60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Tell us the truth.

      DOLLY (emphatically). Bald headed.

      McCOMAS (nettled). I hope you intend to take what I have to say seriously.

      PHILIP (with profound mock gravity). I hope it will deserve it, Mr. McComas. My knowledge of human nature teaches me not to expect too much.

      MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating). Phil —

      PHILIP. Yes, mother, all right. I beg your pardon, Mr. McComas: don’t mind us.

      DOLLY (in conciliation). We mean well.

      PHILIP. Shut up, both.

      (Dolly holds her lips. McComas takes a chair from the luncheon table; places it between the little table and the garden seat with Dolly on his right and Philip on his left; and settles himself in it with the air of a man about to begin a long communication. The Clandons match him expectantly.)

      McCOMAS. Ahem! Your father —

      DOLLY (interrupting). How old is he?

      PHILIP. Sh!

      MRS. CLANDON (softly). Dear Dolly: don’t let us interrupt Mr. McComas.

      McCOMAS (emphatically). Thank you, Mrs. Clandon. Thank you. (To Dolly.) Your father is fifty-seven.

      DOLLY (with a bound, startled and excited). Fifty-seven! Where does he live?

      MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating). Dolly, Dolly!

      McCOMAS (stopping her). Let me answer that, Mrs. Clandon. The answer will surprise you considerably. He lives in this town. (Mrs. Clandon rises. She and Gloria look at one another in the greatest consternation.)

      DOLLY (with conviction). I knew it! Phil: Chalkstones is our father.

      McCOMAS. Chalkstones!

      DOLLY. Oh, Crampstones, or whatever it is. He said I was like his mother. I knew he must mean his daughter.

      PHILIP (very seriously). Mr. McComas: I desire to consider your feelings in every possible way: but I warn you that if you stretch the long arm of coincidence to the length of telling me that Mr. Crampton of this town is my father, I shall decline to entertain the information for a moment.

      McCOMAS. And pray why?

      PHILIP. Because I have seen the gentleman; and he is entirely unfit to be my father, or Dolly’s father, or Gloria’s father, or my mother’s husband.

      McCOMAS. Oh, indeed! Well, sir, let me tell you that whether you like it or not, he is your father, and your sister’ father, and Mrs. Clandon’s husband. Now! What have you to say to that!

      DOLLY (whimpering). You needn’t be so cross. Crampton isn’t your father.

      PHILIP. Mr. McComas: your conduct is heartless. Here you find a family enjoying the unspeakable peace and freedom of being orphans. We have never seen the face of a relative — never known a claim except the claim of freely chosen friendship. And now you wish to thrust into the most intimate relationship with us a man whom we don’t know —

      DOLLY (vehemently). An awful old man! (reproachfully) And you began as if you had quite a nice father for us.

      McCOMAS (angrily). How do you know that he is not nice? And what right have you to choose your own father? (raising his voice.) Let me tell you, Miss Clandon, that you are too young to —

      DOLLY (interrupting him suddenly and eagerly). Stop, I forgot! Has he any money?

      McCOMAS. He has a great deal of money.

      DOLLY (delighted). Oh, what did I always say, Phil?

      PHILIP. Dolly: we have perhaps been condemning the old man too hastily. Proceed, Mr. McComas.

      McCOMAS. I shall not proceed, sir. I am too hurt, too shocked, to proceed.

      MRS. CLANDON (urgently). Finch: do you realize what is happening? Do you understand that my children have invited that man to lunch, and that he will be here in a few moments?

      McCOMAS (completely upset). What! do you mean — am I to understand — is it —

      PHILIP (impressively). Steady, Finch. Think it out slowly and carefully. He’s coming — coming to lunch.

      GLORIA. Which of us is to tell him the truth? Have you thought of that?

      MRS. CLANDON. Finch: you must tell him.

      DOLLY Oh, Finch is no good at telling things. Look at the mess he has made of telling us.

      McCOMAS. I have not been allowed to speak. I protest against this.

      DOLLY (taking his arm coaxingly). Dear Finch: don’t be cross.

      MRS. CLANDON. Gloria: let us go in. He may arrive at any moment.

      GLORIA (proudly). Do not stir, mother. I shall not stir. We must not run away.

      MRS. CLANDON (delicately rebuking her). My dear: we cannot sit down to lunch just as we are. We shall come back again. We must have no bravado. (Gloria winces, and goes into the hotel without a word.) Come, Dolly. (As she goes into the hotel door, the waiter comes out with plates, etc., for two additional covers on a tray.)

      WAITER. Gentlemen come yet, ma’am?

      MRS. CLANDON. Two more to come yet, thank you. They will be here, immediately. (She goes into the hotel. The waiter takes his tray to the service table.)

      PHILIP. I have an idea. Mr. McComas: this communication should be made, should it not, by a man of infinite tact?

      McCOMAS. It will require tact, certainly.

      PHILIP Good! Dolly: whose tact were you noticing only this morning?

      DOLLY (seizing the idea with rapture). Oh, yes, I declare! William!

      PHILIP. The very man! (Calling) William!

      WAITER. Coming, sir.

      McCOMAS (horrified). The waiter! Stop, stop! I will not permit this. I —

      WAITER (presenting himself between Philip and McComas). Yes, sir. (McComas’s complexion fades into stone grey; and all movement and expression desert his eyes. He sits down stupefied.)

      PHILIP. William: you remember my request to you to regard me as your son?

      WAITER (with respectful indulgence). Yes, sir. Anything you please, sir.

      PHILIP. William: at the very outset of your career as my father, a rival has appeared on the scene.

      WAITER. Your real father, sir? Well, that was to be expected, sooner or later, sir, wasn’t it? (Turning with a happy smile to McComas.) Is it you, sir?

      McCOMAS (renerved by indignation). Certainly not. My children know how to behave themselves.

      PHILIP. No, William: this gentleman was very nearly my father: he wooed my mother, but wooed her in vain.

      McCOMAS (outraged). Well, of all the —

      PHILIP. Sh! Consequently, he is only our solicitor. Do you know one Crampton, of this town?

      WAITER. Cock-eyed Crampton, sir, of the Crooked Billet, is it?

      PHILIP. I don’t know. Finch: does he keep a public house?

      McCOMAS (rising scandalized). No, no, no. Your father, sir, is a well-known yacht builder, an eminent man here.

      WAITER (impressed). Oh, beg pardon, sir, I’m sure. A son of Mr. Crampton’s! Dear me!

      PHILIP. Mr. Crampton is coming to lunch with us.

      WAITER (puzzled). Yes, sir. (Diplomatically.) Don’t usually lunch with his family, perhaps, sir?

      PHILIP (impressively). William: he does not know that we are his family. He has not seen us for eighteen years. He won’t know us. (To emphasize the communication he seats himself on the iron table with a spring, and looks at the waiter with his lips compressed and his legs swinging.)

      DOLLY.