidable grunt. B. B. laughs and pats him indulgently on the shoulder]

Good-night. Good-night. Good-night. Good-night. [He good-nights himself

into the hotel].

The others have meanwhile gone without ceremony. Ridgeon and Sir Patrick

are left alone together. Ridgeon, deep in thought, comes down to Sir

Patrick.

SIR PATRICK. Well, Mr Savior of Lives: which is it to be? that honest

decent man Blenkinsop, or that rotten blackguard of an artist, eh?

RIDGEON. Its not an easy case to judge, is it? Blenkinsop's an honest

decent man; but is he any use? Dubedat's a rotten blackguard; but he's a

genuine source of pretty and pleasant and good things.

SIR PATRICK. What will he be a source of for that poor innocent wife of

his, when she finds him out?

RIDGEON. Thats true. Her life will be a hell.

SIR PATRICK. And tell me this. Suppose you had this choice put before

you: either to go through life and find all the pictures bad but all the

men and women good, or to go through life and find all the pictures good

and all the men and women rotten. Which would you choose?

RIDGEON. Thats a devilishly difficult question, Paddy. The pictures

are so agreeable, and the good people so infernally disagreeable and

mischievous, that I really cant undertake to say offhand which I should

prefer to do without.

SIR PATRICK. Come come! none of your cleverness with me: I'm too old for

it. Blenkinsop isnt that sort of good man; and you know it.

RIDGEON. It would be simpler if Blenkinsop could paint Dubedat's

pictures.

SIR PATRICK. It would be simpler still if Dubedat had some of

Blenkinsop's honesty. The world isnt going to be made simple for you,

my lad: you must take it as it is. Youve to hold the scales between

Blenkinsop and Dubedat. Hold them fairly.

RIDGEON. Well, I'll be as fair as I can. I'll put into one scale all the

pounds Dubedat has borrowed, and into the other all the half-crowns that

Blenkinsop hasnt borrowed.

SIR PATRICK. And youll take out of Dubedat's scale all the faith he has

destroyed and the honor he has lost, and youll put into Blenkinsop's

scale all the faith he has justified and the honor he has created.

RIDGEON. Come come, Paddy! none of your claptrap with me: I'm too

sceptical for it. I'm not at all convinced that the world wouldnt be a

better world if everybody behaved as Dubedat does than it is now that

everybody behaves as Blenkinsop does.

SIR PATRICK. Then why dont you behave as Dubedat does?

RIDGEON. Ah, that beats me. Thats the experimental test. Still, it's

a dilemma. It's a dilemma. You see theres a complication we havnt

mentioned.

SIR PATRICK. Whats that?

RIDGEON. Well, if I let Blenkinsop die, at least nobody can say I did it

because I wanted to marry his widow.

SIR PATRICK. Eh? Whats that?

RIDGEON. Now if I let Dubedat die, I'll marry his widow.

SIR PATRICK. Perhaps she wont have you, you know.

RIDGEON [with a self-assured shake of the head] I've a pretty good flair

for that sort of thing. I know when a woman is interested in me. She is.

SIR PATRICK. Well, sometimes a man knows best; and sometimes he knows

worst. Youd much better cure them both.

RIDGEON. I cant. I'm at my limit. I can squeeze in one more case, but

not two. I must choose.

SIR PATRICK. Well, you must choose as if she didnt exist: thats clear.

RIDGEON. Is that clear to you? Mind: it's not clear to me. She troubles

my judgment.

SIR PATRICK. To me, it's a plain choice between a man and a lot of

pictures.

RIDGEON. It's easier to replace a dead man than a good picture.

SIR PATRICK. Colly: when you live in an age that runs to pictures and

statues and plays and brass bands because its men and women are not good

enough to comfort its poor aching soul, you should thank Providence that

you belong to a profession which is a high and great profession because

its business is to heal and mend men and women.

RIDGEON. In short, as a member of a high and great profession, I'm to

kill my patient.

SIR PATRICK. Dont talk wicked nonsense. You cant kill him. But you can

leave him in other hands.

RIDGEON. In B. B.'s, for instance: eh? [looking at him significantly].

SIR PATRICK [demurely facing his look] Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington is

a very eminent physician.

RIDGEON. He is.

SIR PATRICK. I'm going for my hat.

Ridgeon strikes the bell as Sir Patrick makes for the hotel. A waiter

comes.

RIDGEON [to the waiter] My bill, please.

WAITER. Yes, sir.

He goes for it.

ACT III

In Dubedat's studio. Viewed from the large window the outer door is

in the wall on the left at the near end. The door leading to the inner

rooms is in the opposite wall, at the far end. The facing wall has

neither window nor door. The plaster on all the walls is uncovered and

undecorated, except by scrawlings of charcoal sketches and memoranda.

There is a studio throne (a chair on a dais) a little to the left,

opposite the inner door, and an easel to the right, opposite the outer

door, with a dilapidated chair at it. Near the easel and against the

wall is a bare wooden table with bottles and jars of oil and medium,

paint-smudged rags, tubes of color, brushes, charcoal, a small lay

figure, a kettle and spirit-lamp, and other odds and ends. By the table

is a sofa, littered with drawing blocks, sketch-books, loose sheets of

paper, newspapers, books, and more smudged rags. Next the outer door is

an umbrella and hat stand, occupied partly by Louis' hats and cloak and

muffler, and partly by odds and ends of costumes. There is an old piano

stool on the near side of this door. In the corner near the inner door

is a little tea-table. A lay figure, in a cardinal's robe and hat, with

an hour-glass in one hand and a scythe slung on its back, smiles with

inane malice at Louis, who, in a milkman's smock much smudged with

colors, is painting a piece of brocade which he has draped about his

wife.

She is sitting on the throne, not interested in the painting, and

appealing to him very anxiously about another matter.

MRS DUBEDAT. Promise.

LOUIS [putting on a touch of paint with notable skill and care and

answering quite perfunctorily] I promise, my darling.

MRS DUBEDAT. When you want money, you will always come to me.

LOUIS. But it's so sordid, dearest. I hate money. I cant keep always

bothering you for money, money, money. Thats what drives me sometimes to

ask other people, though I hate doing it.

MRS DUBEDAT. It is far better to ask me, dear. It gives people a wrong

idea of you.

LOUIS. But I want to spare your little fortune, and raise money on my

own work. Dont be unhappy, love: I can easily earn enough to pay it all

back. I shall have a one-man-show next season; and then there will be no

more money troubles. [Putting down his palette] There! I mustnt do any

more on that until it's bone-dry; so you may come down.

MRS DUBEDAT [throwing off the drapery as she steps down, and revealing a

plain frock of tussore silk] But you have promised, remember, seriously

and faithfully, never to borrow again until you have first asked me.

LOUIS. Seriously and faithfully. [Embracing her] Ah, my love, how right

you are! how much it means to me to have you by me to guard me against

living too much in the skies. On my solemn oath, from this moment forth

I will never borrow another penny.

MRS DUBEDAT [delighted] Ah, thats right. Does his wicked worrying wife

torment him and drag him down from the clouds? [She kisses him]. And

now, dear, wont you finish those drawings for Maclean?

LOUIS. Oh, they dont matter. Ive got nearly all the money from him in

advance.

MRS DUBEDAT. But, dearest, that is just the reason why you should finish

them. He asked me the other day whether you really intended to finish

them.

LOUIS. Confound his impudence! What the devil does he take me for? Now

that just destroys all my interest in the beastly job. Ive a good mind

to throw up the commission, and pay him back his money.

MRS DUBEDAT. We cant afford that, dear. You had better finish the

drawings and have done with them. I think it is a mistake to accept

money in advance.

LOUIS. But how are we to live?

MRS DUBEDAT. Well, Louis, it is getting hard enough as it is, now that

they are all refusing to pay except on delivery.

LOUIS. Damn those fellows! they think of nothing and care for nothing

but their wretched money.

MRS DUBEDAT. Still, if they pay us, they ought to have what they pay

for.

LOUIS [coaxing;] There now: thats enough lecturing for to-day. Ive

promised to be good, havnt I?

MRS DUDEBAT [putting her arms round his neck] You know that I hate

lecturing, and that I dont for a moment misunderstand you, dear, dont

you?

LOUIS [fondly] I know. I know. I'm a wretch; and youre an angel. Oh, if

only I were strong enough to work steadily, I'd make my darling's house

a temple, and her shrine a chapel more beautiful than was ever imagined.

I cant pass the shops without wrestling with the temptation to go in and

order all the really good things they have for you.

MRS DUBEDAT. I want nothing but you, dear. [She gives him a caress, to

which he responds so passionately that she disengages herself]. There!

be good now: remember that the doctors are coming this morning. Isnt it

extraordinarily kind of them, Louis, to insist on coming? all of them,

to consult about you?

LOUIS [coolly] Oh, I daresay they think it will be a feather in their

cap to cure a rising artist. They wouldnt come if it didnt amuse them,

anyhow. [Someone knocks at the door]. I say: its not time yet, is it?

MRS DUDEBAT. No, not quite yet.

LOUIS [opening the door and finding Ridgeon there] Hello, Ridgeon.

Delighted to see you. Come in.

MRS DUDEBAT [shaking hands] It's so good of you to come, doctor.

LOUIS. Excuse this place, wont you? Its only a studio, you know: theres

no real convenience for living here. But we pig along somehow, thanks to

Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Now I'll run away. Perhaps later on, when youre finished

with Louis, I may come in and hear the verdict. [Ridgeon bows rather

constrainedly]. Would you rather I didnt?

RIDGEON. Not at all. Not at all.

Mrs Dubedat looks at him, a little puzzled by his formal manner; then

goes into the inner room.

LOUIS [flippantly] I say: dont look so grave. Theres nothing awful going

to happen, is there?

RIDGEON. No.

LOUIS. Thats all right. Poor Jennifer has been looking forward to

your visit more than you can imagine. Shes taken quite a fancy to you,

Ridgeon. The poor girl has nobody to talk to: I'm always painting.