Strife by John Galsworthy Read Free Book Online Page A

your own mother, if you must.
     
    [ROUS seizes her by both her arms. She stands rigid, with her head bent back. He releases her, and he too stands motionless.]
     
    ROUS. I swore to stand by Roberts. I swore that! Ye want me to go back on what I've sworn.
     
    MADGE. [With slow soft mockery.] You are a pretty lover!
     
    ROUS. Madge!
     
    MADGE. [Smiling.] I've heard that lovers do what their girls ask them—
     
    [JAN sounds the cuckoo's notes]
     
    —but that's not true, it seems!
     
    ROUS. You'd make a blackleg of me!
     
    MADGE. [With her eyes half-closed.] Do it for me!
     
    ROUS. [Dashing his hand across his brow.] Damn! I can't!
     
    MADGE. [Swiftly.] Do it for me!
     
    ROUS. [Through his teeth.] Don't play the wanton with me!
     
    MADGE. [With a movement of her hand towards JAN—quick and low.] I would be that for the children's sake!
     
    ROUS. [In a fierce whisper.] Madge! Oh, Madge!
     
    MADGE. [With soft mockery.] But you can't break your word for me!
     
    ROUS. [With a choke.] Then, Begod, I can!
     
    [He turns and rushes off.] [MADGE Stands, with a faint smile on her face, looking after him. She turns to MRS. ROBERTS.]
     
    MADGE. I have done for Roberts!
     
    MRS. ROBERTS. [Scornfully.] Done for my man, with that—! [She sinks back.]
     
    MADGE. [Running to her, and feeling her hands.] You're as cold as a stone! You want a drop of brandy. Jan, run to the "Lion"; say, I sent you for Mrs. Roberts.
     
    MRS. ROBERTS. [With a feeble movement.] I'll just sit quiet, Madge. Give Jan his tea.
     
    MADGE. [Giving JAN a slice of bread.] There, ye little rascal. Hold your piping. [Going to the fire, she kneels.] It's going out.
     
    MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile.] 'T is all the same!
     
    [JAN begins to blow his whistle.]
     
    MADGE. Tsht! Tsht!—you
     
    [JAN Stops.]
     
    MRS. ROBERTS. [Smiling.] Let 'im play, Madge.
     
    MADGE. [On her knees at the fire, listening.] Waiting an' waiting. I've no patience with it; waiting an' waiting that's what a woman has to do! Can you hear them at it, I can!
     
    [JAN begins again to play his whistle; MADGE gets up; half tenderly she ruffles his hair; then, sitting, leans her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands. Behind her, on MRS. ROBERTS'S face the smile has changed to horrified surprise. She makes a sudden movement, sitting forward, pressing her hands against her breast. Then slowly she sinks' back; slowly her face loses the look of pain, the smile returns. She fixes her eyes again on JAN, and moves her lips and finger to the tune.]
     
    The curtain falls.
     
     
    SCENE II
     
    It is past four. In a grey, failing light, an open muddy space is crowded with workmen. Beyond, divided from it by a barbed-wire fence, is the raised towing-path of a canal, on which is moored a barge. In the distance are marshes and snow-covered hills. The "Works" high wall runs from the canal across the open space, and ivy the angle of this wall is a rude platform of barrels and boards. On it, HARNESS is standing. ROBERTS, a little apart from the crowd, leans his back against the wall. On the raised towing-path two bargemen lounge and smoke indifferently.
     
    HARNESS. [Holding out his hand.] Well, I've spoken to you straight. If I speak till to-morrow I can't say more.
     
    JAGO. [A dark, sallow, Spanish-looking man with a short, thin beard.] Mister, want to ask you! Can they get blacklegs?
     
    BULGIN. [Menacing.] Let 'em try.
     
    [There are savage murmurs from the crowd.]
     
    BROWN. [A round-faced man.] Where could they get 'em then?
     
    EVANS. [A small, restless, harassed man, with a fighting face.] There's always blacklegs; it's the nature of 'em. There's always men that'll save their own skins.
     
    [Another savage murmur. There is a movement, and old THOMAS, joining the crowd, takes his stand in front.]
     
    HARNESS. [Holding up his hand.] They can't get them. But that won't help you. Now men, be reasonable. Your demands would have brought on us the burden of a dozen strikes