Joy: A Play on the Letter "I". Galsworthy John

[Indifferently.] They don't get on now, you know.

      MISS BEECH. What d'you mean by that, disrespectful little creature?

      JOY. [In a hard voice.] They haven't ever since I've known them. MISS BEECH. [Looks at her, and turns away again.] Don't talk about such things.

      JOY. I suppose you don't know Mr. Lever? [Bitterly.] He's such a cool beast. He never loses his temper.

      MISS BEECH. Is that why you don't like him?

      JOY. [Frowning.] No – yes – I don't know.

      MISS BEECH. Oh! perhaps you do like him?

      JOY. I don't; I hate him.

      MISS BEECH. [Standing still.] Fie! Naughty Temper!

      JOY. Well, so would you! He takes up all Mother's time.

      MISS BEECH. [In a peculiar voice.] Oh! does he?

      JOY. When he comes I might just as well go to bed. [Passionately.] And now he's chosen to-day to come down here, when I haven't seen her for two months! Why couldn't he come when Mother and I'd gone home. It's simply brutal!

      MISS BEECH. But your mother likes him?

      JOY. [Sullenly.] I don't want her to like him.

      MISS BEECH. [With a long look at Joy.] I see!

      JOY. What are you doing, Peachey?

      MISS BEECH. [Releasing a worm.] Letting the poor creatures go.

      JOY. If I tell Dick he'll never forgive you.

      MISS BEECH. [Sidling behind the swing and plucking off Joy's sunbonnet. With devilry.] Ah-h-h! You've done your hair up; so that's why you wouldn't come down!

      JOY. [Springing up, anal pouting.] I didn't want any one to see before Mother. You are a pig, Peachey!

      MISS BEECH. I thought there was something!

      JOY. [Twisting round.] How does it look?

      MISS BEECH. I've seen better.

      JOY. You tell any one before Mother comes, and see what I do!

      MISS BEECH. Well, don't you tell about my worms, then!

      JOY. Give me my hat! [Backing hastily towards the tree, and putting her finger to her lips.] Look out! Dick!

      MISS BEECH. Oh! dear!

      [She sits down on the swing, concealing the paint pot with her feet and skirts.]

      JOY. [On the rustic seat, and in a violent whisper.] I hope the worms will crawl up your legs!

      [DICK, in flannels and a hard straw hat comes in. He is a quiet and cheerful boy of twenty. His eyes are always fixed on joy.]

      DICK. [Grimacing.] The Colonel's getting licked. Hallo! Peachey, in the swing?

      JOY. [Chuckling.] Swing her, Dick!

      MISS BEECH. [Quivering with emotion.] Little creature!

      JOY. Swing her!

      [DICK takes the ropes.]

      MISS BEECH. [Quietly.] It makes me sick, young man.

      DICK. [Patting her gently on the back.] All right, Peachey.

      MISS BEECH. [Maliciously.] Could you get me my sewing from the seat? Just behind Joy.

      JOY. [Leaning her head against the tree.] If you do, I won't dance with you to-night.

      [DICK stands paralysed. Miss BEECH gets off the swing, picks up the paint pot, and stands concealing it behind her.]

      JOY. Look what she's got behind her, sly old thing!

      MISS BEECH. Oh! dear!

      JOY. Dance with her, Dick!

      MISS BEECH. If he dare!

      JOY. Dance with her, or I won't dance with you to-night. [She whistles a waltz.]

      DICK. [Desperately.] Come on then, Peachey. We must.

      JOY. Dance, dance!

      [DICK seizes Miss BEECH by the waist. She drops the paint pot. They revolve.] [Convulsed.]

      Oh, Peachey, Oh!

      [Miss BEECH is dropped upon the rustic seat. DICK seizes joy's hands and drags her up.]

      No, no! I won't!

      MISS BEECH. [Panting.] Dance, dance with the poor young man! [She moves her hands.] La la-la-la la-la la la!

      [DICK and JOY dance.]

      DICK. By Jove, Joy! You've done your hair up. I say, how jolly! You do look —

      JOY. [Throwing her hands up to her hair.] I did n't mean you to see!

      DICK. [In a hurt voice.] Oh! didn't you? I'm awfully sorry!

      JOY. [Flashing round.] Oh, you old Peachey!

      [She looks at the ground, and then again at DICK.]

      MISS BEECH. [Sidling round the tree.] Oh! dear!

      JOY. [Whispering.] She's been letting out your worms. [Miss BEECH disappears from view.] Look!

      DICK. [Quickly.] Hang the worms! Joy, promise me the second and fourth and sixth and eighth and tenth and supper, to-night. Promise! Do!

      [Joy shakes her head.]

      It's not much to ask.

      JOY. I won't promise anything.

      DICK. Why not?

      JOY. Because Mother's coming. I won't make any arrangements.

      DICK. [Tragically.] It's our last night.

      JOY. [Scornfully.] You don't understand! [Dancing and clasping her hands.] Mother's coming, Mother's coming!

      DICK. [Violently.] I wish – Promise, Joy!

      JOY. [Looking over her shoulder.] Sly old thing! If you'll pay Peachey out, I'll promise you supper!

      MISS BEECH. [From behind the tree.] I hear you.

      JOY. [Whispering.] Pay her out, pay her out! She's let out all your worms!

      DICK. [Looking moodily at the paint pot.] I say, is it true that Maurice Lever's coming with your mother? I've met him playing cricket, he's rather a good sort.

      JOY. [Flashing out.] I hate him.

      DICK. [Troubled.] Do you? Why? I thought – I didn't know – if I'd known of course, I'd have —

      [He is going to say "hated him too!" But the voices of ERNEST BLUNT and the COLONEL are heard approaching, in dispute.]

      JOY. Oh! Dick, hide me, I don't want my hair seen till Mother comes.

      [She springs into the hollow tree. The COLONEL and ERNEST appear in the opening of the wall.]

      ERNEST. The ball was out, Colonel.

      COLONEL. Nothing of the sort.

      ERNEST. A good foot out.

      COLONEL. It was not, sir. I saw the chalk fly.

      [ERNEST is twenty-eight, with a little moustache, and the positive cool voice of a young man who knows that he knows everything. He is perfectly calm.]

      ERNEST. I was nearer to it than you.

      COLONEL. [In a high, hot voice.] I don't care where you were, I hate a fellow who can't keep cool.

      MISS BEECH. [From behind the hollow tree.] Fie! Fie!

      ERNEST. We're two to one, Letty says the ball was out.

      COLONEL. Letty's your wife, she'd say anything.

      ERNEST. Well, look here, Colonel, I'll show you the very place it pitched.

      COLONEL. Gammon! You've lost your temper, you don't know what you're talking about.

      ERNEST. [coolly.] I suppose you'll admit the rule that one umpires one's own court.

      COLONEL.