Hobson's Choice: A Lancashire Comedy in Four Acts Part 18

MAGGIE. That's enough, Will. You don't need to overdo it. You can sit down for five minutes, father. That sofa 'ull bear your weight. It's been tested.

(HOBSON _sits on sofa_, R. C. WILLIE _goes back to the chair_, R.)

WILLIE (_taking up teapot_). There's n.o.bbut tea to drink and I reckon what's in the pot is stewed, so I'll--

MAGGIE (_taking pot off him as he moves to fire-place with it_). You'll not do owt of sort. Father likes his liquids strong.

WILLIE (_down_ R. _of table_). A piece of pork pie now, Mr. Hobson?

HOBSON (_groaning_). Pork pie!

MAGGIE (_sharply_). You'll be sociable now you're here, I hope. (_She pours tea at table, top end_.)

HOBSON. It wasn't sociability that brought me, Maggie.

MAGGIE. What was it, then?

HOBSON. Maggie, I'm in disgrace. A sore and sad misfortune's fallen on me.

MAGGIE (_cutting_). Happen a piece of wedding cake 'ull do you good.

HOBSON (_shuddering_). It's sweet.

MAGGIE. That's natural in cake.

(MAGGIE _sits in chair above table_.)

HOBSON. I've gotten such a head.

MAGGIE. Aye. But wedding cake's a question of heart. There'd be no bride cakes made at all if we thought first about our heads. I'm quite aware it's foolishness, but I've a wish to see my father sitting at my table eating my wedding cake on my wedding-day.

HOBSON. It's a very serious thing I came about, Maggie.

MAGGIE. It's not more serious than knowing that you wish us well.

HOBSON. Well, Maggie, you know my way. When a thing's done it's done.

You've had your way and done what you wanted. I'm none proud of the choice you made and I'll not lie and say I am, but I've shaken your husband's hand, and that's a sign for you. The milk's spilt and I'll not cry.

MAGGIE (_holding plate_). Then there's your cake, and you can eat it.

HOBSON. I've given you my word there's no ill feeling. (_Pushes cake away_.)

MAGGIE. So now we'll have the deed. (_Pushes it back_.)

HOBSON. You're a hard woman. (_He eats_.) You've no consideration for the weakness of old age.

MAGGIE. Finished?

HOBSON. Pa.s.s me that tea.

(_She pa.s.ses: he drinks_.)

That's easier.

MAGGIE. Now tell me what it is you came about?

HOBSON. I'm in sore trouble, Maggie.

MAGGIE (_rising and going towards door_, L.). Then I'll leave you with my husband to talk it over.

HOBSON. Eh?

MAGGIE. You'll not be wanting me. Women are only in your way.

HOBSON (_rising and going_ C.). Maggie, you re not going to desert me in the hour of my need, are you?

MAGGIE. Surely to goodness you don't want a woman to help you after all you've said! Will 'ull do his best, I make no doubt. (_She goes towards door_.) Give me a call when you've finished, Will.

HOBSON (_following her_). Maggie! It's private.

MAGGIE. Why, yes. I'm going and you can discuss it man to man with no fools of women about.

HOBSON. I tell you I've come to see you, not him. It's private from him.

MAGGIE. Private from Will? Nay, it isn't. Will's in the family--(_comes back a little_),--and you've nowt to say to me that can't be said to him.

HOBSON. I've to tell you this with him there?

MAGGIE. Will and me's one.

WILLIE. Sit down, Mr. Hobson.

MAGGIE. You call him father now.

WILLIE (_astonished_). Do I?

HOBSON. Does he?

MAGGIE. He does. Sit down, Will.

(WILL _sits right of table_. MAGGIE _stands at the head of the table_.

HOBSON _sits on sofa_.)

Now, if you're ready, father, we are. What's the matter?

HOBSON. That--(_producing the blue paper_)--that's the matter.

(MAGGIE _accepts and pa.s.ses it to_ WILL _and goes behind his chair.

He is reading upside down. She bends over chair and turns it right way up_.)