Complete Plays of John Galsworthy eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 1,284 pages of information about Complete Plays of John Galsworthy.

Complete Plays of John Galsworthy eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 1,284 pages of information about Complete Plays of John Galsworthy.

Wellwyn.  No-it wouldn’t be.

Mrs. Megan. [Timidly.] If I had an ’at on, I’d look better.

Wellwyn.  With feathers?

Mrs. Megan.  Yes.

Wellwyn.  Well, you can’t!  I don’t like hats, and I don’t like feathers.

     [Mrs. Megan timidly tugs his sleeve.  Timson, screened as he
     thinks by the picture, has drawn from his bulky pocket a bottle
     and is taking a stealthy swig.]

Wellwyn. [To Mrs. Megan, affecting not to notice.] How much do I owe you?

Mrs. Megan. [A little surprised.] You paid me for to-day-all ’cept a penny.

Wellwyn.  Well!  Here it is. [He gives her a coin.] Go and get your feet on!

Mrs. Megan.  You’ve give me ’arf a crown.

Wellwyn.  Cut away now!

[Mrs. Megan, smiling at the coin, goes towards the model’s room.  She looks back at Wellwyn, as if to draw his eyes to her, but he is gazing at the picture; then, catching old Timson’s sour glance, she grimaces at him, kicking up her feet with a little squeal.  But when Wellwyn turns to the sound, she is demurely passing through the doorway.]

Timson. [In his voice of dubious sobriety.] I’ve finished these yer brushes, sir.  It’s not a man’s work.  I’ve been thinkin’ if you’d keep an ’orse, I could give yer satisfaction.

Wellwyn.  Would the horse, Timson?

Timson. [Looking him up and down.] I knows of one that would just suit yer.  Reel ’orse, you’d like ’im.

Wellwyn. [Shaking his head.] Afraid not, Timson!  Awfully sorry, though, to have nothing better for you than this, at present.

Timson. [Faintly waving the brushes.] Of course, if you can’t afford it, I don’t press you—­it’s only that I feel I’m not doing meself justice. [Confidentially.] There’s just one thing, sir; I can’t bear to see a gen’leman imposed on.  That foreigner—­’e’s not the sort to ’ave about the place.  Talk?  Oh! ah!  But ’e’ll never do any good with ’imself.  He’s a alien.

Wellwyn.  Terrible misfortune to a fellow, Timson.

Timson.  Don’t you believe it, sir; it’s his fault I says to the young lady yesterday:  Miss Ann, your father’s a gen’leman [with a sudden accent of hoarse sincerity], and so you are—­I don’t mind sayin’ it—­but, I said, he’s too easy-goin’.

Wellwyn.  Indeed!

Timson.  Well, see that girl now! [He shakes his head.] I never did believe in goin’ behind a person’s back—­I’m an Englishman—­but [lowering his voice] she’s a bad hat, sir.  Why, look at the street she comes from!

Wellwyn.  Oh! you know it.

Timson.  Lived there meself larst three years.  See the difference a few days’ corn’s made in her.  She’s that saucy you can’t touch ’er head.

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Project Gutenberg
Complete Plays of John Galsworthy from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.