The Title by Arnold Bennett (free ebook reader TXT) 📖

demanding a whole dinner in a fatless world. I shall eat nothing but dry bread.

MRS. CULVER. We never serve bread at lunch or dinner unless it's specially asked for. But if soup, macaroni, eggs, and jelly will keep you alive till breakfast--

HILDEGARDE. But there's beefsteak, mamma--I've told Mr. Tranto.

MRS. CULVER. Only a little, and that's for your father. Beefsteak's the one thing that keeps off his neuralgia, Mr. Tranto. (With apologetic persuasiveness.) I'm sure you'll understand.

TRANTO. Dear lady, I've never had neuralgia in my life. Macaroni, eggs, and jelly are my dream. I've always wanted to feel like an invalid.

MRS. CULVER. And how did you get on with your Medical Board this morning?

TRANTO. How marvellous of you to remember that I had a Medical Board this morning! I believe I've found out your secret, Mrs. Culver--you're undergoing a course of Pelman with those sixty generals and forty admirals. Well, the Medical Board have given me a new complaint. You'll be sorry to hear that I'm deformed.

MRS. CULVER. Not deformed!

TRANTO. Yes. It appears I'm flat-footed. (Extending his leg.) Have I ever told you that I had a dashing military career extending over four months, three of which I spent in hospital for a disease I hadn't got? Then I was discharged as unfit. After a year they raked me in again. Since then I've been boarded five times, and on the unimpeachable authority of various R.A.M.C. Colonels I've been afflicted with valvular disease of the heart, incipient tuberculosis, rickets, varicose veins, diabetes--practically everything, except spotted fever and leprosy. And now flat feet are added to all the rest. Even the Russian collapse and the transfer of the entire German army to the Western Front hasn't raised me higher than C 3.

MRS. CULVER. How annoying for you! You might have risen to be a captain by this time.

HILDEGARDE (reflectively). No doubt, in a home unit. But if he'd gone to the Front he would still have been a second lieutenant.

MRS. CULVER. My dear!

TRANTO. Whereas in fact I'm still one of those able-bodied young shirkers in mufti that patriotic old gentlemen in clubs are always writing to my uncles' papers about.

MRS. CULVER. Please! please! (A slight pause; pulling herself together; cheerfully.) Let me see, you were going in for Siege Artillery, weren't you?

TRANTO. Me! Siege Artillery. My original ambition was trench mortars--not so noisy.

MRS. CULVER (simply). Oh! Then it must have been somebody else who was talking to me about Siege Artillery. I understand it's very scientific--all angles and degrees and wind-pressures and things. John will soon be eighteen, and his father and I want him to be really useful in the Army. We don't want him to be thrown away. He has brains, and so we are thinking of Siege Artillery for him.

(During this speech John has entered, in evening dress.)

JOHN. Are you on Siege again, mater? The mater's keen on Siege because she's heard somewhere it's the safest thing there is.

MRS. CULVER. And if it does happen to be the safest--what then?

TRANTO. I suppose you're all for the Flying Corps, John?

JOHN (with condescension). Not specially. Since one of the old boys came and did looping the loop stunts over the school the whole Fifth has gone mad on the R.F.C. Most fellows are just like sheep. Somebody in the Sixth has to be original. I want to fight as much as any chap with wings across his chest, but I've got my private career to think of too. If you ask me, the mater's had a brain-wave for once.

Enter Mr. Culver, back. He stands a moment at the door, surveying the scene. Mrs. Culver springs up, and Tranto also rises, moving towards the door.

MRS. CULVER. Arthur, have you come?

CULVER (advancing a little). Apparently. Hello, Tranto, glad to see you. I wanted to. (Shakes hands with Tranto.)

MRS. CULVER. What's the matter, Arthur?

CULVER. Everything.

MRS. CULVER (alarmed, but carefully coaxing). Why are you wearing your velvet coat? (To Tranto.) He always puts on his velvet coat instead of dressing when something's gone wrong. (To Mr. Culver.) Have you got neuralgia again?

CULVER. I don't think so.

MRS. CULVER. But surely you must know! You look terribly pale.

CULVER. The effect of the velvet coat, my dear--nicely calculated in advance.

MRS. CULVER (darting at him, holding him by the shoulders, and then kissing him violently. With an intonation of affectionate protest). Darling!

JOHN. Oh! I say, mater, look here!

MRS. CULVER (to Culver, still holding him). I'm very annoyed with you. It's perfectly absurd the way you work. (To Tranto.) Do you know he was at the office all day Christmas Day and all day Boxing Day? (To Culver.) You really must take a holiday.

CULVER. But what about the war, darling?

MRS. CULVER (loosing him). Oh! You're always making the war an excuse. I know what I shall do. I shall just go--

CULVER. Yes, darling, just go and suggest a short armistice to the Germans while you take me to Brighton for a week's fondling.

MRS. CULVER. I shall just speak to Miss Starkey. Strange that the wife, in order to influence the husband, should have to appeal to (disdainfully) the lady secretary! But so it is.

CULVER. Hermione, I must beg you not to interfere between Miss Starkey and me. Interference will upset Miss Starkey, and I cannot stand her being upset. I depend upon her absolutely. First, Miss Starkey is the rock upon which my official existence is built. She is a serious and conscientious rock. She is hard and expects me to be hard. Secondly, Miss Starkey is the cushion between me and the world. She knows my tender spots, and protects them. Thirdly, Miss Starkey is my rod--and I kiss it.

MRS. CULVER. Arthur!... (tries to be agreeable). But I really am vexed.

CULVER. Well, I'm only hungry.

Enter Parlourmaid.

PARLOURMAID. Cook's compliments, madam, and dinner will be twenty minutes late. (Exit.)

(A shocked silence.)

CULVER (with an exhausted sigh). And yet I gave that cook one of my most captivating smiles this morning.

MRS. CULVER (settling Mr. Culver into a chair). She's done it simply because I told her to-night that rationing is definitely coming in. Her reply was that the kitchen would never stand it, whatever the Government said. She was quite upset--and so she's gone and done something to the dinner.

CULVER. Surely rather illogical of her, isn't it? Or have I missed a link in the chain of reasoning?

MRS. CULVER. I shall give her notice--after dinner.

JOHN. Couldn't you leave it till after the holidays, mother?

HILDEGARDE. And where shall you find another cook, mamma?

MRS. CULVER. The first thing is to get rid of the present one. Then we shall see.

CULVER. My dear, you talk as if she was a prime minister. Still, it might be a good plan to sack all the servants before rationing comes in, and engage deaf-mutes.

MRS. CULVER. Deaf-mutes!

CULVER. Deaf-mutes. Then they wouldn't be worried by the continual groaning of my hunger, and I shouldn't hear any complaints about theirs.

MRS. CULVER (to Hildegarde). My pet, you've time to change now. Do run and change. You're so sombre.

HILDEGARDE. I can't do it in twenty minutes.

MRS. CULVER. Then put a bright shawl on--for papa's sake.

HILDEGARDE. I haven't got a bright shawl.

MRS. CULVER. Then take mine. The one with the pink beads on it. It's in my wardrobe--right-hand side.

JOHN. That means it'll be on the left-hand side.

(Exit Hildegarde, back, with a look at Tranto, who opens the door for her.)

MRS. CULVER (with sweet apprehensiveness). Now Arthur, I'm afraid after all you have something on your mind.

CULVER. I've got nothing on my stomach, anyway. (Bracing himself.) Yes, darling, it's true. I have got something on my mind. Within the last hour I've had a fearful shock--

MRS. CULVER. I knew it!

CULVER. And I need sustaining. I hadn't meant to say anything until after dinner, but in view of cook's drastic alterations in the time-table I may as well tell you (looking round) at once.

MRS. CULVER. It's something about the Government again.

CULVER. The Government has been in a very serious situation.

MRS. CULVER (alarmed). You mean they're going to ask you to resign?

CULVER. I wish they would!

MRS. CULVER. Arthur! Do please remember the country is at war.

CULVER. Is it? So it is. You see, my pet, I remember such a lot of things. I remember that my brainy partner is counting khaki trousers in the Army clothing department. I remember that my other partner ought to be in a lunatic asylum, but isn't. I remember that my business is going to the dogs at a muzzle velocity of about five thousand feet a second. I remember that from mere snobbishness I work for the Government without a penny of salary, and that my sole reward is to be insulted and libelled by high-brow novelists who write for the press. Therefore you ought not to be startled if I secretly yearn to resign. However, I shall not be asked to resign. I said that the Government had been in a very serious situation. It was. But it will soon recover.

MRS. CULVER. How soon?

CULVER. On New Year's Day.

JOHN. Then what's the fearful shock, dad?

MRS. CULVER. Yes. Have you heard anything special?

CULVER. No. But I've seen something special. I saw it less than an hour ago. It was shown to me without the slightest warning, and I admit it shook me. You can perceive for yourselves that it shook me.

MRS. CULVER. But what?

CULVER. The New Year's Honours List--or rather a few choice selections from the more sensational parts of it.

Enter Hildegarde.

MRS. CULVER. Arthur, what do you mean? (To Hildegarde, in despair.) My chick, your father grows more and more puzzling every day! How well that shawl suits you! You look quite a different girl. But you've--(arranges the shawl on Hildegarde) I really don't know what your father has on his mind! I really don't!

JOHN (impatient of this feminine manifestation). Oh, dad, go on. Go on! I want to get at the bottom of this titles business. I'm hanged if I can understand it. What strikes me as an unprejudiced observer is that titles are supposed to be such a terrific honour, and yet the people who deal them out scarcely ever keep any for themselves. Look at Mr. Gladstone, for instance. He must have made about forty earls and seven thousand baronets in his time. Now if I was a Prime Minister, and I believed in titles--which I jolly well don't--I should make myself a duke right off; and I should have several marquises and viscounts round me in the Cabinet like a sort of bodyguard, and my private secretaries would have to be knights. There'd be some logic in that arrangement anyhow.

CULVER. In view of your political career, John, will you mind if I give you a brief lesson on elementary politics--though you are on your holidays?

JOHN (easily). I'm game.

CULVER. What is the first duty of modern Governments?

JOHN. To govern.

CULVER. My innocent boy. I thought better of you. I know that you look on the venerable Mr. Tranto as a back number, and I suspect that Mr. Tranto in his turn regards me