Major Barbara - George Bernard Shaw (best e book reader .TXT) 📗

have the bread and treacle in you that you come here to beg. Shirley Bursting into tears. Oh God! it’s true: I’m only an old pauper on the scrap heap. Furiously. But you’ll come to it yourself; and then you’ll know. You’ll come to it sooner than a teetotaller like me, fillin’ yourself with gin at this hour o’ the mornin’! Bill I’m no gin drinker, you old liar; but when I want to give my girl a bloomin’ good ’idin’ I like to ’av a bit o’ devil in me: see? An here I am, talkin’ to a rotten old blighter like you sted o’ givin’ her wot for. Working himself into a rage. I’m goin in there to fetch her out. He makes vengefully for the shelter door. Shirley You’re goin to the station on a stretcher, more likely; and they’ll take the gin and the devil out of you there when they get you inside. You mind what you’re about: the major here is the Earl o’ Stevenage’s granddaughter. Bill Checked. Garn! Shirley You’ll see. Bill His resolution oozing. Well, I ain’t done nothin’ to ’er. Shirley Spose she said you did! who’d believe you? Bill Very uneasy, skulking back to the corner of the penthouse. Gawd! There’s no jastice in this country. To think wot them people can do! I’m as good as ’er. Shirley Tell her so. It’s just what a fool like you would do. Barbara, brisk and businesslike, comes from the shelter with a notebook, and addresses herself to Shirley. Bill, cowed, sits down in the corner on a form, and turns his back on them. Barbara Good morning. Shirley Standing up and taking off his hat. Good morning, miss. Barbara Sit down: make yourself at home. He hesitates; but she puts a friendly hand on his shoulder and makes him obey. Now then! since you’ve made friends with us, we want to know all about you. Names and addresses and trades. Shirley Peter Shirley. Fitter. Chucked out two months ago because I was too old. Barbara Not at all surprised. You’d pass still. Why didn’t you dye your hair? Shirley I did. Me age come out at a coroner’s inquest on me daughter. Barbara Steady? Shirley Teetotaller. Never out of a job before. Good worker. And sent to the knockers like an old horse! Barbara No matter: if you did your part God will do his. Shirley Suddenly stubborn. My religion’s no concern of anybody but myself. Barbara Guessing. I know. Secularist? Shirley Hotly. Did I offer to deny it? Barbara Why should you? My own father’s a Secularist, I think. Our Father⁠—yours and mine⁠—fulfils himself in many ways; and I daresay he knew what he was about when he made a Secularist of you. So buck up, Peter! we can always find a job for a steady man like you. Shirley, disarmed, touches his hat. She turns from him to Bill. What’s your name? Bill Insolently. Wot’s that to you? Barbara Calmly making a note. Afraid to give his name. Any trade? Bill Who’s afraid to give his name? Doggedly, with a sense of heroically defying the House of Lords in the person of Lord Stevenage. If you want to bring a charge agen me, bring it. She waits, unruffled. My name’s Bill Walker. Barbara As if the name were familiar: trying to remember how. Bill Walker? Recollecting. Oh, I know: you’re the man that Jenny Hill was praying for inside just now. She enters his name in her notebook. Bill Who’s Jenny Hill? And what call has she to pray for me? Barbara I don’t know. Perhaps it was you that cut her lip. Bill Defiantly. Yes, it was me that cut her lip. I ain’t afraid o’ you. Barbara How could you be, since you’re not afraid of God? You’re a brave man, Mr. Walker. It takes some pluck to do our work here; but none of us dare lift our hand against a girl like that, for fear of her father in heaven. Bill Sullenly. I want none o’ your cantin’ jaw. I suppose you think I come here to beg from you, like this damaged lot here. Not me. I don’t want your bread and scrape and catlap. I don’t believe in your Gawd, no more than you do yourself. Barbara Sunnily apologetic and ladylike, as on a new footing with him. Oh, I beg your pardon for putting your name down, Mr. Walker. I didn’t understand. I’ll strike it out. Bill Taking this as a slight, and deeply wounded by it. Eah! you let my name alone. Ain’t it good enough to be in your book? Barbara Considering. Well, you see, there’s no use putting down your name unless I can do something for you, is there? What’s your trade? Bill Still smarting. That’s no concern o’ yours. Barbara Just so. Very businesslike. I’ll put you down as Writing. the man who⁠—struck⁠—poor little Jenny Hill⁠—in the mouth. Bill Rising threateningly. See here. I’ve ’ad enough o’ this. Barbara Quite sunny and fearless. What did you come to us for? Bill I come for my girl, see? I come to take her out o’ this and to break ’er jawr for her. Barbara Complacently. You see I was right about your trade. Bill, on the point of retorting furiously, finds himself, to his great shame and terror, in danger of crying instead. He sits down again suddenly. What’s her name? Bill Dogged. ’Er name’s Mog Abbijam: thats wot her name is. Barbara Oh, she’s gone to Canning Town, to our barracks there. Bill Fortified by his resentment of Mog’s perfidy. Is she? Vindictively. Then I’m goin to Kennintahn arter her. He crosses to the gate; hesitates; finally comes back at Barbara. Are you lyin’ to me to get shut o’ me? Barbara I don’t want to get shut of you. I want to keep you here and save your soul. You’d better stay: you’re going to have a bad