The Collected Shorter Plays Read Online Free PDF

are alone. There is no one to ask.
[
Silence
]
MR. ROONEY
[
clearing his throat, narrative tone
] We drew out on the tick of time, I can vouch for that. I was—
MRS. ROONEY
How can you vouch for it?
MR. ROONEY
[
normal tone, angrily
] I can vouch for it, I tell you! Do you want my relation or don’t you? [
Pause. Narrative tone
.] On the tick of time. I had the compartment to myself, as usual. At least I hope so, for I made no attempt to restrain myself. My mind— [
Normal tone
.] But why do we not sit down somewhere? Are we afraid we should never rise again?
MRS. ROONEY
Sit down on what?
MR. ROONEY
On a bench, for example.
MRS. ROONEY
There is no bench.
MR. ROONEY
Then on a bank, let us sink down upon a bank.
MRS. ROONEY
There is no bank.
MR. ROONEY
Then we cannot. [
Pause
.] I dream of other roads, in other lands. Of another home, another— [
He hesitates
.] —another home. [
Pause
.] What was I trying to say?
MRS. ROONEY
Something about your mind.
MR. ROONEY
[
startled
] My mind? Are you sure? [
Pause. Incredulous
.] My mind? . . . [
Pause
.] Ah yes. [
Narrative tone
.] Alone in the compartment my mind began to work, as so oftenafter office hours, on the way home, in the train, to the lilt of the bogeys. Your season-ticket, I said, costs you twelve pounds a year and you earn, on an average, seven and six a day, that is to say barely enough to keep you alive and twitching with the help of food, drink, tobacco and periodicals until you finally reach home and fall into bed. Add to this—or subtract from it—rent, stationery, various subscriptions, tramfares to and fro, light and heat, permits and licences, hairtrims and shaves, tips to escorts, upkeep of premises and appearances, and a thousand unspecifiable sundries, and it is clear that by lying at home in bed, day and night, winter and summer, with a change of pyjamas once a fortnight, you would add very considerably to your income. Business, I said— [
A cry. Pause. Again. Normal tone
.] Did I hear a cry?
MRS. ROONEY
Mrs. Tully I fancy. Her poor husband is in constant pain and beats her unmercifully.
[
Silence
.]
MR. ROONEY
That was a short knock. [
Pause
.] What was I trying to get at?
MRS. ROONEY
Business.
MR. ROONEY
Ah yes, business. [
Narrative tone
.] Business, old man, I said, retire from business, it has retired from you. [
Normal tone
.] One has these moments of lucidity.
MRS. ROONEY
I feel very cold and weak.
MR. ROONEY
[
narrative tone
] On the other hand, I said, there are the horrors of home life, the dusting, sweeping, airing, scrubbing, waxing, waning, washing, mangling, drying, mowing, clipping, raking, rolling, scuffling, shovelling, grinding, tearing, pounding, banging and slamming. And the brats, the happy little healthy little howling neighbours’ brats. Of all this and much more the week-end, the Saturday intermission and then theday of rest, have given you some idea. But what must it be like on a working-day? A Wednesday? A Friday? What must it be like on a Friday! And I fell to thinking of my silent, backstreet, basement office, with its obliterated plate, rest-couch and velvet hangings, and what it means to be buried there alive, if only from ten to five, with convenient to the one hand a bottle of light pale ale and to the other a long ice-cold fillet of hake. Nothing, I said, not even fully certified death, can ever take the place of that. It was then I noticed that we were at a standstill. [
Pause. Normal tone. Irritably
.] Why are you hanging out of me like that? Have you swooned away?
MRS. ROONEY
I feel very cold and faint. The wind—[
whistling wind
]—is whistling through my summer frock as if I had nothing on over my bloomers. I have had no solid food since my elevenses.
MR. ROONEY
You have ceased to care. I speak—and you listen to the wind.
MRS. ROONEY
No, no, I am agog, tell me all, then we shall press on and never pause, never pause, till we come safe to haven.
[
Pause
.]
MR. ROONEY
Never pause . . . safe to haven. . . . Do