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

snatches the wine list rudely from him and irresolutely pretends to read it. Philip abandons it to him with perfect politeness.)

      DOLLY (looking over Crampton’s right shoulder). The whisky’s on the last page but one.

      CRAMPTON. Let me alone, child.

      DOLLY. Child! No, no: you may call me Dolly if you like; but you mustn’t call me child. (She slips her arm through Philip’s; and the two stand looking at Crampton as if he were some eccentric stranger.)

      CRAMPTON (mopping his brow in rage and agony, and yet relieved even by their playing with him). McComas: we are — ha! — going to have a pleasant meal.

      McCOMAS (pusillanimously). There is no reason why it should not be pleasant. (He looks abjectly gloomy.)

      PHILIP. Finch’s face is a feast in itself. (Mrs. Clandon and Gloria come from the hotel. Mrs. Clandon advances with courageous self-possession and marked dignity of manner. She stops at the foot of the steps to address Valentine, who is in her path. Gloria also stops, looking at Crampton with a certain repulsion.)

      MRS. CLANDON. Glad to see you again, Mr. Valentine. (He smiles. She passes on and confronts Crampton, intending to address him with perfect composure; but his aspect shakes her. She stops suddenly and says anxiously, with a touch of remorse.) Fergus: you are greatly changed.

      CRAMPTON (grimly). I daresay. A man does change in eighteen years.

      MRS. CLANDON (troubled). I — I did not mean that. I hope your health is good.

      CRAMPTON. Thank you. No: it’s not my health. It’s my happiness: that’s the change you meant, I think. (Breaking out suddenly.) Look at her, McComas! Look at her; and look at me! (He utters a half laugh, half sob.)

      PHILIP. Sh! (Pointing to the hotel entrance, where the waiter has just appeared.) Order before William!

      DOLLY (touching Crampton’s arm warningly with her finger). Ahem! (The waiter goes to the service table and beckons to the kitchen entrance, whence issue a young waiter with soup plates, and a cook, in white apron and cap, with the soup tureen. The young waiter remains and serves: the cook goes out, and reappears from time to time bringing in the courses. He carves, but does not serve. The waiter comes to the end of the luncheon table next the steps.)

      MRS. CLANDON (as they all assemble about the table). I think you have all met one another already to-day. Oh, no, excuse me. (Introducing) Mr. Valentine: Mr. McComas. (She goes to the end of the table nearest the hotel.) Fergus: will you take the head of the table, please.

      CRAMPTON. Ha! (Bitterly.) The head of the table!

      WAITER (holding the chair for him with inoffensive encouragement). This end, sir. (Crampton submits, and takes his seat.) Thank you, sir.

      MRS. CLANDON. Mr. Valentine: will you take that side (indicating the side nearest the parapet) with Gloria? (Valentine and Gloria take their places, Gloria next Crampton and Valentine next Mrs. Clandon.) Finch: I must put you on this side, between Dolly and Phil. You must protect yourself as best you can. (The three take the remaining side of the table, Dolly next her mother, Phil next his father, and McComas between them. Soup is served.)

      WAITER (to Crampton). Thick or clear, sir?

      CRAMPTON (to Mrs. Clandon). Does nobody ask a blessing in this household?

      PHILIP (interposing smartly). Let us first settle what we are about to receive. William!

      WAITER. Yes, sir. (He glides swiftly round the table to Phil’s left elbow. On his way he whispers to the young waiter) Thick.

      PHILIP. Two small Lagers for the children as usual, William; and one large for this gentleman (indicating Valentine). Large Apollinaris for Mr. McComas.

      WAITER. Yes, sir.

      DOLLY. Have a six of Irish in it, Finch?

      McCOMAS (scandalized). No — no, thank you.

      PHILIP. Number 413 for my mother and Miss Gloria as before; and — (turning enquiringly to Crampton) Eh?

      CRAMPTON (scowling and about to reply offensively). I —

      WAITER (striking in mellifluously). All right, sir. We know what Mr. Crampton likes here, sir. (He goes into the hotel.)

      PHILIP (looking gravely at his father). You frequent bars. Bad habit! (The cook, accompanied by a waiter with a supply of hot plates, brings in the fish from the kitchen to the service table, and begins slicing it.)

      CRAMPTON. You have learnt your lesson from your mother, I see.

      MRS. CLANDON. Phil: will you please remember that your jokes are apt to irritate people who are not accustomed to us, and that your father is our guest to-day.

      CRAMPTON (bitterly). Yes, a guest at the head of my own table. (The soup plates are removed.)

      DOLLY (sympathetically). Yes: it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? It’s just as bad for us, you know.

      PHILIP. Sh! Dolly: we are both wanting in tact. (To Crampton.) We mean well, Mr. Crampton; but we are not yet strong in the filial line. (The waiter returns from the hotel with the drinks.) William: come and restore good feeling.

      WAITER (cheerfully). Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Small Lager for you, sir. (To Crampton.) Seltzer and Irish, sir. (To McComas.) Apollinaris, sir. (To Dolly.) Small Lager, miss. (To Mrs. Clandon, pouring out wine.) 413, madam. (To Valentine.) Large Lager for you, sir. (To Gloria.) 413, miss.

      DOLLY (drinking). To the family!

      PHILIP. (drinking). Hearth and Home! (Fish is served.)

      McCOMAS (with an obviously forced attempt at cheerful domesticity). We are getting on very nicely after all.

      DOLLY (critically). After all! After all what, Finch?

      CRAMPTON (sarcastically). He means that you are getting on very nicely in spite of the presence of your father. Do I take your point rightly, Mr. McComas?

      McCOMAS (disconcerted). No, no. I only said “after all” to round off the sentence. I — er — er — er —

      WAITER (tactfully). Turbot, sir?

      McCOMAS (intensely grateful for the interruption). Thank you, waiter: thank you.

      WAITER (sotto voce). Don’t mention it, sir. (He returns to the service table.)

      CRAMPTON (to Phil). Have you thought of choosing a profession yet?

      PHILIP. I am keeping my mind open on that subject. William!

      WAITER. Yes, sir.

      PHILIP. How long do you think it would take me to learn to be a really smart waiter?

      WAITER. Can’t be learnt, sir. It’s in the character, sir. (Confidentially to Valentine, who is looking about for something.) Bread for the lady, sir? yes, sir. (He serves bread to Gloria, and resumes at his former pitch.) Very few are born to it, sir.

      PHILIP. You don’t happen to have such a thing as a son, yourself, have you?

      WAITER. Yes, sir: oh, yes, sir. (To Gloria, again dropping his voice.) A little more fish, miss? you won’t care for the joint in the middle of the day.

      GLORIA. No, thank you. (The fish plates are removed.)

      DOLLY. Is your son a waiter, too, William?

      WAITER (serving Gloria with fowl). Oh, no, miss, he’s too impetuous. He’s at the Bar.

      McCOMAS (patronizingly). A potman, eh?

      WAITER (with a touch of melancholy, as if recalling a disappointment softened by time). No, sir: the other bar — your profession, sir. A Q.C., sir.

      McCOMAS (embarrassed). I’m sure I beg your pardon.

      WAITER. Not at all, sir. Very natural mistake, I’m sure, sir. I’ve often wished he was a potman, sir. Would have been off my hands ever so much sooner, sir. (Aside to Valentine, who is again