Fanny and the Servant Problem [14]
-[he turns and faces her]--and I haven't made one this time.
FANNY. I don't really see the smartness, George, stuffing him up with a lot of lies he can find out for himself.
NEWTE. IF HE WANTS TO. A couple of telegrams, one to His Grace the Bishop of Waiapu, the other to Judge Denis O'Gorman, Columbus, Ohio, would have brought him back the information that neither gentlemen had ever heard of you. IF HE HADN'T BEEN CAREFUL NOT TO SEND THEM. He wasn't marrying you with the idea of strengthening his family connections. He was marrying you because he was just gone on you. Couldn't help himself.
FANNY. In that case, you might just as well have told him the truth.
NEWTE. WHICH HE WOULD THEN HAVE HAD TO PASS ON TO EVERYONE ENTITLED TO ASK QUESTIONS. Can't you understand? Somebody, in the interest of everybody, had to tell a lie. Well, what's a business manager for?
FANNY. But I can't do it, George. You don't know them. The longer I give in to them the worse they'll get.
NEWTE. Can't you square them?
FANNY. No, that's the trouble. They ARE honest. They're the "faithful retainers" out of a melodrama. They are working eighteen hours a day on me not for any advantage to themselves, but because they think it their "duty" to the family. They don't seem to have any use for themselves at all.
NEWTE. Well, what about the boy? Can't HE talk to them?
FANNY. Vernon! They've brought him up from a baby--spanked him all round, I expect. Might as well ask a boy to talk to his old schoolmaster. Besides, if he did talk, then it would all come out. As I tell you, it's bound to come out--and the sooner the better.
NEWTE. It must NOT come out! It's too late. If we had told him at the beginning that he was proposing to marry into his own butler's family--well, it's an awkward situation--he might have decided to risk it. Or he might have cried off.
FANNY. And a good job if he had.
NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him--you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He's a nice boy, and there's something owing to him. [It is his trump card, and he knows it.] Don't forget that. He's been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family--no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon him NOW--well, it doesn't seem to me quite fair to HIM.
FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl?
NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours--they've got SOME sense, I suppose?
FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself.
NEWTE. Maybe you're not a judge. [Laughs.] They'll listen to reason. You let ME have a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can't show them--first one and then the other--the advantage of leaving to "better" themselves--WITH THE HELP OF A LITTLE READY MONEY. Later on--choosing your proper time--you can break it to him that you have discovered they're distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you'd forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes.
FANNY. You've a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it--even when one jolly well knows that it isn't.
NEWTE. Well, it's always been right for you, old girl, ain't it?
FANNY. Yes. You've been a rattling good friend. [She takes his hands.] Almost wish I'd married you instead. We'd have been more suited to one another.
NEWTE [shakes his head]. Nothing like having your fancy. You'd never have been happy without him. [He releases her.] 'Twas a good engagement, or I'd never have sanctioned it.
FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [She has dropped for a moment into a brown study.]
NEWTE [he turns]. I hope so.
FANNY [she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh]. Poor fellow! You never even got your commission.
NEWTE. I'll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl.
FANNY. I don't really see the smartness, George, stuffing him up with a lot of lies he can find out for himself.
NEWTE. IF HE WANTS TO. A couple of telegrams, one to His Grace the Bishop of Waiapu, the other to Judge Denis O'Gorman, Columbus, Ohio, would have brought him back the information that neither gentlemen had ever heard of you. IF HE HADN'T BEEN CAREFUL NOT TO SEND THEM. He wasn't marrying you with the idea of strengthening his family connections. He was marrying you because he was just gone on you. Couldn't help himself.
FANNY. In that case, you might just as well have told him the truth.
NEWTE. WHICH HE WOULD THEN HAVE HAD TO PASS ON TO EVERYONE ENTITLED TO ASK QUESTIONS. Can't you understand? Somebody, in the interest of everybody, had to tell a lie. Well, what's a business manager for?
FANNY. But I can't do it, George. You don't know them. The longer I give in to them the worse they'll get.
NEWTE. Can't you square them?
FANNY. No, that's the trouble. They ARE honest. They're the "faithful retainers" out of a melodrama. They are working eighteen hours a day on me not for any advantage to themselves, but because they think it their "duty" to the family. They don't seem to have any use for themselves at all.
NEWTE. Well, what about the boy? Can't HE talk to them?
FANNY. Vernon! They've brought him up from a baby--spanked him all round, I expect. Might as well ask a boy to talk to his old schoolmaster. Besides, if he did talk, then it would all come out. As I tell you, it's bound to come out--and the sooner the better.
NEWTE. It must NOT come out! It's too late. If we had told him at the beginning that he was proposing to marry into his own butler's family--well, it's an awkward situation--he might have decided to risk it. Or he might have cried off.
FANNY. And a good job if he had.
NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him--you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He's a nice boy, and there's something owing to him. [It is his trump card, and he knows it.] Don't forget that. He's been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family--no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon him NOW--well, it doesn't seem to me quite fair to HIM.
FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl?
NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours--they've got SOME sense, I suppose?
FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself.
NEWTE. Maybe you're not a judge. [Laughs.] They'll listen to reason. You let ME have a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can't show them--first one and then the other--the advantage of leaving to "better" themselves--WITH THE HELP OF A LITTLE READY MONEY. Later on--choosing your proper time--you can break it to him that you have discovered they're distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you'd forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes.
FANNY. You've a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it--even when one jolly well knows that it isn't.
NEWTE. Well, it's always been right for you, old girl, ain't it?
FANNY. Yes. You've been a rattling good friend. [She takes his hands.] Almost wish I'd married you instead. We'd have been more suited to one another.
NEWTE [shakes his head]. Nothing like having your fancy. You'd never have been happy without him. [He releases her.] 'Twas a good engagement, or I'd never have sanctioned it.
FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [She has dropped for a moment into a brown study.]
NEWTE [he turns]. I hope so.
FANNY [she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh]. Poor fellow! You never even got your commission.
NEWTE. I'll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl.