You Never Can Tell

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CRAMPTON. Oh, there's a solicitor with them, is there?

WAITER. The family solicitor, sir---yes, sir. Name of McComas, sir.
(He goes towards hotel entrance with coat and stick, happily unconscious
of the bomblike effect the name has produced on Crampton.)

CRAMPTON (rising in angry alarm). McComas! (Calls to Valentine.)
Valentine! (Again, fiercely.) Valentine!! (Valentine turns.) This is
a plant, a conspiracy. This is my family---my children--my infernal
wife.

VALENTINE (coolly). On, indeed! Interesting meeting! (He resumes
his study of the menu.)

CRAMPTON. Meeting! Not for me. Let me out of this. (Calling to
the waiter.) Give me that coat.

WAITER. Yes, sir. (He comes back, puts Valentine's stick carefully
down against the luncheon table; and delicately shakes the coat out and
holds it for Crampton to put on.) I seem to have done the young
gentleman an injustice, sir, haven't I, sir.

CRAMPTON. Rrrh! (He stops on the point of putting his arms into the
sleeves, and turns to Valentine with sudden suspicion.) Valentine: you
are in this. You made this plot. You---

VALENTINE (decisively). Bosh! (He throws the menu down and goes
round the table to look out unconcernedly over the parapet.)

CRAMPTON (angrily). What d'ye--- (McComas, followed by Philip and
Dolly, comes out. He vacillates for a moment on seeing Crampton.)

WAITER (softly--interrupting Crampton). Steady, sir. Here they
come, sir. (He takes up the stick and makes for the hotel, throwing the
coat across his arm. McComas turns the corners of his mouth resolutely
down and crosses to Crampton, who draws back and glares, with his hands
behind him. McComas, with his brow opener than ever, confronts him in
the majesty of a spotless conscience.)

WAITER (aside, as he passes Philip on his way out). I've broke it to
him, sir.

PHILIP. Invaluable William! (He passes on to the table.)

DOLLY (aside to the waiter). How did he take it?

WAITER (aside to her). Startled at first, miss; but resigned---very
resigned, indeed, miss. (He takes the stick and coat into the hotel.)

McCOMAS (having stared Crampton out of countenance). So here you
are, Mr. Crampton.

CRAMPTON. Yes, here--caught in a trap--a mean trap. Are those my
children?

PHILIP (with deadly politeness). Is this our father, Mr. McComas?

McCOMAS. Yes--er--- (He loses countenance himself and stops.)

DOLLY (conventionally). Pleased to meet you again. (She wanders
idly round the table, exchanging a smile and a word of greeting with
Valentine on the way.)

PHILIP. Allow me to discharge my first duty as host by ordering your
wine. (He takes the wine list from the table. His polite attention,
and Dolly's unconcerned indifference, leave Crampton on the footing of
the casual acquaintance picked up that morning at the dentist's. The
consciousness of it goes through the father with so keen a pang that he
trembles all over; his brow becomes wet; and he stares dumbly at his
son, who, just conscious enough of his own callousness to intensely
enjoy the humor and adroitness of it, proceeds pleasantly.) Finch: some
crusted old port for you, as a respectable family solicitor, eh?

McCOMAS (firmly). Apollinaris only. I prefer to take nothing
heating. (He walks away to the side of the terrace, like a man putting
temptation behind him.)

PHILIP. Valentine---?

VALENTINE. Would Lager be considered vulgar?

PHILIP. Probably. We'll order some. Dolly takes it. (Turning to
Crampton with cheerful politeness.) And now, Mr. Crampton, what can we
do for you?

CRAMPTON. What d'ye mean, boy?

PHILIP. Boy! (Very solemnly.) Whose fault is it that I am a boy?

(Crampton snatches the wine list rudely from him and irresolutely
pretends to read it. Philip abandons it to him with perfect
politeness.)

DOLLY (looking over Crampton's right shoulder). The whisky's on the
last page but one.

CRAMPTON. Let me alone, child.

DOLLY. Child! No, no: you may call me Dolly if you like; but you
mustn't call me child. (She slips her arm through Philip's; and the two
stand looking at Crampton as if he were some eccentric stranger.)

CRAMPTON (mopping his brow in rage and agony, and yet relieved even
by their playing with him). McComas: we are--ha!--going to have a
pleasant meal.

McCOMAS (pusillanimously). There is no reason why it should not be
pleasant. (He looks abjectly gloomy.)

PHILIP. Finch's face is a feast in itself. (Mrs. Clandon and Gloria
come from the hotel. Mrs. Clandon advances with courageous self-
possession and marked dignity of manner. She stops at the foot of the
steps to address Valentine, who is in her path. Gloria also stops,
looking at Crampton with a certain repulsion.)

MRS. CLANDON. Glad to see you again, Mr. Valentine. (He smiles.
She passes on and confronts Crampton, intending to address him with
perfect composure; but his aspect shakes her. She stops suddenly and
says anxiously, with a touch of remorse.) Fergus: you are greatly
changed.

CRAMPTON (grimly). I daresay. A man does change in eighteen years.

MRS. CLANDON (troubled). I--I did not mean that. I hope your health
is good.

CRAMPTON. Thank you. No: it's not my health. It's my happiness:
that's the change you meant, I think. (Breaking out suddenly.) Look at
her, McComas! Look at her; and look at me! (He utters a half laugh,
half sob.)

PHILIP. Sh! (Pointing to the hotel entrance, where the waiter has
just appeared.) Order before William!

DOLLY (touching Crampton's arm warningly with her finger).
Ahem! (The waiter goes to the service table and beckons to the kitchen
entrance, whence issue a young waiter with soup plates, and a cook, in
white apron and cap, with the soup tureen. The young waiter remains and
serves: the cook goes out, and reappears from time to time bringing in
the courses. He carves, but does not serve. The waiter comes to the
end of the luncheon table next the steps.)

MRS. CLANDON (as they all assemble about the table). I think you
have all met one another already to-day. Oh, no, excuse me.
(Introducing) Mr. Valentine: Mr. McComas. (She goes to the end of the
table nearest the hotel.) Fergus: will you take the head of the table,
please.

CRAMPTON. Ha! (Bitterly.) The head of the table!

WAITER (holding the chair for him with inoffensive encouragement).
This end, sir. (Crampton submits, and takes his seat.) Thank you, sir.

MRS. CLANDON. Mr. Valentine: will you take that side (indicating the
side nearest the parapet) with Gloria? (Valentine and Gloria take their
places, Gloria next Crampton and Valentine next Mrs. Clandon.) Finch: I
must put you on this side, between Dolly and Phil. You must protect
yourself as best you can. (The three take the remaining side of the
table, Dolly next her mother, Phil next his father, and McComas between
them. Soup is served.)

WAITER (to Crampton). Thick or clear, sir?

CRAMPTON (to Mrs. Clandon). Does nobody ask a blessing in this
household?

PHILIP (interposing smartly). Let us first settle what we are about
to receive. William!

WAITER. Yes, sir. (He glides swiftly round the table to Phil's left
elbow. On his way he whispers to the young waiter) Thick.

PHILIP. Two small Lagers for the children as usual, William; and one
large for this gentleman (indicating Valentine). Large Apollinaris for
Mr. McComas.

WAITER. Yes, sir.

DOLLY. Have a six of Irish in it, Finch?

McCOMAS (scandalized). No--no, thank you.

PHILIP. Number 413 for my mother and Miss Gloria as before; and--
(turning enquiringly to Crampton) Eh?

CRAMPTON (scowling and about to reply offensively). I---

WAITER (striking in mellifluously). All right, sir. We know what
Mr. Crampton likes here, sir. (He goes into the hotel.)

PHILIP (looking gravely at his father). You frequent bars. Bad
habit! (The cook, accompanied by a waiter with a supply of hot plates,
brings in the fish from the kitchen to the service table, and begins
slicing it.)

CRAMPTON. You have learnt your lesson from your mother, I see.

MRS. CLANDON. Phil: will you please remember that your jokes are apt
to irritate people who are not accustomed to us, and that your father is
our guest to-day.

CRAMPTON (bitterly). Yes, a guest at the head of my own table. (The
soup plates are removed.)

DOLLY (sympathetically). Yes: it's embarrassing, isn't it? It's
just as bad for us, you know.

PHILIP. Sh! Dolly: we are both wanting in tact. (To Crampton.) We
mean well, Mr. Crampton; but we are not yet strong in the filial line.
(The waiter returns from the hotel with the drinks.) William: come and
restore good feeling.

WAITER (cheerfully). Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Small Lager for
you, sir. (To Crampton.) Seltzer and Irish, sir. (To McComas.)
Apollinaris, sir. (To Dolly.) Small Lager, miss. (To Mrs. Clandon,
pouring out wine.) 413, madam. (To Valentine.) Large Lager for you,
sir. (To Gloria.) 413, miss.

DOLLY (drinking). To the family!

PHILIP. (drinking). Hearth and Home! (Fish is served.)

McCOMAS (with an obviously forced attempt at cheerful domesticity).
We are getting on very nicely after all.

DOLLY (critically). After all! After all what, Finch?

CRAMPTON (sarcastically). He means that you are getting on very
nicely in spite of the presence of your father. Do I take your point
rightly, Mr. McComas?

McCOMAS (disconcerted). No, no. I only said "after all" to round
off the sentence. I---er---er---er----

WAITER (tactfully). Turbot, sir?

McCOMAS (intensely grateful for the interruption). Thank you,
waiter: thank you.

WAITER (sotto voce). Don't mention it, sir. (He returns to the
service table.)

CRAMPTON (to Phil). Have you thought of choosing a profession yet?

PHILIP. I am keeping my mind open on that subject. William!

WAITER. Yes, sir.

PHILIP. How long do you think it would take me to learn to be a
really smart waiter?

WAITER. Can't be learnt, sir. It's in the character, sir.
(Confidentially to Valentine, who is looking about for something.)
Bread for the lady, sir? yes, sir. (He serves bread to Gloria, and
resumes at his former pitch.) Very few are born to it, sir.

PHILIP. You don't happen to have such a thing as a son, yourself,
have you?

WAITER. Yes, sir: oh, yes, sir. (To Gloria, again dropping his
voice.) A little more fish, miss? you won't care for the joint in the
middle of the day.

GLORIA. No, thank you. (The fish plates are removed.)

DOLLY. Is your son a waiter, too, William?

WAITER (serving Gloria with fowl). Oh, no, miss, he's too impetuous.
He's at the Bar.

McCOMAS (patronizingly). A potman, eh?

WAITER (with a touch of melancholy, as if recalling a disappointment
softened by time). No, sir: the other bar---your profession, sir. A
Q.C., sir.

McCOMAS (embarrassed). I'm sure I beg your pardon.

WAITER. Not at all, sir. Very natural mistake, I'm sure, sir. I've
often wished he was a potman, sir. Would have been off my hands ever so
much sooner, sir. (Aside to Valentine, who is again in difficulties.)
Salt at your elbow, sir. (Resuming.) Yes, sir: had to support him
until he was thirty-seven, sir. But doing well now, sir: very
satisfactory indeed, sir. Nothing less than fifty guineas, sir.

McCOMAS. Democracy, Crampton!---modern democracy!

WAITER (calmly). No, sir, not democracy: only education, sir.
Scholarships, sir. Cambridge Local, sir. Sidney Sussex College, sir.
(Dolly plucks his sleeve and whispers as he bends down.) Stone ginger,
miss? Right, miss. (To McComas.) Very good thing for him, sir: he
never had any turn for real work, sir. (He goes into the hotel, leaving
the company somewhat overwhelmed by his son's eminence.)

VALENTINE. Which of us dare give that man an order again!

DOLLY. I hope he won't mind my sending him for ginger-beer.

CRAMPTON (doggedly). While he's a waiter it's his business to wait.
If you had treated him as a waiter ought to be treated, he'd have held
his tongue.

DOLLY. What a loss that would have been! Perhaps he'll give us an
introduction to his son and get us into London society. (The waiter
reappears with the ginger-beer.)

CRAMPTON (growling contemptuously). London society! London
society!! You're not fit for any society, child.

DOLLY (losing her temper). Now look here, Mr. Crampton. If you
think---

WAITER (softly, at her elbow). Stone ginger, miss.

DOLLY (taken aback, recovers her good humor after a long breath and
says sweetly). Thank you, dear William. You were just in time. (She
drinks.)

McCOMAS (making a fresh effort to lead the conversation into
dispassionate regions). If I may be allowed to change the subject, Miss
Clandon, what is the established religion in Madeira?

GLORIA. I suppose the Portuguese religion. I never inquired.

DOLLY. The servants come in Lent and kneel down before you and
confess all the things they've done: and you have to pretend to forgive
them. Do they do that in England, William?

WAITER. Not usually, miss. They may in some parts: but it has not
come under my notice, miss. (Catching Mrs. Clandon's eye as the young
waiter offers her the salad bowl.) You like it without dressing, ma'am:
yes, ma'am, I have some for you. (To his young colleague, motioning him
to serve Gloria.) This side, Jo. (He takes a special portion of salad
from the service table and puts it beside Mrs. Clandon's plate. In
doing so he observes that Dolly is making a wry face.) Only a bit of
watercress, miss, got in by mistake. (He takes her salad away.) Thank
you, miss. (To the young waiter, admonishing him to serve Dolly
afresh.) Jo. (Resuming.) Mostly members of the Church of England,
miss.

DOLLY. Members of the Church of England! What's the subscription?

CRAMPTON (rising violently amid general consternation). You see how
my children have been brought up, McComas. You see it; you hear it. I
call all of you to witness--- (He becomes inarticulate, and is about to
strike his fist recklessly on the table when the waiter considerately
takes away his plate.)

MRS. CLANDON (firmly). Sit down, Fergus. There is no occasion at
all for this outburst. You must remember that Dolly is just like a
foreigner here. Pray sit down.

CRAMPTON (subsiding unwillingly). I doubt whether I ought to sit
here and countenance all this. I doubt it.

WAITER. Cheese, sir; or would you like a cold sweet?

CRAMPTON (take aback). What? Oh!---cheese, cheese.

DOLLY. Bring a box of cigarets, William.

WAITER. All ready, miss. (He takes a box of cigarets from the
service table and places them before Dolly, who selects one and prepares
to smoke. He then returns to his table for a box of vestas.)

CRAMPTON (staring aghast at Dolly). Does she smoke?

DOLLY (out of patience). Really, Mr. Crampton, I'm afraid I'm
spoiling your lunch. I'll go and have my cigaret on the beach. (She
leaves the table with petulant suddenness and goes down the steps. The
waiter attempts to give her the matches; but she is gone before he can
reach her.)

CRAMPTON (furiously). Margaret: call that girl back. Call her back,
I say.

McCOMAS (trying to make peace). Come, Crampton: never mind. She's
her father's daughter: that's all.

MRS. CLANDON (with deep resentment). I hope not, Finch. (She rises:
they all rise a little.) Mr. Valentine: will you excuse me: I am afraid
Dolly is hurt and put out by what has passed. I must go to her.

CRAMPTON. To take her part against me, you mean.

MRS. CLANDON (ignoring him). Gloria: will you take my place whilst I
am away, dear. (She crosses to the steps. Crampton's eyes follow her
with bitter hatred. The rest watch her in embarrassed silence, feeling
the incident to be a very painful one.)

WAITER (intercepting her at the top of the steps and offering her a
box of vestas). Young lady forgot the matches, ma'am. If you would be
so good, ma'am.

MRS. CLANDON (surprised into grateful politeness by the witchery of
his sweet and cheerful tones). Thank you very much. (She takes the
matches and goes down to the beach. The waiter shepherds his assistant
along with him into the hotel by the kitchen entrance, leaving the
luncheon party to themselves.)

CRAMPTON (throwing himself back in his chair). There's a mother for
you, McComas! There's a mother for you!

GLORIA (steadfastly). Yes: a good mother.

CRAMPTON. And a bad father? That's what you mean, eh?

VALENTINE (rising indignantly and addressing Gloria). Miss Clandon:
I---

CRAMPTON (turning on him). That girl's name is Crampton, Mr.
Valentine, not Clandon. Do you wish to join them in insulting me?

VALENTINE (ignoring him). I'm overwhelmed, Miss Clandon. It's all
my fault: I brought him here: I'm responsible for him. And I'm ashamed
of him.

CRAMPTON. What d'y' mean?

GLORIA (rising coldly). No harm has been done, Mr. Valentine. We
have all been a little childish, I am afraid. Our party has been a
failure: let us break it up and have done with it. (She puts her chair
aside and turns to the steps, adding, with slighting composure, as she
passes Crampton.) Good-bye, father.

(She descends the steps with cold, disgusted indifference. They all
look after her, and so do not notice the return of the waiter from the
hotel, laden with Crampton's coat, Valentine's stick, a couple of shawls
and parasols, a white canvas umbrella, and some camp stools.)

CRAMPTON (to himself, staring after Gloria with a ghastly
expression). Father! Father!! (He strikes his fist violently on the
table.) Now---

WAITER (offering the coat). This is yours, sir, I think, sir.
(Crampton glares at him; then snatches it rudely and comes down the
terrace towards the garden seat, struggling with the coat in his angry
efforts to put it on. McComas rises and goes to his assistance; then
takes his hat and umbrella from the little iron table, and turns towards
the steps. Meanwhile the waiter, after thanking Crampton with unruffled
sweetness for taking the coat, offers some of his burden to Phil.) The
ladies' sunshades, sir. Nasty glare off the sea to-day, sir: very
trying to the complexion, sir. I shall carry down the camp stools
myself, sir.

PHILIP. You are old, Father William; but you are the most
considerate of men. No: keep the sunshades and give me the camp stools
(taking them).

WAITER (with flattering gratitude). Thank you, sir.

PHILIP. Finch: share with me (giving him a couple). Come along.
(They go down the steps together.)

VALENTINE (to the waiter). Leave me something to bring down--one of
these. (Offering to take a sunshade.)

WAITER (discreetly). That's the younger lady's, sir. (Valentine
lets it go.) Thank you, sir. If you'll allow me, sir, I think you had
better have this. (He puts down the sunshades on Crampton's chair, and
produces from the tail pocket of his dress coat, a book with a lady's
handkerchief between the leaves, marking the page.) The eldest young
lady is reading it at present. (Valentine takes it eagerly.) Thank
you, sir. Schopenhauer, sir, you see. (He takes up the sunshades
again.) Very interesting author, sir: especially on the subject of
ladies, sir. (He goes down the steps. Valentine, about to follow him,
recollects Crampton and changes his mind.)

VALENTINE (coming rather excitedly to Crampton). Now look here,
Crampton: are you at all ashamed of yourself?

CRAMPTON (pugnaciously). Ashamed of myself! What for?

VALENTINE. For behaving like a bear. What will your daughter think
of me for having brought you here?

CRAMPTON. I was not thinking of what my daughter was thinking of
you.

VALENTINE. No, you were thinking of yourself. You're a perfect
maniac.

CRAMPTON (heartrent). She told you what I am---a father---a father
robbed of his children. What are the hearts of this generation like?
Am I to come here after all these years---to see what my children are
for the first time! to hear their voices!---and carry it all off like a
fashionable visitor; drop in to lunch; be Mr. Crampton---M i s t e r
Crampton! What right have they to talk to me like that? I'm their
father: do they deny that? I'm a man, with the feelings of our common
humanity: have I no rights, no claims? In all these years who have I
had round me? Servants, clerks, business acquaintances. I've had
respect from them---aye, kindness. Would one of them have spoken to me
as that girl spoke?---would one of them have laughed at me as that boy
was laughing at me all the time? (Frantically.) My own children!
M i s t e r Crampton! My---

VALENTINE. Come, come: they're only children. The only one of them
that's worth anything called you father.

CRAMPTON (wildly). Yes: "good-bye, father." Oh, yes: she got at my
feelings---with a stab!

VALENTINE (taking this in very bad part). Now look here, Crampton:
you just let her alone: she's treated you very well. I had a much worse
time of it at lunch than you.

CRAMPTON. You!

VALENTINE (with growing impetuosity). Yes: I. I sat next to her;
and I never said a single thing to her the whole time---couldn't think
of a blessed word. And not a word did she say to me.

CRAMPTON. Well?

VALENTINE. Well? Well??? (Tackling him very seriously and talking
faster and faster.) Crampton: do you know what's been the matter with
me to-day? You don't suppose, do you, that I'm in the habit of playing
such tricks on my patients as I played on you?

CRAMPTON. I hope not.

VALENTINE. The explanation is that I'm stark mad, or rather that
I've never been in my real senses before. I'm capable of anything: I've
grown up at last: I'm a Man; and it's your daughter that's made a man of
me.

CRAMPTON (incredulously). Are you in love with my daughter?

VALENTINE (his words now coming in a perfect torrent). Love!
Nonsense: it's something far above and beyond that. It's life, it's
faith, it's strength, certainty, paradise---

CRAMPTON (interrupting him with acrid contempt). Rubbish, man! What
have you to keep a wife on? You can't marry her.

VALENTINE. Who wants to marry her? I'll kiss her hands; I'll kneel
at her feet; I'll live for her; I'll die for her; and that'll be enough
for me. Look at her book! See! (He kisses the handkerchief.) If you
offered me all your money for this excuse for going down to the beach
and speaking to her again, I'd only laugh at you. (He rushes buoyantly
off to the steps, where he bounces right into the arms of the waiter,
who is coming up form the beach. The two save themselves from falling
by clutching one another tightly round the waist and whirling one
another around.)

WAITER (delicately). Steady, sir, steady.

VALENTINE (shocked at his own violence). I beg your pardon.

WAITER. Not at all, sir, not at all. Very natural, sir, I'm sure,
sir, at your age. The lady has sent me for her book, sir. Might I take
the liberty of asking you to let her have it at once, sir?

VALENTINE. With pleasure. And if you will allow me to present you
with a professional man's earnings for six weeks--- (offering him
Dolly's crown piece.)

WAITER (as if the sum were beyond his utmost expectations). Thank
you, sir: much obliged. (Valentine dashes down the steps.) Very high-
spirited young gentleman, sir: very manly and straight set up.

CRAMPTON (in grumbling disparagement). And making his fortune in a
hurry, no doubt. I know what his six weeks' earnings come to. (He
crosses the terrace to the iron table, and sits down.)

WAITER (philosophically). Well, sir, you never can tell. That's a
principle in life with me, sir, if you'll excuse my having such a thing,
sir. (Delicately sinking the philosopher in the waiter for a moment.)
Perhaps you haven't noticed that you hadn't touched that seltzer and
Irish, sir, when the party broke up. (He takes the tumbler from the
luncheon table, and sets if before Crampton.) Yes, sir, you never can
tell. There was my son, sir! who ever thought that he would rise to
wear a silk gown, sir? And yet to-day, sir, nothing less than fifty
guineas, sir. What a lesson, sir!

CRAMPTON. Well, I hope he is grateful to you, and recognizes what he
owes you.

WAITER. We get on together very well, very well indeed, sir,
considering the difference in our stations. (With another of his
irresistible transitions.) A small lump of sugar, sir, will take the
flatness out of the seltzer without noticeably sweetening the drink,
sir. Allow me, sir. (He drops a lump of sugar into the tumbler.) But
as I say to him, where's the difference after all? If I must put on a
dress coat to show what I am, sir, he must put on a wig and gown to show
what he is. If my income is mostly tips, and there's a pretence that I
don't get them, why, his income is mostly fees, sir; and I understand
there's a pretence that he don't get them! If he likes society, and his
profession brings him into contact with all ranks, so does mine, too,
sir. If it's a little against a barrister to have a waiter for his
father, sir, it's a little against a waiter to have a barrister for a
son: many people consider it a great liberty, sir, I assure you, sir.
Can I get you anything else, sir?

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