in which the affairs of the nation seem almost bearable. He is a tallish, square, personable man of forty-seven, with a well-coloured, jowly, fullish face, marked under the eyes, which have very small pupils and a good deal of light in them. His bearing has force and importance, as of a man accustomed to rising and ownerships, sure in his opinions, and not lacking in geniality when things go his way. Essentially a Midlander. His wife, a woman of forty-one, of ivory tint, with a thin, trim figure and a face so strangely composed as to be almost like a mask (essentially from Jersey) is putting a nib into a pen-holder, and filling an inkpot at the writing-table.
As the curtain rises CAMILLE enters with a rather broken-down
cardboard box containing flowers. She is a young woman with a good
figure, a pale face, the warm brown eyes and complete poise of a
Frenchwoman. She takes the box to MRS BUILDER.
MRS BUILDER. The blue vase, please, Camille.
CAMILLE fetches a vase. MRS BUILDER puts the flowers into the vase.
CAMILLE gathers up the debris; and with a glance at BUILDER goes
out.
BUILDER. Glorious October! I ought to have a damned good day's shooting with Chantrey tomorrow.
MRS BUILDER. [Arranging the flowers] Aren't you going to the office this morning?
BUILDER. Well, no, I was going to take a couple of days off. If you feel at the top of your form, take a rest—then you go on feeling at the top. [He looks at her, as if calculating] What do you say to looking up Athene?
MRS BUILDER. [Palpably astonished] Athene? But you said you'd done with her?
BUILDER. [Smiling] Six weeks ago; but, dash it, one can't have done with one's own daughter. That's the weakness of an Englishman; he can't keep up his resentments. In a town like this it doesn't do to have her living by herself. One of these days it'll get out we've had a row. That wouldn't do me any good.
MRS BUILDER. I see.
BUILDER. Besides, I miss her. Maud's so self-absorbed. It makes a big hole in the family, Julia. You've got her address, haven't you?
MRS BUILDER. Yes. [Very still] But do you think it's dignified, John?
BUILDER. [Genially] Oh, hang dignity! I rather pride myself on knowing when to stand on my dignity and when to sit on it. If she's still crazy about Art, she can live at home, and go out to study.
MRS BUILDER. Her craze was for liberty.
BUILDER. A few weeks' discomfort soon cures that. She can't live on her pittance. She'll have found that out by now. Get your things on and come with me at twelve o'clock.
MRS BUILDER. I think you'll regret it. She'll refuse.
BUILDER. Not if I'm nice to her. A child could play with me to-day.
Shall I tell you a secret, Julia?
MRS BUILDER. It would be pleasant for a change.
BUILDER. The Mayor's coming round at eleven, and I know perfectly well what he's coming for.
MRS BUILDER. Well?
BUILDER. I'm to be nominated for Mayor next month. Harris tipped me the wink at the last Council meeting. Not so bad at forty-seven—h'm? I can make a thundering good Mayor. I can do things for this town that nobody else can.
MRS BUILDER. Now I understand about Athene.
BUILDER. [Good-humouredly] Well, it's partly that. But [more seriously] it's more the feeling I get that I'm not doing my duty by her. Goodness knows whom she may be picking up with! Artists are a loose lot. And young people in these days are the limit. I quite believe in moving with the times, but one's either born a Conservative, or one isn't. So you be ready at twelve, see. By the way, that French maid of yours, Julia—
MRS BUILDER. What about her?
BUILDER. Is she—er—is she all right? We don't want any trouble with
Topping.
MRS BUILDER. There will be none with—Topping.
[She opens the door Left.]
BUILDER. I don't know; she strikes me as—very French.
MRS BUILDER smiles and passes out.
BUILDER fills his second pipe. He is just taking up the paper again when the door from the hall is opened, and the manservant TOPPING, dried, dark, sub-humorous, in a black cut-away, announces:
TOPPING. The Mayor, Sir, and Mr. Harris!
THE MAYOR of Breconridge enters, He is clean-shaven, red-faced, light-eyed, about sixty, shrewd, poll-parroty, naturally jovial, dressed with the indefinable wrongness of a burgher; he is followed by his Secretary HARRIS, a man all eyes and cleverness. TOPPING retires.
BUILDER. [Rising] Hallo, Mayor! What brings you so early? Glad to see you. Morning, Harris!
MAYOR. Morning, Builder, morning.
HARRIS. Good-morning, Sir.
BUILDER. Sit down-sit down! Have a cigar!
The MAYOR takes a cigar HARRIS a cigarette from his own case.
BUILDER. Well, Mayor, what's gone wrong with the works?
He and HARRIS exchange a look.
MAYOR. [With his first puff] After you left the Council the other day,
Builder, we came to a decision.
BUILDER. Deuce you did! Shall I agree with it?
MAYOR. We shall see. We want to nominate you for Mayor. You willin' to stand?
BUILDER. [Stolid] That requires consideration.
MAYOR. The only alternative is Chantrey; but he's a light weight, and rather too much County. What's your objection?
BUILDER. It's a bit unexpected, Mayor. [Looks at HARRIS] Am I the right man? Following you, you know. I'm shooting with Chantrey to-morrow. What does he feel about it?
MAYOR. What do you say, 'Arris?
HARRIS. Mr. Chantrey's a public school and University man, Sir; he's not what I call ambitious.
BUILDER. Nor am I, Harris.
HARRIS. No, sir; of course you've a high sense of duty. Mr. Chantrey's rather dilettante.
MAYOR. We want a solid man.
BUILDER. I'm very busy, you know, Mayor.
MAYOR. But you've got all the qualifications—big business, family man, live in the town, church-goer, experience on the Council and the Bench. Better say "yes," Builder.
BUILDER.
