Strife [10]
get on in life you do feel things dreadfully----
ANTHONY. [Almost paternally.] Come, out with it, Trench!
TENCH. I don't like to say it, sir.
ANTHONY. [Stonily.] You Must.
TENCH. [After a pause, desperately bolting it out.] I think the Directors are going to throw you over, sir.
ANTHONY. [Sits in silence.] Ring the bell!
[TENCH nervously rings the bell and stands by the fire.]
TENCH. Excuse me for saying such a thing. I was only thinking of you, sir.
[FROST enters from the hall, he comes to the foot of the table, and looks at ANTHONY; TENCH coveys his nervousness by arranging papers.]
ANTHONY. Bring me a whiskey and soda.
FROST. Anything to eat, sir?
[ANTHONY shakes his head. FROST goes to the sideboard, and prepares the drink.]
TENCH. [In a low voice, almost supplicating.] If you could see your way, sir, it would be a great relief to my mind, it would indeed. [He looks up at ANTHONY, who has not moved.] It does make me so very anxious. I haven't slept properly for weeks, sir, and that's a fact.
[ANTHONY looks in his face, then slowly shakes his head.]
[Disheartened.] No, Sir? [He goes on arranging papers.]
FROST places the whiskey and salver and puts it down by ANTHONY'S right hand. He stands away, looking gravely at ANTHONY.]
FROST. Nothing I can get you, sir?
[ANTHONY shakes his head.]
You're aware, sir, of what the doctor said, sir?
ANTHONY. I am.
[A pause. FROST suddenly moves closer to him, and speaks in a low voice.]
FROST. This strike, sir; puttin' all this strain on you. Excuse me, sir, is it--is it worth it, sir?
[ANTHONY mutters some words that are inaudible.]
Very good, sir!
[He turns and goes out into the hall. TENCH makes two attempts to speak; but meeting his Chairman's gaze he drops his eyes, and, turning dismally, he too goes out. ANTHONY is left alone. He grips the glass, tilts it, and drinks deeply; then sets it down with a deep and rumbling sigh, and leans back in his chair.]
The curtain falls.
ACT II
SCENE I
It is half-past three. In the kitchen of Roberts's cottage a meagre little fire is burning. The room is clean and tidy, very barely furnished, with a brick floor and white-washed walls, much stained with smoke. There is a kettle on the fire. A door opposite the fireplace opens inward from a snowy street. On the wooden table are a cup and saucer, a teapot, knife, and plate of bread and cheese. Close to the fireplace in an old arm-chair, wrapped in a rug, sits MRS. ROBERTS, a thin and dark-haired woman about thirty-five, with patient eyes. Her hair is not done up, but tied back with a piece of ribbon. By the fire, too, is MRS. YEO; a red-haired, broad-faced person. Sitting near the table is MRS. ROUS, an old lady, ashen-white, with silver hair; by the door, standing, as if about to go, is MRS. BULGIN, a little pale, pinched-up woman. In a chair, with her elbows resting on the table, avid her face resting in her hands, sits MADGE THOMAS, a good-looking girl, of twenty-two, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and dark untidy hair. She is listening to the talk, but she neither speaks nor moves.
MRS. YEO. So he give me a sixpence, and that's the first bit o' money I seen this week. There an't much 'eat to this fire. Come and warm yerself Mrs. Rous, you're lookin' as white as the snow, you are.
MRS. ROUS. [Shivering- placidly.] Ali! but the winter my old man was took was the proper winter. Seventy-nine that was, when none of you was hardly born--not Madge Thomas, nor Sue Bulgin. [Looking at them in turn.] Annie Roberts, 'ow old were you, dear?
MRS ROBERTS. Seven, Mrs. Rous.
MRS. ROUS. Seven--well, there! A tiny little thing!
MRS. YEO. [Aggressively.] Well, I was ten myself, I remembers it.
MRS. Rous. [Placidly.] The Company hadn't
ANTHONY. [Almost paternally.] Come, out with it, Trench!
TENCH. I don't like to say it, sir.
ANTHONY. [Stonily.] You Must.
TENCH. [After a pause, desperately bolting it out.] I think the Directors are going to throw you over, sir.
ANTHONY. [Sits in silence.] Ring the bell!
[TENCH nervously rings the bell and stands by the fire.]
TENCH. Excuse me for saying such a thing. I was only thinking of you, sir.
[FROST enters from the hall, he comes to the foot of the table, and looks at ANTHONY; TENCH coveys his nervousness by arranging papers.]
ANTHONY. Bring me a whiskey and soda.
FROST. Anything to eat, sir?
[ANTHONY shakes his head. FROST goes to the sideboard, and prepares the drink.]
TENCH. [In a low voice, almost supplicating.] If you could see your way, sir, it would be a great relief to my mind, it would indeed. [He looks up at ANTHONY, who has not moved.] It does make me so very anxious. I haven't slept properly for weeks, sir, and that's a fact.
[ANTHONY looks in his face, then slowly shakes his head.]
[Disheartened.] No, Sir? [He goes on arranging papers.]
FROST places the whiskey and salver and puts it down by ANTHONY'S right hand. He stands away, looking gravely at ANTHONY.]
FROST. Nothing I can get you, sir?
[ANTHONY shakes his head.]
You're aware, sir, of what the doctor said, sir?
ANTHONY. I am.
[A pause. FROST suddenly moves closer to him, and speaks in a low voice.]
FROST. This strike, sir; puttin' all this strain on you. Excuse me, sir, is it--is it worth it, sir?
[ANTHONY mutters some words that are inaudible.]
Very good, sir!
[He turns and goes out into the hall. TENCH makes two attempts to speak; but meeting his Chairman's gaze he drops his eyes, and, turning dismally, he too goes out. ANTHONY is left alone. He grips the glass, tilts it, and drinks deeply; then sets it down with a deep and rumbling sigh, and leans back in his chair.]
The curtain falls.
ACT II
SCENE I
It is half-past three. In the kitchen of Roberts's cottage a meagre little fire is burning. The room is clean and tidy, very barely furnished, with a brick floor and white-washed walls, much stained with smoke. There is a kettle on the fire. A door opposite the fireplace opens inward from a snowy street. On the wooden table are a cup and saucer, a teapot, knife, and plate of bread and cheese. Close to the fireplace in an old arm-chair, wrapped in a rug, sits MRS. ROBERTS, a thin and dark-haired woman about thirty-five, with patient eyes. Her hair is not done up, but tied back with a piece of ribbon. By the fire, too, is MRS. YEO; a red-haired, broad-faced person. Sitting near the table is MRS. ROUS, an old lady, ashen-white, with silver hair; by the door, standing, as if about to go, is MRS. BULGIN, a little pale, pinched-up woman. In a chair, with her elbows resting on the table, avid her face resting in her hands, sits MADGE THOMAS, a good-looking girl, of twenty-two, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and dark untidy hair. She is listening to the talk, but she neither speaks nor moves.
MRS. YEO. So he give me a sixpence, and that's the first bit o' money I seen this week. There an't much 'eat to this fire. Come and warm yerself Mrs. Rous, you're lookin' as white as the snow, you are.
MRS. ROUS. [Shivering- placidly.] Ali! but the winter my old man was took was the proper winter. Seventy-nine that was, when none of you was hardly born--not Madge Thomas, nor Sue Bulgin. [Looking at them in turn.] Annie Roberts, 'ow old were you, dear?
MRS ROBERTS. Seven, Mrs. Rous.
MRS. ROUS. Seven--well, there! A tiny little thing!
MRS. YEO. [Aggressively.] Well, I was ten myself, I remembers it.
MRS. Rous. [Placidly.] The Company hadn't