Hobson's Choice: A Lancashire Comedy in Four Acts Part 2

HOBSON. I'm not stopping in from my business appointment for the purpose of saving my breath.

VICKEY. You like to see me in nice clothes.

HOBSON. I do. I like to see my daughters nice. (_Crosses_ R.) That's why I pay Mr. Tudsbury, the draper, 10 pounds a year a head to dress you proper. It pleases the eye and it's good for trade. But, I'll tell you, if some women could see themselves as men see them, they'd have a shock, and I'll have words with Tudsbury an' all, for letting you dress up like guys. (_Moves_ L.) I saw you and Alice out of the "Moonraker's" parlour on Thursday night and my friend Sam Minns--(_Turns_.)

ALICE. A publican.

HOBSON. Aye, a publican. As honest a man as G.o.d Almighty ever set behind a bar, my ladies. My friend, Sam Minns, asked me who you were. And well he might. You were going down Chapel Street with a hump added to nature behind you.

VICKEY (_scandalized_). Father!

HOBSON. The hump was wagging, and you put your feet on pavement as if you'd got chilblains--aye, stiff neck above and weak knees below. It's immodest!

ALICE. It is not immodest, father. It's the fashion to wear bustles.

HOBSON. Then to h.e.l.l with the fashion.

MAGGIE. Father, you are not in the "Moonraker's" now.

VICKEY. You should open your eyes to what other ladies wear. (_Rises_.)

HOBSON. If what I saw on you is any guide, I should do nowt of kind. I'm a decent-minded man. I'm Hobson. I'm British middle cla.s.s and proud of it. I stand for common sense and sincerity. You're affected, which is bad sense and insincerity. You've overstepped nice dressing and you've tried grand dressing--(VICKEY _sits_)--which is the occupation of fools and such as have no brains. You forget the majesty of trade and the unparalleled virtues of the British Const.i.tution which are all based on the sanity of the middle cla.s.ses, combined with the diligence of the working-cla.s.ses. You're losing balance, and you're putting the things which don't matter in front of the things which do, and if you mean to be a factor in the world in Lancashire or a factor in the house of Hobson, you'll become sane.

VICKEY. Do you want us to dress like mill girls?

HOBSON. No. Nor like French Madams, neither. It's un-English, I say.

ALICE. We shall continue to dress fashionably, father.

HOBSON. Then I've a choice for you two. Vickey, you I'm talking to, and Alice. You'll become sane if you're going on living here. You'll control this uppishness that's growing on you. And if you don't, you'll get out of this, and exercise your gifts on some one else than me. You don't know when you're well off. But you'll learn it when I'm done with you.

I'll choose a pair of husbands for you, my girls. That's what I'll do.

ALICE. Can't we choose husbands for ourselves?

HOBSON. I've been telling you for the last five minutes you're not even fit to choose dresses for yourselves.

MAGGIE. You're talking a lot to Vickey and Alice, father. Where do I come in?

HOBSON. You? (_Turning on her, astonished_.)

MAGGIE. If you're dealing husbands round, don't I get one?

HOBSON. Well, that's a good one! (_Laughs_.) You with a husband! (_Down in front of desk_.)

MAGGIE. Why not?

HOBSON. Why not? I thought you'd sense enough to know. But if you want the brutal truth, you're past the marrying age. You're a proper old maid, Maggie, if ever there was one.

MAGGIE. I'm thirty.

HOBSON (_facing her_). Aye, thirty and shelved. Well, all the women can't get husbands. But you others, now. I've told you. I'll have less uppishness from you or else I'll shove you off my hands on to some other men. You can just choose which way you like. (_He picks up hat and makes for door_.)

MAGGIE. One o'clock dinner, father.

HOBSON. See here, Maggie,--(_back again down to in front of desk_)--I set the hours at this house. It's one o'clock dinner because I say it is, and not because you do.

MAGGIE. Yes, father.

HOBSON. So long as that's clear I'll go. (_He is by door_.) Oh no, I won't. Mrs. Hepworth's getting out of her carriage.

(_He puts hat on counter again_. MAGGIE _rises and opens door. Enter_ MRS. HEPWORTH, _an old lady with a curt manner and good clothes_.)

Good morning, Mrs. Hepworth. What a lovely day. (_He crosses_ R. _and places chair_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH (_sitting in arm-chair_ R. C.). Morning, Hobson. (_She raises her skirt_.) I've come about those boots you sent me home.

HOBSON (_kneeling on_ MRS. HEPWORTH'S R., _and fondling foot_. MAGGIE _is_ C.). Yes, Mrs. Hepworth. They look very nice.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Get up, Hobson. (_He scrambles up, controlling his feelings_.) You look ridiculous on the floor. Who made these boots?

HOBSON. We did. Our own make.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Will you answer a plain question? Who made these boots?

HOBSON. They were made on the premises.

MRS. HEPWORTH (_to_ MAGGIE). Young woman, you seemed to have some sense when you served me. Can you answer me?

MAGGIE. I think so, but I'll make sure for you, Mrs. Hepworth. (_She opens trap and calls_.) Tubby!

HOBSON (_down_ R.). You wish to see the identical workman, madam?

MRS. HEPWORTH. I said so.

HOBSON. I am responsible for all work turned out here.

MRS. HEPWORTH. I never said you weren't.

(TUBBY WADLOW _comes up trap. A white-haired little man with thin legs and a paunch, in dingy clothes with no collar and a coloured cotton shirt. He has no coat on_.)

TUBBY. Yes, Miss Maggie? (_He stands half out of trap, not coming right up_.)

MRS. HEPWORTH. Man, did you make these boots? (_She rises and advances one pace towards him_.)

TUBBY. No, ma'am.

MRS. HEPWORTH. Then who did? Am I to question every soul in the place before I find out? (_Looking round_.)