The passing of the third floor back; an idle fancy in a prologue, a play, and an epilogue

Prologue

SCENE

The first floor front of 13, Bloomshury Place, London, W. C. The furniture is of the Early Victorian or horsehair period. A worn Brussels carpet covers the floor. A large round table occupies the centre of the room. The high hay windows, looking out upon the street, are draped with red curtains; between them stands a small desk. Against the wall at hack, an old-fashioned cottage piano, and a sidehoard. From the wall to the right of the audience large folding doors lead into the dining-room. Two easy-chairs face the fire, which is supposed to he in front: a dull red glow spreads itself across the room. The door at hack opens into the passage. Opposite to it is the front door, surmounted by a "fanlight"; and heyond, the evermisty square, leafless in winter dreariness. A [71 heavy three-branched gaselier hangs from the ceiling, the globes hidden under paper shades. It is a Friday afternoon in November.

[MRS. SHARPE is making out her bills. She is a tall, thin, sharp-featured woman. She wears a widow's cap and spectacles; the latter she takes off when not writing. She looks up from her writing, looks at her watch, then calls.]

Stasia! {She rises and goes to the door.] Lazy hussy. {Calls louder] Stasia !

{Without.] All right — all right. Don't shout. Spoil yer voice for singing.

{Enter as she speaks stasia, carrying a tray laden with tea-things. She is a slatternly young person, her hair fluffed all about her head.]

Don't answer me like that, you workhouse brat you. What have you been doing?

Injoring myself. {Puts down the tray on the table. ] All there is to do in this plice.

The Passing of the Thn-d Floor Back

You take care you don't lose it — find yourself with the key of the street in your pocket. Not many places open to girls just out of prison.

Industrial school, if you please.

[Gives a snorting laugh.] What time did old Wright come in last night?

[She is laying the table.] 'Bout 'alf past 'leven or quarter to twelve.

Drunk ?

Oh, just fuddled, sime as usual. You know, I suppose, that ye're out of whiskey ?

I'd forgotten it.

Lucky 'e wasn't in a noticing mood. I give 'im 'alf a tumblerful of cold tea and filled it up with soda water. 'E went to bed singing. [Laughs.]

[Thinking aloud.] Cold tea? Not a bad idea, that. Much the same colour.

And less 'armful.

[She grows confidential] He's the only one that ever asks for whiskey ?

Only one of 'em as I'd trust not to blackmail yer afterwards for selling it to them without a licence.

No need to let him have it when he's sober. You can have mislaid the key. Understand ?

I understand. And where do I come in ?

You be a good girl, and maybe I'll find a blouse I've done with, when I've time to go over my drawer.

Rather 'ave it 'fore you've done with it, if ye're sure yer can spare it. Don't want to be mistook, when I go out, for a bit of old London.

[lo]

We'll see about it. Perhaps [On her way

back to the desk she has drifted near to the piano.] Who's been burning these candles? They are two inches shorter than when I blew them out last night — that I'll swear.

Nobody been in 'ere as I know of.

The tricks and the dodges that they're up to ! It's like living in a den of lions, [She has whipped out the candles, and with a pair of scissors is making secret marks upon them; which done, she replaces them.]

It's a rummy world when you come to think of it. [Cheerfully] Got to be doing somebody or being done from the time you get up in the morning until yer goes to bed at night. And when yer do fall asleep, it's to dream you've forgotten to bolt yer door. By the by, what about that third floor back? Ain't yer going to do anything?

[II]

Oh! I've spent more than I'll get out of it in a month, advertising it.

You don't make 'em spicy enough. [She takes up a folded copy of "The Christian World."] This is the sort of thing you want. [Reads] " To the lonely : all the joys of 'ome."

Yes, I tried that one — once. Told me with tears in his eyes that I reminded him of his mother, and went off before five o'clock the next morning with the drawing-room clock.

'Ow about a card ? That don't cost you nothing.

Don't quite like the idea of a card. Inviting all the rag-tag and bob-tail of the street to come into your house, it always seems to me like. Never know who may knock at your door.

Maybe the very one you're waiting for. Was reading a story only the other d'y. A young girl — just in a spirit of fun like — puts up a card in the window, and a young man comes along, and just for the joke of it they take 'im in, and 'e turns out to be a nobleman — in disguise.

Yes, I can believe in the disguise. No ; I don't like the idea of a card. We'll keep the house respectable so long as we can. [With her hills in her hand she is passing out. She pauses to examine the milk- jug.] I think, Stasia, the milk will bear a little more water. [She goes out by the folding-doors.]

[Mimics.] "Don't quite like the idea of a card." Silly old fool ! Don't know her own business.

[stasia thinks. She makes sure that mrs. sharpe is out of sight; then takes a card from the drawer of the desk: with a chair goes-out into the passage, climbs up and places the card in the fanlight over the front door. Returns. A beam of sunlight has softly stolen through the dingy fanlight. It lies across the room, growing in brightness, stasia returning, after having replaced the chair, stops puzzled for a moment — sunbeams in Bloomsbury in November being rare.]

Gorblimy, if it ain't the sun! [She smiles.] Forgotten all about 'im!

[Then fetches a jug of water from the sideboard. Is about to Jill up the milk-jug; pauses; looks round. Takes a long pull from the jug first. Then fills it up and replaces the water- jug. She goes out.]

[The front door is opened with a latch-key and miss KITE enters. She is a maiden lady of forty; her ambition is to appear nineteen. She is painted and powdered and frizzled and beribboned. She wears fluffy golden hair, has pencilled eyebrows, made-up eyelashes, and carmine lips, with a waist of twenty-two. She giggles and gushes and simpers and bridles; and whenever she thinks nobody sees, is with the help of a pocket-mirror and toilet-case forever powdering and patching herself.]

[She looks in, sees the room is empty, enters. Opening her reticule, she takes out four candle ends, substitutes them for the half-burnt piano candles. This is done swiftly and neatly. Hearing footsteps, she slips out, closing the door softly behind her.]

[Re-enter mrs. sharpe with a teapot. She puts down the teapot on the table ; taking the key from her pocket, opens the tantalus on the sideboard, brings down the whiskey decanter and proceeds to fill it from the teapot. Holding it up to judge of the colour, she catches sight of the changed candles. She puts down the whiskey decanter and charges across the room; examines them — but of course they could not be the same. She is standing with them in her hand when re-enter stasia, with remainder of tea-things, including large teapot.]

Who's been in here ?

Nobody.

What's the good of telling lies?

Who's telling lies? Think everybody's like yourself? Can't open their mouth

Somebody must have been here. Candles don't change themselves. I'm

[Re-enter Miss kite, having taken off her cloak and hat. A silence.]

[i5l

You haven't any idea, I presume, Miss Kite, who has been in here stealing the candles ?

Stealing the candles !

I beg their pardon. I should say "exchanging." That's no robbery, of course. [From mock politeness to sudden fierceness] Taking four of them measuring well over six inches each, leaving me a set of measly stumps. [Rams them back into their sockets.] Nice sort of people Hving in this house, I must say.

[The tell-tale teapot with the unstoppered whiskey decanter beside it, remains on the table, miss kite sniffs expressively.] Yes, do seem to be a bit tricky, some of them, don't they ?

[She savagely puts back the decanter. To stasia] Don't stand there grinning, you slatternly monkey. Pull up your stockings, do ; and ring the tea-bell.

[She gives her the cold teapot, and stasia goes out. The bell is heard. A loud, brutal-sounding bell.]

f i6]

Shouldn't be surprised, between ourselves, if it wasn't that girl Stasia. Tell you what I saw her doing only the other day

[There enters MRS. major tompkins. She is plump, pretty, forty- five, with white hair.] Oh, good afternoon, dear Mrs. Tompkins.

[MRS. TOMPKINS and MRS. SHARPE exchange a "Good afternoon." They seat themselves.]

And how is the dear Major? I thought he seemed a little " liverish " this morning.

Always is after dining out — at somebody else's expense. [She laughs.] Never can resist the temptation of over-eating himself.

Poor man! Doesn't often get the opportunity, does he? Dear Mrs. Sharpe sees to that. [She giggles.] Only my little joke, dear.

A generous table I have always advertised, and a generous table it will always be my endeavour to

Tlie Passing of the Third Floor Back

maintain. Of course, if people will tight-lace so that their food can't

Not too much cream, dear, thank you.

[Examines the milk.] It does look a bit thin. Shall really have to change my milkman — if' this goes on.

Tradesmen are such thieves! [She winks at mrs. TOMPKINS.] Isn't Mrs. Dooley — I beg her pardon, Mrs. de Hooley — going to honour us with her presence this afternoon?

Perhaps we are not good enough company for the cousin of a baronet. [Laughs.]

Perhaps not. But I think we might be for the widow of a potato salesman. My dear, I know it for a fact. And oh, her meanness! Would you believe it, her own sister, her own nephews and nieces, starving : literally

[MRS. DE HOOLEY has entered, a large, flabby, pak" [18]

faced lady. She speaks with the accent of aristocratic languor, mrs. sharpe has given a warning "Hush!"] We were just talking about you, dear. So afraid you weren't coming. But why in mourning, dear? I thought you had left it off. Not another loss, I hope ?

[MRS. SHARPE has Tisefi and rung the bell.]

Not your cousin, the baronet?

[Seating herself.] Her late Majesty, the Queen of Naples.

[She winks at the others.] Must be very expensive, belonging to Court circles. Don't you find it so ?

My dear, you can have no conception. There are times, I assure you, when I wish I had been born one of the people.

[A German band out in the Square begins to play The sound conies muffled.]

Hark!

Shall I open the window a little way, dear! The fog has lifted. We shall be able to hear better. [She half rises.]

[stasia has entered with a jug of hot water.]

No, dear. If they see a lady, they'll expect something. Stasia, you just open the window a little way.

Gar on. Why not pay up yer tuppence and enjoy the luxury of feeling honest ? Only a 'a'penny a-piece.

Mrs. sharpe You do as you are told.

[She goes to the window and throws it open. Calls out.] Pl'y up. We're all a-listening!

You baggage !

[stasia goes out laughing.]

I wonder at your keeping that girl. MISS kite You got her from Walworth Jail, didn't you, dear?

Industrial school.

My mistake, dear. I was speaking to one of the matrons about her only the other day. Very bad stock. The mother — well, we needn't go into particulars. [Giggles.] Hope you're getting her cheap, dear.

If she can do any better for herself, the door's open. And if it comes to talk about getting things cheap — especially candles

She's not the class of girl to have about the place. I've always said so.

It does seem to me that when you are catering for ladies and gentlemen

And when one remembers there are young girls about the house. [To mrs. tompkins.] Is it true, dear, that dear Miss Tompkins is engaged to Mr. Wright? Can we congratulate you?

Well, nothing is absolutely settled.

Oh ! Oh, I do hope she gets him. Because she has worked hard, poor girl.

Yes, and if paint and powder could have done it

[The COLLECTOR for the German hand appears at the window. He thrusts his little hag on the end of a stick through the opening.]

COLLECTOR

Go away. We don't give to beggars.

COLLECTOR

For ze moosik — yes?

The persistence of the man !

We never encourage foreigners.

COLLECTOR

Yes?

No. I shall call the police — polizei !

COLLECTOR

Pigs!

[Who has risen and crossed, bangs the window.]

Did you hear that ? Called us pigs !

It's surprising how well they know English.

[Reseating herself.] You'll take another cup of tea?

[She has risen. She is still ruffled from her encounter with MISS KITE.] Thank you, Mrs. Sharpe, but there are one or two little things I have to see to.

I hope you don't mind what I said just now about dear Vivian. Only my little Joke.

Of course, if it was only a joke

You're sure you won't have another cup?

Quite, thank you, dear. To tell you the truth, I rather want to be upstairs when my old man comes in. There's a little dressing-down I owe him that he got out of last night. [She laughs.]

[Laughs also.] He doesn't often dodge it, does he, dear? Not when you're feeling yourself.

Well, I flatter myself he knows what I think of him. [Laughing, goes out, well pleased with herself.]

Really, I feel quite sorry for that poor man. Of course he is a beast.

My dear, he can give her as good as he gets.

How they keep it up is a mystery to me. It's cat [24]

and dog from the time they get up in the morning till they go to bed at night.

Young Larkcom calls them " Darby and Joan." [They all laugh.]

She didn't hke what I said about the girl. [Giggles.] And it's only the truth. The shameless way she has set her cap at that poor man! Makes one blush for one's sex.

Merely a common racing man, wasn't he?

A bookmaker — until he lost his voice.

They say it was the funniest thing at the end: to hear him trying to shout [Mimics] " Two to one, bar one." Nobody could hear him a yard away.

You think he's really as rich as he makes out he is ?

Well, I wouldn't like to say that — of anybody. [25I

Well, my advice to her would be to marry him quickly and take him away — somewhere where our Israelitish friend Jape Samuels won't be able to get hold of him — unless, of course, she loves him for himself alone.

I've noticed Samuels has been pretty soapy to him of late. What is the little try-on? Have you heard anything ?

A little, my dear, [She Tvinks.] Can't very well help it if people will talk loud enough to be heard the other side of a deal door. Of course, he may have a silver-mine to sell, and it may be worth all that he says it is, and then, again, it mayn't.

[The clock strikes the half -hour — two strokes.]

Half-past. [Rising.] I must be seeing about dinner. It's a funny world, [To mrs. de hooley] Won't you take anything more ?

Nothing more, thank you. [26]

Funny people in it.

[Has suggested to her another slice of cake.]

No, thanks, dear. What is the menu to-night?

[She is by the sideboard.] Well, I thought a curry would be a pleasant change this evening.

Ah yes, just the day for it. And your curries, dear, are always so good.

Oh, I'm SO glad you like them. You're sure you've finished ?

Quite, dear, thank you.

I'll send the girl to clear away.

[MRS. SHARPE, unobsewed, has locked the tantalus. She goes out through the folding-doors.]

[Looks round the room and sees that mrs. sharpe has gone.] That means that the veal is a bit "off." Such a useful thing, a little curry powder, for disguising the smell.

{She sighs.] I suppose they are all alike — lodging-house keepers.

Cats, my dear, all of them. There's no other word for them — cats.

[As together they go towards the door.] It's a wicked world.

Ah, you may well say that. And it don't get any better, that's the sad

[MRS. DE HOOLEY has Opened the door. The beam of sunlight falls full upon their faces, making them both blink for the moment.]

Well, I never ! Quite a treat to see the sun. [28]

Well, myself, I don't care for it.

You don't !

My dear, it shows us all up too much. [She giggles; and they go out, leaving the door open.]

The stage remains empty for a few seconds. Then the front door is opened with a latch-key. major TOMPKINS enters. He is a fine, well-set-up man, with a military bearing; a ruddy face with white hair and moustache. He wears a frock coat, tightly buttoned, silk hat, and a single eye-glass. He carries gloves and a walking-stick. He looks into the room, and his eyes fasten on the remains of the tea. He looks out and up and down the stairs and passage; then enters the room, humming an air. Hurriedly he empties the remainder of the biscuits, together with the cake, into his hat. This done, still humming and with a jaunty step, he makes for the door. But as he reaches it:

There re-enters mrs. sharpe.]

Ah, Mrs. Sharpe, good afternoon. And how is Mrs. Sharpe this afternoon?

Quite well, thank you, Major Tompkins.

Delighted ! — delighted !

[She glances at the table, and takes in the facts. She closes the door with a click, and stands in front of it. She makes a quick movement to try to see into the hat. By exceeding nimbleness he frustrates her.] Won't you put your hat down, ]yiajor?

I thank you, Mrs. Sharpe, but I'm rather in a hurry.

[With sudden fierceness.'] And so am I — for thirty-six pounds eighteen shillings and fourpence. Which unless you pay me by twelve o'clock to-morrow I intend to sue you for in the County Court. And that before we are either of us a week older.

Let us be business-like.

Most happy.

You can sue me, Mrs. Sharpe, and you won't get so much as a damned penny.

Perhaps not; perhaps yes.

I propose to you, Mrs. Sharpe, that you accept my bill for one hundred pounds at three months. By which date the chances are that my daughter will be Mrs. Joseph Wright, and that I shall be in a position to meet it.

And meanwhile I am to go on keeping you all three.

[Shrugs his shoulders.] I put it to you as a gamble. [Close to her — confidential] Mr. Wright has made my daughter a formal offer of marriage. Vivian hesitates a little. It is natural. But she has sense. She will listen to her old father's advice, [with a chuckle] especially seeing it will be to her own advantage.

Hardly to her advantage paying your debts. [31I

[He seats himself at the table.] Hardly to her advantage allowing it to appear in all the papers that her father is being sued for board and lodging. Family pride, Mrs. Sharpe — there is such a thing as family pride.

[Yielding.] Well, only mind

[He has taken out his pocket-book and his pen.] A business man, Mrs. Sharpe, is always prepared for

business. Let me see, to-day is [He is filling

in the bill.]

[VIVIAN has entered unobserved. She is in walking-dress. She is a tall, handsome girl, dark, with strong but finely cut features; dark, passionate eyes; and bears towards all things a weary, mocking manner.]

[She looks from one to the other; closes door.] And if I don't?

My dear !

Oh, let us talk plainly. [She crosses, taking off her hat, etc.] You are persuading Mrs. Sharpe to bet on the chance of my accepting Mr. Joseph Wright's clammy and, generally speaking, not over-clean hand.

Well, to be candid. Miss Tompkins, I don't see any other hope myself of my ever getting my money.

And to be equally candid with everybody, nor more do I.

I should risk it, Mrs. Sharpe. I think you will win.

Mrs. Sharpe, you hear. You

Of course, there is the possibility that in some moment of self-respect I may be tempted to tell him how the mere touch of him is loathsome to me.

Vivian! My dear!

I merely mention it that everything may be quite [33l fair. Mrs. Sharpe will judge for herself whether in the end I am more likely to be influenced by self-respect or self-interest.

[Whispers.] A little fretful. But plenty of sense.

[She has decided to chance it.] Mind, if it isn't met

It shall be met, Mrs. Sharpe, on the honour of a soldier.

[Putting the bill in her pocket.] I'm putting my trust more in Miss Vivian.

[She goes out.]

[He answers her with a pleasant laugh and a wave of the hand. Then he turns to his daughter.] My

dear child, I cannot tell you [She is carrying

his hat towards the window.] What are you doing? Vivian ! [She opens the window and flings the contents of the hat into the street.] How dare you! Damn your infernal impudence! How dare you!

[Having closed the window, she faces him. The bluster falls from him.] The wastefulness — the wicked wastefulness! [She hands him the empty hat.] Robbing your own father to fling it to the mere street brats ! Look at 'em ! — look at 'em ! [She hands him his stick and gloves. Again he collapses, and taking them, goes towards the door.] My one weakness: a nibble of something sweet with the last glass — just before going to bed. [From tears again to fury.] And you knew it, you

[MRS. TOMPKINS has entered with a soft step and smiling face. A silence.]

I thought I heard your voice.

[Snarls.] Ah, you did, did you? Yes, some of us have got long ears.

One doesn't want them^ particularly long to hear you, when you are bullying a woman !

Bullying! I? Why haven't you brought up your daughter to respect her father?

Vivian, haven't I always impressed it upon you that it is your duty to hide the contempt you can't help feeling for your father ?

[Snarls.] Ah! look at her, standing there grinning — after all that I've done for her.

That you

Wasn't it I who brought old Wright here ? Haven't I invited him to my own club — and been asked to resign myself in consequence? Don't I listen to his damned silly stories?

And borrow half-crowns from him.

It all helps. It makes him feel one of the family.

The family don't get many of them.

Don't! Who keeps both of you — in luxury? [36]

Mrs. Sharpe!

Mrs. Sharpe! You throw that in my teeth, you; when your own father died bankrupt.

Why did you swindle him?

Who swindled him?

You ! Didn't you take all my money ?

Your money ! Who cheated

Who stole

Who

[joey WRIGHT has entered, a man of a little over 60 perhaps, with the face and figure of Silenus: a leering, blear-eyed, perspiring person. He speaks always in a hoarse whisper; wears extravagant clothes and a quantity of jewellery.]

[In a moment the major and mrs. tompkins are all smiles and smirks.]

Ah ! and how is

Good after —

[He waves them aside.] Finish it out — finish it out. Don't let me spoil sport. Only looked in to ask Miss Vivian if she wouldn't come to the theatre with me this evening. Got a box for the Gaiety. [He goes to her; she moves a step 0^03;.]

Delighted, I'm sure. [He is making frantic signs to VIVIAN.] The dear child will be delighted.

You'll be able to wear your new frock, dear.

Thanks. I'm not feeling particularly inclined for the theatre to-night.

Not even with the little supper — the little supper [38]

afterwards at the Savoy? [He is winking at joey

WRIGHT.] WRIGHT

You might come. You never will. Shall begin to think you don't like me.

[Turns and looks at him, and as she turns away again she hesitates.] I'll think it over.

[He looks round at the parents questioningly.]

[Whispers to him.] That'll be all right.

You have the cab ready waiting at the door.

[He nods his understanding.] That's all I came for. Sorry to have interrupted. [He goes out.]

[The MAJOR carefully closes the door, vivian has taken up her hat.]

Well, what are you going to do? [39l

" Think it over " — for myself and by myself. [Her eyes are blading.] [A silence.]

[Looks at VIVIAN, then at his wife.]

[They speak in low tones.] Perhaps we shall only irritate her.

Plain enough where she gets her damned obstinacy from. [He flings out of the room.]

[Following. The quarrel continues up the stairs.] Yes. I'd be sorry to think that she took after you. Eh, what do you say?

[viviAN crosses, carrying her hat and cloak. The shaft of sunlight has grown stronger. Catching her eyes, it causes her to pause. She stands a moment looking at it. A faint smile comes. She then lays down what she is carrying, and stretching out her hands, warms them childishly in the light. Thus she is standing, her face uplifted to the light, when CHRISTOPHER enters.

[CHRISTOPHER takes her outstretched hands, and in silence they stand just within the doorway, illumined by the sun. After a while he releases her hands and closes the door. The room darkens. She lets her hands fall by her side, and moves away. ]

I crossed the old folks on the stairs. [Laughs.] I thought you might be here.

I was just going up to dress.

There's no hurry, is there?

Yes.

Why?

My future husband may be coming back. [A silence.]

You have made up your mind ?

[She nods.] What else is to be done? [41]

Vivian, listen. Artists do make money — ^heaps of money.

After how many years ? We would both be old.

[An evil look in his face.] There are pictures people will buy and pay well for. I can knock them off quickly. They don't want Art.

Ah ! don't. It was why I loved you. You seemed to me the only human creature with a soul I'd ever met. Let me respect you.

I don't want your respect. I want you. [He seises her. The passion is in his eyes.]

Hark! Go!

Vivian! You must — you shall.

Don't be a fool. [She frees herself from him.] Do you want to sink to my level ?

Yes. I tell you I want you. I

[There enters harry larkcom, about five-andtwenty, a cheerful young bounder, loudly dressed. He carries about him the atmosphere of the musichall. With him jape samuels, an older man, a Jew of the most objectionable type, now oily, now aggressive. His dress is that of the city man. vivian collects her belongings and moves to go out. lark- COM, the low comedian of the house, opens the door for her, bowing with hand on heart, samuels kisses his hand after her. She goes out. larkcom closes the door, and they both turn round with a laugh. CHRISTOPHER has noticed, bit his lip, and turned away.]

How are you getting on?

I have begun them. You shall have them by the end of next week.

Good man. Get you another job when they're done. Keep them thpithy. You know what I mean: don't watht too much paint on the clothe. [Laughs.]

I quite understand. Thank you — very much. [He goes out.]

Don't mention it. [He kicks the door to after him. Turns to larkcom.] Keep him up to it. I can thell ath many ath he can paint of the thort at twithe what I pay him. Tell you what I want you to do for me.

[He is unlocking the tantalus, with a key from his own pocket.] Found it out by accident. Fits it like a glove. [They laugh.] See that the old girl ain't coming.

[He peeps out, closes the door again.] It'th all right. I want you to take old Wright out to lunth next Wednethday at Romanoth. [He thrusts his face forward with his finger at the side of his nose.] And don't be thingy with the drinkth.

[Laughs.]

Put him in a cab afterwardth and bring him up to [44]

my little plathe in the thity. We'll have everything jutht ready for him to thign.

You don't think he's a bit too fly ?

[The finger to the nose again.] Have a girl with you.

You are a rare old gimlet, you are. [Has prepared what he thinks to he two whiskies-and-water. He hands one to Samuels.]