WELLWYN. He's done that.
BERTLEY. Ah! Then--[WELLWYN and ANN hang on his words] then I
should--er--
ANN. [Abruptly.] Remove him.
BERTLEY. Before I say that, Ann, I must certainly see the
individual.
WELLWYN. [Pointing to the window.] There he is!
[In the failing light TIMSON'S face is indeed to be seen
pressed against the window pane.]
ANN. Daddy, I do wish you'd have thick glass put in. It's so
disgusting to be spied at! [WELLWYN going quickly to the door, has
opened it.] What do you want? [TIMSON enters with dignity. He is
fuddled.]
TIMSON. [Slowly.] Arskin' yer pardon-thought it me duty to come
back-found thish yer little brishel on me. [He produces the little
paint brush.]
ANN. [In a deadly voice.] Nothing else?
[TIMSON accords her a glassy stare.]
WELLWYN. [Taking the brush hastily.] That'll do, Timson, thanks!
TIMSON. As I am 'ere, can I do anything for yer?
ANN. Yes, you can sweep out that little room. [She points to the
model's room.] There's a broom in there.
TIMSON. [Disagreeably surprised.] Certainly; never make bones
about a little extra--never 'ave in all me life. Do it at onsh, I
will. [He moves across to the model's room at that peculiar broad
gait so perfectly adjusted to his habits.] You quite understand me
--couldn't bear to 'ave anything on me that wasn't mine.
[He passes out.]
ANN. Old fraud!
WELLWYN. "In" and "on." Mark my words, he'll restore the--bottles.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123