Stephen. You're a bit early for the meeting, Sam. (Crosses to c. above table.)

Bamford. Yes; fact is, I wanted a word with you alone about that other matter.

Ste. Lucy?

Bam. (r. c.). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, Verity.

Ste. No need to be.

Bam. Well, I am.

Ste. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love it churns up his inside a bit.

Bam. 'Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. (Crosses l.)

Ste. You're young enough for all marriageable purposes.

Bam. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make that girl happy.

Ste. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you?

Bam. Yes.

Ste. And you promised her a carriage?

Bam. Yes.

Ste. And as much dressing as she's a mind to? Bam. Yes.

Ste. (sits above table). Then what's troubling you? What else does any female woman want?

Bam. (sits l. of table). Eh! I dunno! They're a grasping lot, women..

Ste. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's not been well brought up? You're as good as telling me she's not good enough for you.

Bam. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not be good enough for her.

Ste. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. We said it once, you and I, and we're not weathervanes.

Bam. (resignedly). Yes, I suppose it's settled.

Ste. That's all right, then.

(Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, Maid exit.)

Ah, good evening, Smithson. (Rises.)

Smiths. Good evening, Verity. (Shakes hands.) Evening, Bamford.

Bam. Good evening.

Ste. (to Smithson). Seen anything of Alcorn? Smiths. Yes. He's gone round to the Post Office on his way here to see if a letter's been forwarded from the London office.

Ste. Well, sit you down.

(They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. and Bamford l.)

I've a bit of news for you gentlemen.

Smiths. Yes?

Ste. I've been paying a call—afternoon call on some friends of mine in the Polygon.

Bam. What!

Ste. Take it easy, Sam. (Chuckles.) Aye, they wanted the Council to petition Sir Charles not to sell. Tried to get me to do it for 'em.

Smiths. Good, that.

Ste. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, and we come to a sort of a compromise.

Smiths. Compromise?

Bam. Compromise! Verity? I don't like that word.

Ste. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles asking him to sell the town their grass plat—tennis courts and what-not—if he'll leave their houses alone.

Bam. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it sounds like treachery to the company.

Ste. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter myself.

Bam. That makes it worse.

Ste. Don't be stupid, Sam.

Bam. (indignantly). Stupid! I say, Verity——

Ste. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got an offer, the company's offer, cash down for the whole Polygon.

Smiths. Aye.

Ste. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his tenants there, old tenants, doesn't want to turn them out, that sort of thing.

Smiths. Quite likely.

Ste. Then he gets their letter. Sees they're ready to lose their tennis courts. All right, says he, if they're a slack back set of weaklings to propose that of themselves, I shan't have any trouble in getting shut of them altogether. Their rents aren't worth having. But the company's offer's a sound ready cash affair. He's a bit short of the ready, isn't he?

Bam. Aye. Above a bit.

Ste. So when he sees they'll shift without trouble, being weak enough to offer a compromise before they're even asked for one, he'll take a flying jump at our offer, and there you are. And a good afternoon's work I call it.

Bam. Verity, I apologize. You're the dandiest schemer I ever saw, and I've seen some warm members in my time.

Ste. Well, they sent for me. I didn't think this out. I just saw the chance while I was there.

Smiths. You don't let much pass you, Verity.

Ste. I take my brains along when I go calling of an afternoon on my swell friends. I'd like to bet that letter Alcorn's fetching says "Yes" to our offer.

Bam. It's odds on, or I'd take you.

(Maid announces Mr. Walter Montgomery. Enter Walter. Exit Maid.)

Ste. Hullo! Oh, damn!

Walter (r. c.). Good evening, Mr. Verity. Good evening. I hope I don't interrupt business.

Ste. Young man, you appear to have a lot of time on your hands.

Walter. It's an important part of my business to visit my parishioners, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Humph! Our turn for your parochial attentions soon comes round again. You were here a week ago.

Walter. On my own business that time, sir.

Ste. What is it this time?

Walter. You're sure I'm not interrupting you?

Ste. I'm sure you are. Go on.

Walter. I've come to put you on your guard. You led me to suppose, and I in turn told Mr. Vining, that the town authorities were proposing to buy the Polygon.

Ste. And aren't they?

Walter. As an Alderman you ought to know that better than I do.

Ste. Never mind what I know. The question is, what do you know?

Walter. Oh, we fellows who go into the Church don't know much. You told me yourself we go there because we're chicken-hearted fools without an ounce of sense or fight in us.

Bam. Can't you make him cut the cackle, Verity?

Walter. Cackling's a professional failing, Mr. Bamford. We get the talking habit in the pulpit.

Bam. You're not in the pulpit now.

Walter. No, sir. In the pulpit I'm in good company—my own.

Bam. What the——

Walter. In this room I'm in the company of certain members of a rascally syndicate who hope to buy the Polygon cheap from Sir Charles and sell dear to the town when they've carefully engineered a public demand.

Smiths. Who told you?

Ste. Tch, Smithson! Where the devil did you raise this cock and bull story?

Walter. Oh, I don't think it was the devil. On the contrary, in fact, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Come to facts.

Walter. Facts? Shall I give you names? (Strolls round back to fireplace.) I regret the absence of Mr. Alcorn and Miss Verity, but—well, gentlemen, you're found out.

Ste. (pause). And if we are? (Rises.)

Smiths, (to Stephen). And if we are, some one's blabbed.

Bam. (to Stephen). And you're the only one who pays afternoon calls in the Polygon.

Ste. (bending over table, beneath his breath). Fools! (Aloud.) Do you think I foul my own nest?

Bam. Then if it isn't you, who is it? Tell me that.

(Stephen looks first at Bamford, then Smithson, then suddenly moves to door l. and calls.)

Ste. Lucy! Lucy! Come here! (Returns above table.)

Bam. That's the worst of having a woman in the thing. They will talk.

Ste. How could she talk? She knew nothing.

(Lucy enters.)

Walter (l.). Funny how things get about, isn't it?

Lucy (up l.). Did you call me, father?

Ste. (to Walter, still ignoring Lucy). Get about? How many have you told?

Walter. Oh, I've told nobody. Secrets cease to be valuable when they're told, and I don't mind telling you this secret's going to be a valuable lever to me.

Ste. (to Lucy). You've been talking to him.

Lucy (up l.). Yes. I told him all you told me.

Ste. I didn't tell you anything.

Lucy. Oh, yes. You and Mr. Bamford. (Stephen turns on Bamford.)

Bam. I? I never breathed.

Lucy. You squabbled together about the profits.

Bam. We did say something.

Ste. And you pieced it out from that?

Lucy. Yes.

Bam. Um! smart girl, Verity. Chip of the old block.

Ste. Bit too smart this time. I hope she'll never play you a trick like that.

Bam. Yes, by Gad. I hadn't thought of that.

Walter. Well, gentlemen?

Ste. Oh, I'll attend to you. Look here, Sam—Smithson, I'll tackle this chap. Just go into the other room there, will you? (Pushes Smithson to go below table.) I've a private word for the parson.

Bam. Can I smoke there?

Ste. (r. c.). Aye.

(Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before fireplace, Lucy c, above table, Stephen r. of table.)

Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a trick do you call this to play on your future father-in-law? You've a queer idea of tact, you have.

Walter. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, sir.

Ste. You're not improving your chances of marrying my daughter, you know.

Walter. How do you know I want to marry her?

Lucy. Walter!

Ste. Why, you told me so yourself, the other night.

(Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire.)

Walter. Since then, you see, I've made discoveries. If a man is known by the company he keeps, the same applies to a woman. The woman I'm going to marry doesn't, help to form a robbery syndicate along with Messieurs Alcorn, Smithson and Bamford. So if you thought to buy my silence by giving me your daughter, you made a bad mistake. No. Bamford's the man for her. Partners in scoundrelism, partners in life.

(Enter Bamford l. and crosses r. c.)

Ste. What do you want now?

Bam. (apologetically, crossing r.). All right. I only want my pipe. Left it in my overcoat.

Walter. Mr. Bamford, I congratulate you. (Holding out hand.)

Bam. Eh? On what?

Walter, On being my successful rival for the hand of Miss Verity.

Bam. What's this? Was he the other you spoke of? (To Stephen.)

Walter (to Lucy). Don't be afraid.

Ste. Yes.

Bam. (to Walter). Who told you about me?

Walter. Oh, news soon gets round. (Lightly.)

Bam. (r. c.). Does it? Well, there's two sorts of news. Correct news and incorrect news. Both sorts gets round, but incorrect news gets round most. See what I mean?

Ste. (sternly). I don't.

Bam. (to Stephen). You will. (To Walter.) Look here, have you given her up?

Walter. You wouldn't have me stand in your way, would you?

Bam. So you have given her up. Why?

Walter. Oh, I had my reasons.

Bam. Had you now? I'd like to hear those reasons.

Walter. That's not quite fair to the lady, I think.

Ste. No. He's out of it.

Bam. Is he? I take no man's leavings without I know why he left 'em.

Walter. It's all square, man. She's yours now.

Bam. I beg to differ.

Ste. (angrily). What?

Lucy (rises to go). The goods needn't be on exhibition while the sale proceeds.

(Stephen points her angrily to chair l. She sits.)

Ste. Here, sit down. Now, Sam, what's it all about?

Bam. I'd as lief tell you when you're by yourself.

Walter. I thought so.

Ste. You can speak now. We're all concerned in this.

Walter. I beg your pardon. I've ceased to——

Ste. (his back to the right door). Now, Sam?

Walter (sitting below fire). Oh, very well.

Bam. (r. c., awkwardly). Well, I've been thinking things over. The married state and—well——

(Hesitating.)

Ste. (grimly). Yes, go on.

Bam. (desperately). It means giving up too much.

Ste. (c.). And a good thing, too, Sam Bamford. How much longer do you think you'll last at the pace you go? You're cracking up already—not half the man you were.

Lucy (icily). Think how nice it would be to have me for a nurse. I warm father's carpet slippers beautifully, don't I, and my gruel's a dream.

Bam. There's many a long day between me and carpet slippers and gruel. I like roving about, Verity, and that's a fact.

Ste. Didn't you think of that before?

Bam. I spoke hurried.

Ste. It's time you settled down. You won't lose much that a thousand a year and home comforts don't match.

Bam. I'm rich enough.

Ste. You didn't talk like that on Tuesday.

Bam. (irritably). I tell you, I've thought things over. Fact is, I didn't half like the way she answered you back. A man gets enough worries in his working day. When he gets home he wants peace and no back answers.

Ste. She's all right now. It was having him asking (indicating Walter) that made her proud. He's thrown her over—not good enough for him.

Bam. And she's not good enough for me, either. I can be a bit particular myself. I like 'em quiet.

Ste. She's as quiet as they make 'em.

Lucy. Father, I absolutely and finally decline to marry Mr. Bamford.

Bam. I ask you, does that sound like a quiet life?

Ste. Well, damme, Sam Bamford, you can't get a thousand a year without paying a tax on it.

Bam. You can pay too much tax if you get a woman thrown in with a razor instead of a tongue.

Ste. (disgustedly). I thought you were a man of your word.

Bam. And I thought you cracked to be a friend of mine.

Ste. I am your friend.

Bam. Perhaps; but as a rule when a man's as anxious as you are to sell an article I begin to think there's something wrong with the goods.

Ste. Didn't I tell you on Tuesday I didn't want her to marry at all?

Bam. Didn't Sir Charles' agent write me he wouldn't want to sell? And you know what you said about that.

Ste. But I'm not selling. I'm giving.

Bam. Yes, and nobody ever knew you to give away anything worth having. What's he given her the chuck for, if it comes to that? He knows something.

Walter. Yes. I know something, Mr. Bamford.

Ste. (raps table). I'm not going to be played about with like this. I never asked either of you to come after my daughter. You came because you liked, but you'll not cry off when you like.

Bam. What do you mean now?

Ste. One of you's going to marry her.

Bam. It won't be me, then. I don't want any woman with a temper of her own.

Ste. I tell you she hasn't got a temper.

Lucy (rises). I've got a tongue.

Ste. Be quiet.

Lucy. I won't be quiet while you wrangle over me like——

Ste. (thundering). Go to your room. I'll tame you.

(Lucy deliberately sits down.)

Bam. There you are, Verity. Regular spitfire. Too late to send her away now. I know what she is.

Walter (rising). So do I. She's a monstrous woman with an abnormally developed bump of business capacity and I absolutely decline to marry any member of a syndicate of avaricious thieves formed to swindle——

Ste. (interrupting). She's no more business capacity than a flea and I'll take her off the syndicate to-night, if that 'ull please you. Now then, which of you is it to be?

Bam. I don't wish to quarrel with you, Verity. I've told you I'm taking none.

Ste. (briskly). All right. Then you marry young Montgomery, Lucy. (Moves L. above table.)

Lucy. He says he won't have me while I'm in the Syndicate.

Ste. I'll get you out of that.

Bam. You can't do that, Verity. (Moves to table R.)

Ste. Can't I? I will, though.

Bam. You'll upset the whole thing.

Ste. I'll look after that.

(Maid announces Mr. Alcorn. Enter Alcorn; exit Maid r.)

Ste. Ah! Got the letter, Alcorn?

Alcorn. Yes. I don't understand it.

Ste. Just a moment. (Opens door l. and calls.) Smithson!

(Enter Smithson.)

Walter. I'd better go.

Ste. You've no need. You know so much about it you can stay and listen to the rest. (Gets chair.)

(Stephen sits at head of table. Bamford, Smithson, Alcorn sit as in Act II. Lucy stands r., Walter sits below fire.)

Alcorn. Well, gentlemen, he won't sell. (Taking out letter.)

Ste. Refuses to sell? What does this mean?

Smiths, (to Bamford). And you assured us he was broke.

Bam. So he was, absolutely broke. I don't understand it at all. .

Al. No more do I. Listen to this. (Reading letter.) "I regret my inability to entertain the offer made by your company. I have reason to believe that owing to overcrowding the land is urgently wanted and that the town authorities wish to deal with the matter themselves. I am having the tennis lawns, etc., valued independently and the town may then purchase at the valuation. I shall, however, not disturb my old tenants in the Polygon, this letter referring only to the open space now used as tennis lawns." Now what in thunder do you make of that?

Ste. (looking at Walter). You?

Walter. A letter to Monte Carlo only costs tuppence-halfpenny.

Bam. But hang it, Verity, the town isn't buying.

Ste. On the contrary, Sam, the town is. The overcrowding is a scandal. We must have some fresh air.

Smiths. Oh, don't talk like a blooming philanthropist again.

Ste. I'm talking like a blooming alderman.

Al. This isn't a town's meeting. It's a company meeting. Stick to company business.

Ste. The company has no further business. The company is wound up.

Bam. Damned if it is. This letter doesn't end all. It's your fault, Verity. You shouldn't have gone to the Polygon. You over-reached yourself.

Ste. This would still have happened, Sam, in any case.

Bam. I don't see it. Why?

Ste. Mr. Montgomery can tell you.

Bam. Well, it's not all up. Let's have what he offers.

Ste. He doesn't offer us anything. He offers it to the town.

Al. And the town must buy.

Ste. The town shall buy.

Bam. Yes; well I said houses. Let's make it houses. Model dwellings as ugly as hell, for the Polygon toffs to look at every time they poke their noses out of doors.

Ste. Don't be spiteful, Sam. We've had a licking, but don't bear malice.

Walter. Thank you, Mr. Verity.

Ste. Oh, I'd forgotten you were there. Oblige me by going into that room for two minutes. You can wait in there till we're through.

Walter. But what have I to wait for? (Rises.)

Ste. Sorry to occupy your valuable, time, but you're going to wait. You'll find a fire.

(Exit Walter l.)

That chap's wasted as a curate. (Sits.) He's beaten me! Me licked by a bricking curate!

Al. But I don't understand.

Ste. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told Sir Charles and smashed our plans. That's all. Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a few expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've missed a good piece of plunder. Well, the thing to do now is to turn round and do the handsome over that recreation ground. Our idea for the benefit of the town! My negotiations with the Polygon! If we can't get cash by it, gentlemen, let us get credit.

Smiths.. And what about the rates?

Ste. Well, what about them? More fresh air, less ill health. Less ill health, less poverty. Less poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation ground 'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's going to be any barging about the rates we'll raise the money by subscription, and for two pins I'll head the list myself.

Al. It's a queer finish to our plans.

Ste. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, and we've got to take it with a big, broad smile and nobody will even so much as guess we've meant anything but the square thing all the time.

Bam. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always talking.

Ste. No, he won't.

Bam. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. Gab's a parson's stock-in-trade.

Ste. He's no old woman. He's a wide-awake young man and he's going to marry my daughter—if she's free. That'll shut his mouth for him.

Smiths. Well, we'll leave that to you, Verity.

Ste. You can, safely.

Al. It's been a lot of trouble all for nothing.

(Rises; general rise.)

Ste. Well, we're good sportsmen, I hope, and the Carrington recreation ground 'ull be an everlasting monument to our civic enterprise and public spirit.

Al. Aye, I'm beginning to feel good already.

Smiths. It's a disappointment, Verity. Ah, well, we can't win every time.

Ste. No. Better luck next time. Good night, Smithson. (Takes chair up stage.)

Smiths. Good night. Good night all.

Al. I'm coming your way.

Smiths. Come along then. (Crosses r.)

Al. Good night.

(Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r.)

Bam. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put to you, Verity, private.

Ste. About her?

Bam. Her? No. I've said my say about that, and you need her to shut the curate's mouth.

Ste. I'll shut his mouth without that if you want her. It's a thousand a year, you know.

Lucy. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford.

Bam. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not bidding. You've had my last word, Verity.

Ste. Well, what's this you want to say?

Bam. About me being mayor. That stands, of course?

Ste. No, it doesn't. (Above table.)

Bam. But——

Ste. That was a contract made by a company that's wound up.

Bam. But, hang it, I'd counted on being mayor. I've mentioned it to one or two. (Goes above table R.)

Ste. All right, then. There's your mayoress.

Bam. Is that the price?

Ste. There's your mayoress.

Lucy. I won't be haggled over.

Bam. Miss Verity, it's not you. If I wanted to marry I dunno as I'd look an inch further. It's—I'm not the marrying sort and that's top and bottom of it.

Ste. Sam, I'll be mayor myself if it's only for the fun of opening that recreation ground to the public and making a speech about the anxious negotiating the Council had to do before they brought off this great scheme and conferred an inestimable boon on the deserving working classes.

Bam. Oh, if you're putting up for mayor, I retire. I can't fight a man of your weight.

Ste. Fight be hanged. We're good friends.

Bam. Aye. You've got your man in there.

Ste. Well! (Pause.) Yes.

Lucy. It's very sweet of you not to want to marry me, Mr. Bamford.

Bam. Ask me to the wedding.

Ste. Yes, you should be good for a thumping present after this.

Bam. I'll stand my corner. You've to tackle the curate. I'll be off.

Ste. Good night.

Lucy. Good night, and thank you.

Bam. It's me that's thankful. Good night.

(Exit Bamford. Stephen crosses to left door, opens it and calls.)

Ste. Now, Mr. Montgomery.

(Enter Walter. Lucy rises, l.)

Walter. Well, sir? (Crosses to r. below table.)

Ste. (c. above table). Are you or are you not going to marry my daughter?

Walter. That depends.

Ste. I'll tell you something. The syndicate's bust. In fact, there never was a syndicate.

Walter. You mustn't ask me to believe that, sir. You gave the thing away yourself.

Ste. (impressively). There never was a syndicate. A limited company isn't a limited company till it's registered. We weren't registered. You understand? You can't go telling people about a syndicate that never existed.

Walter (smiling). That sounds reasonable. I shan't tell.

Ste. Yes. Well, what about my daughter?

Walter. I thought you objected to me.

Ste. I did. But I begin to think there's more in you than meets the eye.

Walter. Thanks for the compliment.

Ste. I do wish you weren't a curate, though.

(Crosses to fire.) There's nothing in the Church for a smart man.

Walter. There are plenty of prizes in the Church.

Lucy. And Walter's going to win them, father. (Up to Walter.)

Walter. Yes.

Ste. He's not won much yet.

Walter. This is all the prize I want, Mr. Verity. (Takes her hand.)

Ste. She's not a bad start, either. You've got round me, and it takes a bit of doing. (Crosses to Walter.) Look here, my lad, I come of a long lived stock and you'll disappoint me if I don't see you a bishop before I die. I'll come to the Palace, Lucy, and hang my hat up some day. (Going to exit to leave them together.)

CURTAIN.