Ruttledge. Never? Only think of it – to ride in the darkness under the stars, to make one's horse leap from cloud to cloud, to watch the sea glittering under one's feet and the mountain tops going by.
Colonel Lawley. But what has this to do with the tinkers?
Paul Ruttledge. As I cannot find a broomstick that will turn itself into a white horse, I am going to turn tinker.
Mr. Dowler. I suppose you have some picturesque idea about these people, but I assure you, you are quite wrong. They are nothing but poachers.
Mr. Algie. They are nothing but thieves.
Mr. Joyce. They are the worst class in the country.
Paul Ruttledge. Oh, I know that; they are quite lawless. That is what attracts me to them. I am going to be irresponsible.
Mr. Green. One cannot escape from responsibility by joining a set of vagabonds.
Paul Ruttledge. Vagabonds – that is it. I want to be a vagabond, a wanderer. As I can't leap from cloud to cloud I want to wander from road to road. That little path there by the clipped edge goes up to the highroad. I want to go up that path and to walk along the highroad, and so on and on and on, and to know all kinds of people. Did you ever think that the roads are the only things that are endless; that one can walk on and on and on, and never be stopped by a gate or a wall? They are the serpent of eternity. I wonder they have never been worshipped. What are the stars beside them? They never meet one another. The roads are the only things that are infinite. They are all endless.
Mrs. Ruttledge. But they must stop when they come to the sea?
Paul Ruttledge. Ah! you are always so wise.
Mr. Joyce. Stop talking nonsense, Paul, and throw away those filthy things.
Paul Ruttledge. That would be setting cleanliness before godliness. I have begun the regeneration of my soul.
Mr. Dowler. I don't see what godliness has got to do with it.
Mr. Algie. Nor I either.
Paul Ruttledge. There was a saint who said, "I must rejoice without ceasing, although the world shudder at my joy." He did not think he could save his soul without it. I agree with him, and as I was discontented here, I thought it time to make a change. Like that worthy man, I must be content to shock my friends.
Mr. Dowler. But you had everything here you could want.
Paul Ruttledge. That's just it. You who are so wealthy, you of all people should understand that I want to get rid of all that responsibility, answering letters and so on. It is not worth the trouble of being rich if one has to answer letters. Could you ever understand, Georgina, that one gets tired of many charming things? There are family responsibilities [to Mr. Joyce], but I can see that you, who were my guardian, sympathize with me in that.
Mr. Joyce. Indeed I do not.
Mrs. Ruttledge. I should think you could be cheerful without ceasing to be a gentleman.
Paul Ruttledge. You are thinking of my clothes. We must feel at ease with the people we live amongst. I shall feel at ease with the great multitude in these clothes. I am beginning to be a man of the world. I am the beggarman of all the ages – I have a notion Homer wrote something about me.
Mr. Dowler. He is either making fun of us or talking great rot. I can't listen to any more of this nonsense. I can't see why a man with property can't let well alone. Algie are you coming my way?
[They both go into the house, and come out presently with umbrella and coat.
Mr. Green. Depend upon it, he's going to write a book. There was a man who made quite a name for himself by sleeping in a casual ward.
Paul Ruttledge. Oh! no, I'm not going to write about it; if one writes one can do nothing else. I am going to express myself in life. [To Thomas Ruttledgewho has returned with box.] I hope soon to live by the work of my hands, but every trade has to be learned, and I must take something to start with. [To Mrs. Ruttledge.] Do you think you will have any kettles to mend when I come this way again?
[He has taken box from Thomas Ruttledgeand unlocked it.
Thomas Ruttledge. I can't make head or tail of what you are at.
Colonel Lawley. What he is at is fads.
Mr. Green. I don't think his motive is far to seek. He has some idea of going back to the dark ages. Rousseau had some idea of the same kind, but it didn't work.
Paul Ruttledge. Yes; I want to go back to the dark ages.
Mr. Green. Do you want to lose all the world has gained since then?
Paul Ruttledge. What has it gained? I am among those who think that sin and death came into the world the day Newton eat the apple. [To Mrs. Ruttledge, who is going to speak.] I know you are going to tell me he only saw it fall. Never mind, it is all the same thing.
Mrs. Ruttledge. [Beginning to cry.] Oh! he is going mad!
Mr. Joyce. I'm afraid he is really leaving us.
Paul Ruttledge. [Who has been looking at papers, tearing one or two, etc., takes out a packet of notes, which he puts in his breast.] I daresay this will last me long enough, Thomas. I am not robbing you of very much. Well, good-bye. [Pats him gently on the shoulder.] I mustn't forget the rabbit, it may be my dinner to-night; I wonder who will skin it. Good-bye, Colonel, I think I've astonished you to-day. [Slaps his shoulder.] That was too hard, was it? Forgive it, you know I'm a common man now. [Lifts his hat and goes out of gate. Closes it after him and stands with his hands on it, and speaks with the voice of a common man.] Go on, live in your poultry-yard. Scratch straw and cluck and cackle at everything that you take for a fox. [Exit.
Mr. Joyce. [Goes to Mrs. Ruttledge, who has sat down and is wiping her eyes.] I am very sorry for this, for his father's sake, but it may be as well in the end. If it comes to the worst, you and Thomas will keep up the family name better than he would have done.
Mr. Dowler. He'll find the poor very different from what he thinks when they pick his pocket.
Colonel Lawley. To think that a magistrate should have such fads!
Mr. Green. I venture to say you will see him here in a very different state of mind in a week.
Mr. Algie. [Who has been in a brown study.] He has done for himself in this world and the next. Why, he won't be asked to a single shoot if this is heard of.
Thomas Ruttledge. [Turning from the gate.] Here are the children, Georgina. Don't say anything before the nurse.
Mr. Green. Well, I must be off. [Goes in for stick.
Mr. Joyce. Just bring me out my coat, Green.
[They all prepare to go. Mrs. Ruttledgehas gone to open gate and children come in, one in a perambulator.All gather round them admiringly.
Mr. Joyce. Have you a kiss
