JARLAND. [Lurching with his pewter up to GODLEIGH] The beggar! I'll be even wi' un.
GODLEIGH. [Looking at him in doubt] 'Tes the last, then, Tam.
[Having received his beer, JARLAND stands, leaning against the bar, drinking.]
BURLACOMBE. [Suddenly] I don' goo with what curate's duin—'tes tiff soft 'earted; he'm a muney kind o' man altogether, wi' 'is flute an' 'is poetry; but he've a-lodged in my 'ouse this year an' mare, and always 'ad an 'elpin' 'and for every one. I've got a likin' for him an' there's an end of it.
JARLAND. The coward!
TRUSTAFORD. I don' trouble nothin' about that, Tam Jarland. [Turning to BURLACOMBE] What gits me is 'e don't seem to 'ave no zense o' what's his own praperty.
JARLAND. Take other folk's property fast enough!
[He saws the air with his empty. The others have all turned to him, drawn by the fascination that a man in liquor has for his fellow-men. The bell for church has begun to rang, the sun is down, and it is getting dusk.]
He wants one on his crop, an' one in 'is belly; 'e wants a man to take an' gie un a gude hidin zame as he oughter give 'is fly-be-night of a wife.
[STRANGWAY in his dark clothes has entered, and stands by the door, his lips compressed to a colourless line, his thin, darkish face grey-white]
Zame as a man wid ha' gi'en the doctor, for takin' what isn't his'n.
All but JARLAND have seen STRANGWAY. He steps forward, JARLAND
sees him now; his jaw drops a little, and he is silent.
STRANGWAY. I came for a little brandy, Mr. Godleigh—feeling rather faint. Afraid I mightn't get through the service.
GODLEIGH. [With professional composure] Marteil's Three Star, zurr, or 'Ennessy's?
STRANGWAY. [Looking at JARLAND] Thank you; I believe I can do without, now. [He turns to go.]
[In the deadly silence, GODLEIGH touches the arm of JARLAND, who, leaning against the bar with the pewter in his hand, is staring with his strange lowering eyes straight at STRANGWAY.]
JARLAND. [Galvanized by the touch into drunken rage] Lave me be—I'll talk to un-parson or no. I'll tache un to meddle wi' my maid's bird. I'll tache un to kape 'is thievin' 'ands to 'imself.
[STRANGWAY turns again.]
CLYST. Be quiet, Tam.
JARLAND. [Never loosing STRANGWAY with his eyes—like a bull-dog who sees red] That's for one chake; zee un turn t'other, the white-livered buty! Whu lets another man 'ave 'is wife, an' never the sperit to go vor un!
BURLACOMBE. Shame, Jarland; quiet, man!
[They are all looking at STRANGWAY, who, under JARLAND'S drunken insults is standing rigid, with his eyes closed, and his hands hard clenched. The church bell has stopped slow ringing, and begun its five minutes' hurrying note.]
TRUSTAFORD. [Rising, and trying to hook his arm into JARLAND'S]
Come away, Tam; yu've a-'ad to much, man.
JARLAND. [Shaking him off] Zee, 'e darsen't touch me; I might 'it un in the vase an' 'e darsen't; 'e's afraid—like 'e was o' the doctor.
[He raises the pewter as though to fling it, but it is seized by
GODLEIGH from behind, and falls clattering to the floor.
STRANGWAY has not moved.]
JARLAND. [Shaking his fist almost in his face] Luke at un, Luke at un! A man wi' a slut for a wife——
[As he utters the word "wife" STRANGWAY seizes the outstretched fist, and with a jujitsu movement, draws him into his clutch, helpless. And as they sway and struggle in the open window, with the false strength of fury he forces JARLAND through. There is a crash of broken glass from outside. At the sound STRANGWAY comes to himself. A look of agony passes over his face. His eyes light on JIM BERE, who has suddenly risen, and stands feebly clapping his hands. STRANGWAY rushes out.]
[Excitedly gathering at the window, they all speak at once.]
CLYST. Tam's hatchin' of yure cucumbers, Mr. Godleigh.
TRUSTAFORD. 'E did crash; haw, haw!
FREMAN. 'Twas a brave throw, zurely. Whu wid a' thought it?
CLYST. Tam's crawlin' out. [Leaning through window] Hello, Tam—'ow's t' base, old man?
FREMAN. [Excitedly] They'm all comin' up from churchyard to zee.
TRUSTAFORD. Tam du luke wonderful aztonished; haw, haw! Poor old
Tam!
CLYST. Can yu zee curate? Reckon 'e'm gone into church. Aw, yes; gettin' a bit dimsy-service time. [A moment's hush.]
TRUSTAFORD. Well, I'm jiggered. In 'alf an hour he'm got to prache.
GODLEIGH. 'Tes a Christian village, boys.
[Feebly, quietly, JIM BERE laughs. There is silence; but the bell is heard still ranging.]
CURTAIN.
SCENE II
The same-in daylight dying fast. A lamp is burning on the bar. A chair has been placed in the centre of the room, facing the bench under the window, on which are seated from right to left, GODLEIGH, SOL POTTER the village shopman, TRUSTAFORD, BURLACOMBE, FREMAN, JIM BERE, and MORSE the blacksmith. CLYST is squatting on a stool by the bar, and at the other end JARLAND, sobered and lowering, leans against the lintel of the porch leading to the door, round which are gathered five or six sturdy fellows, dumb as fishes. No one sits in the chair. In the unnatural silence that reigns, the distant sound of the wheezy church organ and voices singing can be heard.
TAUSTAFORD. [After a prolonged clearing of his throat] What I mean to zay is that 'tes no yuse, not a bit o' yuse in the world, not duin' of things properly. If an' in case we'm to carry a resolution disapprovin' o' curate, it must all be done so as no one can't, zay nothin'.
SOL POTTER. That's what I zay, Mr. Trustaford; ef so be as 'tis to be a village meetin', then it must be all done proper.
FREMAN. That's right, Sot Potter. I purpose Mr. Sot Potter into the chair. Whu seconds that?
[A silence. Voices from among the dumb-as-fishes: "I du."]
CLYST. [Excitedly] Yu can't putt that to the meetin'. Only a chairman can putt it to the meetin'. I purpose that Mr. Burlacombe—bein as how he's chairman o' the Parish Council—take the chair.
FREMAN. Ef so be as I can't putt it, yu can't putt that neither.
TRUSTAFORD. 'Tes not a bit o' yuse; us can't 'ave no meetin' without a chairman.
GODLEIGH. Us can't 'ave no chairman without a meetin' to elect un, that's zure. [A silence.]
MORSE. [Heavily] To my way o' thinkin', Mr. Godleigh speaks zense; us must 'ave a meetin' before us can 'ave a chairman.
CLYST. Then what we got to du's to elect a meetin'.
BURLACOMBE. [Sourly] Yu'll not find no procedure far that.
[Voices from among the dumb-as fishes: "Mr. Burlacombe 'e oughter know."]
SOL POTTER. [Scratching his head—with heavy solemnity] 'Tes my belief there's no other way to du, but to elect a chairman to call a meetin'; an' then for that meetin' to elect a chairman.
CLYST. I purpose Mr. Burlacombe as chairman to call a meetin'.
FREMAN. I purpose Sol Potter.
GODLEIGH. Can't 'ave tu propositions together before a meetin'; that's apple-pie