Part 1
PROFESSOR TIM PAUL TWYNING
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MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED London · Bombay · Calcutta · Madras Melbourne
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PROFESSOR TIM & PAUL TWYNING
_Comedies in Three Acts_
BY GEORGE SHIELS
MACMILLAN & CO, LIMITED ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON MCMXXVII
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COPYRIGHT
Printed in Great Britain
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PROFESSOR TIM was first produced in the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on Monday, September 14th, 1925, with the following cast:
_John Scally_ ERIC GORMAN _Mrs. Scally_ SARA ALLGOOD _Peggy Scally_ EILEEN CROWE _Professor Tim_ F. J. MC’CORMICK _James Kilroy_ PETER NOLAN _Mrs. Kilroy_ CHRISTINE HAYDEN _Joseph Kilroy_ BARRY FITZGERALD _Hugh O’Cahan_ P. J. CAROLAN _Paddy Kinney_ ARTHUR SHIELDS _Moll Flanagan_ MAUREEN DELANY _Mr. Allison_ J. STEPHENSON
The Play was produced by M. J. DOLAN.
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PROFESSOR TIM
_A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS_
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CHARACTERS
JOHN SCALLY _A Farmer_ MRS. SCALLY _His Wife_ PEGGY SCALLY _Their Daughter_ PROFESSOR TIM _Mrs. Scally’s Brother_ JAMES KILROY _A Rural Councillor_ MRS. KILROY _His Wife_ JOSEPH KILROY _Their Son_ HUGH O’CAHAN _A Sporting Farmer_ PADDY KINNEY _His Groom_ MOLL FLANAGAN _His Housekeeper_ MR. ALLISON _An Auctioneer_
ACTS I AND III: _JOHN SCALLY’S kitchen_ ACT II: _O’CAHAN’S dining-room_
_The action of the play takes place on the same day._
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ACT I
_JOHN SCALLY’S kitchen. Large and comfortably furnished. A large table and a small one, a number of chairs, an old lounge, and a tall cupboard with glass doors above and wooden doors below. The upper part is packed with china, the under part with linen, etc._
_At the back are two windows and a half-glass door opening to the farmyard. Another door left communicates with the hall and the other rooms. Fireplace on the right._
_It is a July morning. A strong sun is shining on the back windows._
_PEGGY SCALLY is doing laundry-work at the larger table. She is an attractive country girl about twenty-six years old._
PEGGY. I wish this day was finished!
_After a hasty glance at the back windows she takes several pieces of jewellery from her pocket and places them on a paper. Before rolling them up she slips a ring on and off her finger, then puts it with the rest and ties the parcel._
If he would just come now and have it over!
_HUGH O’CAHAN enters on tiptoe at the left. He is twenty-five years old, dressed in horsey attire which has seen better days, and has an old riding whip in his hand. He wears neither a collar nor tie._
O’C. I was listening, Peggy, to make sure you were alone, and heard you wishing he’d come. Am I the party?
PEGGY. Hugh! how did you get in?
O’C. By the old route, dear; the parlour window.
PEGGY. I suppose you knocked down the plant?
O’C. You and that plant, Peggy! I’ve only touched it once in four years, and that night there was an eclipse of the moon.
PEGGY. Are you riding?
O’C. No, worse luck. For the first morning in my life I’ve no horse to ride. Just this whip left.... I wonder how long it is since the O’Cahans had no horse? How long since the stable at Rush Hill was last empty? It must be a good few hundred years.
PEGGY. You’d a horse yesterday.
O’C. Yes, Havoc. But he, poor thing, was removed last night after dark. He went away as sad as a Christian. That left me without a four-footed animal, save the cat. I’m a pretty handy fellow, Peggy, but I can’t ride a cat.
PEGGY. Did anyone see you coming in the window?
O’C. Not a soul, Peggy. Your mother’s feeding young calves in the paddock, your father’s driving out a long string of cows, and hours ago I saw your brothers and sisters going down the moss road to work. They were singing like birds.
PEGGY. They’ve gone over to the other farm to make hay.
O’C. Their industry is shocking.
PEGGY. Nobody can say that about you, Hugh.
O’C. That’s the style. Are you set on giving me a final lecture? A few nice proverbs on the day I’m to be auctioned out would improve me. Go on, Peggy. Squander your good advice.
PEGGY. I’ve no intention of lecturing, Hugh. A ruined man needs no lecture. He’s a lecture to look at.
O’C. A ruined man at twenty-five! Talk sense, Peggy. You can’t ruin a man at that age--not if you broke him in two. I’ve had my fling, Peggy, it’s all over but the auction, and I don’t regret it.
PEGGY. Just so. [_Takes out packet_] I’ve your ring and presents here. I want to return them.
O’C. Ah, this is cruel! I hadn’t thought of this. But Lady Fate doesn’t do her work slipshod. She keeps the big hammer for the last blow.... But you might keep these things, Peggy--just to spite the hag.
PEGGY. Impossible, Hugh. You must take them back. They’re valuable, and you may need the money.
O’C. That’s true. I may need the money. [_Takes packet and looks round._] Have you no fire here?
PEGGY. We let the fire go out after breakfast.
O’C. And where, if it’s a fair question, do you heat your irons?
PEGGY. There’s a fire over in the old kitchen.
O’C. [_going towards back door_]. I’ll add some fuel to it.
PEGGY [_stops him_]. You mustn’t go out there, Hugh! Mother would see you. Don’t be a fool.... I mean don’t be reckless.
O’C. [_comes back_]. Nothing foolish about me, Peggy. I’ve always been rather famous for my wisdom. [_Weighing packet_] This was a prudent investment! Four hundred pounds, I think. Do you remember the day I got these trinkets, Peggy?
PEGGY. No.
O’C. You mean yes. I remember it too. I’d sold a mare and foal at a thousand guineas. I was under the impression that you and I were engaged, and I rushed off and bought these family jewels.... ’Twas all a mistake. My mistake.
PEGGY. Stop, Hugh. Please. I remember everything far too well.
O’C. And is this the end of the story? Somehow I can’t believe it. Can you?
PEGGY. We’ve both got to believe it. It’s the only way to end it. You’re free and so am I.
O’C. Well, I must say you’ve cut it down pretty fine. You’ve left it to within an hour of the auction to deliver the knock-out.
PEGGY. I left it as long as I could, Hugh--till there wasn’t a gleam of hope anywhere.
O’C. The auction wasn’t enough of a tragedy for one day! It needed this to finish it.... Here, will you take these things back?
PEGGY. I can’t, Hugh. And I always told you it was folly to put so much money in those presents. Something at half a crown would have done me just as well.
O’C. Perhaps. But I didn’t want a half-crown sweetheart. Nor a half-crown wife either. A woman at that price is usually very dear in the end. [_Offers packet_] Here, Peggy. Take them and keep them. They’ll remind you of a very foolish fellow....
PEGGY. I can’t, Hugh.
O’C. You mean you won’t?
PEGGY. I won’t.
O’C. [_flings packet across kitchen_]. To blazes with that! And with every romantic thing on earth.
PEGGY [_picks it up_]. I see now what you want. You want mother to come in. You want to make trouble for me.... Here, put this in your pocket. You can throw it in the river.
O’C. You live as near the river as I do. Drown them yourself. Make jam of them if you like.
PEGGY. Well, you needn’t storm. I’ll find some means of returning them. [_She puts packet in her pocket._]
O’C. I’ll tell you how to dispose of them. Hang them on Joseph Kilroy. They’ll improve yon cow’s face of his.
PEGGY [_wincing_]. What do you mean, Hugh?
O’C. Ah, you must think Hugh’s mighty green. It’s a wonder the goats don’t mistake me for brussels sprouts.
PEGGY. You can be very nasty.
O’C. Never without reason. You’ve kept Joseph Kilroy tied to your apron-strings to see how things would pan out at Rush Hill. He walks after you like a sheep. I saw you together last night. Is that nasty?
PEGGY. Hugh, you ought to’ve more sense. You never look at my side of it at all. I’ve three sisters and three brothers, all single. That’s too many single people in one house.
O’C. Well, why don’t they all get married?
PEGGY. They were waiting for me to break the ice, and I was waiting for--well, I don’t want to hurt you.
O’C. That’s very considerate.... Didn’t I want you to marry me two years ago? And who objected?
PEGGY. Everybody objected. They saw the pace you were going and knew how it would end. Everybody could see that but yourself.
O’C. You were all great prophets! The Wise Men of the East weren’t a patch on you. But among you you played a pretty safe game anyhow. When I got a good price for a colt your mother smiled like a basket of cats, but when I buried one she frowned like a gargoyle.
PEGGY. Whether you got a good price for a colt or buried it made no difference to me. You know that very well, but in your ugly mood you won’t admit it.
O’C. Well, it doesn’t matter a pin now anyway. The auction’s at eleven o’clock. I was sorry this morning, but I’m glad now it’s so near. Sale or no sale, I’m clearing out to-night.
PEGGY. Do you mind telling me where you’re going?
O’C. I wouldn’t mind telling anybody if I knew myself. But I’ve no plans. I may go to South America or Australia. Some place where the horse isn’t doomed for another generation.
PEGGY. You and the horse!
O’C. Yes, me and the horse! You’ll have no trouble on that score with Joseph Kilroy. He couldn’t lead a horse to the forge.
PEGGY. All the better for himself.
O’C. As I said, I can go wherever I please. I’ve no home ties. I’m that rare bird you often hear about in Ireland but seldom see--the last man of his race.
PEGGY. Well, Hugh, mother ’ill be in soon. I must say good-bye.
O’C. Is that the whole farewell? Not even a handshake?
PEGGY. What’s the good of it?
O’C. None. It takes two to get the good of it. [_Buttoning his jacket_] I apologise, Peggy, for having crossed your path.
PEGGY. And I for crossing yours.
O’C. You crossed mine at a critical time. I was twenty and riding straight for the cliff. If you’d followed up your success and married me there’d be no auction to-day.
PEGGY. If!
O’C. You needn’t have drawn my attention to that “if.” I know all about it. My whole life has been a series of “ifs.” If an old woman hadn’t put out her washing on a certain day, I wouldn’t have been an orphan at three years old. If a gust of wind hadn’t blown her washing across the road, my father’s horse would have trotted on home....
PEGGY. Stop, Hugh! Please. I know the rest.
O’C. If they’d kept the news from mother for three days she might have survived the shock, and so might the infant brother....
PEGGY. Hugh!
O’C. If I hadn’t missed a train by two seconds I’d have a profession to-day. If Uncle Hugh hadn’t run to catch a train by two seconds, he’d be in Rush Hill and no auction to-day.
PEGGY. You’re only reciting every man’s story, Hugh ... and many a woman’s.
O’C. It’s all blind and stupid and insolent. But one needn’t quarrel with such despotism. I’m going, Peggy. If I don’t see you again--good luck, good health, and good-bye. [_He is going off left._]
PEGGY. A moment, Hugh. Here’s a clean collar. You look ghastly without a collar.
O’C. [_turns back_]. Gad, but that’s just like you, Peggy!... They say it’s unlucky to turn back, but I think I can risk it. [_Putting on collar_] This is like dressing a man before he goes out to be hanged.
PEGGY. I’ll get you a clean handkerchief. [_She gets one, rolls the jewellery in it and puts it in his pocket._]
O’C. Sing something, Peggy.
PEGGY. I don’t feel that way inclined. Sing something yourself.
O’C [_sings_]. “Down by the salley gardens, my love and I did meet....”
PEGGY. Hugh O’Cahan, are you mad?
O’C. No, nor sad. You challenged me to sing.
PEGGY. God knows how men are built! I think if I were in your shoes this morning I should drown myself.
O’C. A lot of good that would do. The old world would go on spinning as before. I don’t suppose they’d postpone the auction [_putting on the tie_]. I believe a great many people ought to be drowned at baptism, Peggy. It’s about their only chance of ever seeing the gates of heaven, and ’twould save a lot of trouble down here later on. But there’s no sense in letting a fellow grow up wild and then expect him to take a near cut to the everlasting devil. I prefer Australia.
PEGGY. Don’t talk wild, Hugh. You know I didn’t mean it.
O’C. Are you getting afraid I might take a dip? You needn’t. I’ll die in my own comfortable bed at 103, surrounded by--that’ll depend on what I have to leave the watchers. No cash--no tears, no prayers, no flowers.... How does this collar and tie sit me?
PEGGY. All right. They improve you.
O’C. Well, thank you for them very much. I’m off. Vale. [_He goes out left, singing_] “She told me to take life easy, as the leaves grow on the tree....”
PEGGY [_listens_]. I hope he doesn’t knock down the plant.... He never asked me to go with him. [_Listens._] No, he’s out past it.... He might have kissed me, just once. [_She works quietly and shakes the water from her eyes._] Well, well!
_MRS. SCALLY comes in back. She is a sharp looking woman, aged sixty, an ex-schoolmistress. She has a paper and some mail in her hand._
MRS. S. Did I not hear voices, Peggy?
PEGGY. There’s nobody here, mother. Is the post past?
MRS. S. Yes.
PEGGY. Nothing for me?
MRS. S. Nothing. [_Glancing at her_] You’ve been crying.
PEGGY. That’s nothing new.
MRS. S. Nothing new! What have you got to cry about?
PEGGY. I don’t really know. The tears just come, and then I just let them come. It’s very silly.
MRS. S. That blackguard O’Cahan is likely to come over here to say good-bye. He’s going away after the auction. You mustn’t see him.
PEGGY. Hugh O’Cahan is no blackguard! He’s worth a gross of the people who’ve helped to drag him down.
MRS. S. Oh, indeed! Is that the way of it? Are you going to turn on me because he’s left you in the lurch?
PEGGY. I’m sorry, mother. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. But you mightn’t try to hurt me. My three sisters can sneer quite enough without your assistance.
MRS. S. I said Hugh O’Cahan was a blackguard, and I repeat it.
PEGGY. What exactly do you mean by a blackguard, mother?
MRS. S. A worthless scoundrel.
PEGGY. O’Cahan’s a fool. A fool to’ve gone in for horse-dealing with a pack of thieves. That’s the worst can be said about him. If he were vicious would ever I have spoken to him?
MRS. S. Perhaps not--if you knew it.... When you finish what you’re at, prepare the front bedroom. Your uncle has arrived in London from the Far East and is coming to see us. Professor Tim.
PEGGY. Pardon me, mother. You oughtn’t to call him a professor. He isn’t a real professor.
MRS. S. Well, of course, you with your convent training will know better than your mother. What then do you call him?
PEGGY. If he can be called anything in particular it’s a diviner.
MRS. S. Dear bless me. A diviner?
PEGGY. Yes, mother. A water-diviner. A person who can locate water with a hazel rod is called a diviner.
MRS. S. Well, while he remains here, he’s a professor. That’ll give the neighbours something to talk about.
PEGGY. I should say it will.
MRS. S. It’s twenty years since he was last here. He was then studying Geology. If by this time he isn’t a fully-fledged professor--I’m mistaken.... I think you ought to be rather pleased that your mother’s only brother is a cut above the ordinary. Your father’s people aren’t much. Pig-dealers.
_JOHN SCALLY comes in back. He is a sturdy little man with a thick brown beard, and ten years younger than his wife. He carries the salley switch with which he drove out the cows._
JOHN. By the hokey, Briget, this is grand news! Outrageous. When’s Professor Tim coming?
MRS. S. He doesn’t say when. He’s just arrived in London from Africa. He may come here any day.
JOHN. I’ll be outrageous glad to see Professor Tim. Glad on your account, Briget, and glad on his own.... But, three guesses, who’s coming down our lane at this minute?
MRS. S. Himself! The Professor.
JOHN. Wrong, Briget. Guess again.
MRS. S. Ach, don’t annoy me! Who’s coming?
JOHN. Mr. James J. Kilroy, the Rural Councillor, and his son Joseph. Hey! there’s more news for you.
MRS. S. Well, keep on your head, John. We don’t owe the Kilroys anything.
JOHN. They’re driving. An atrocious fine pony and rubber-wheel trap. I wonder what they want here, Briget. Such grand people.
MRS. S. They’ll probably be able to explain that when they come in. If their grandeur frightens you, it doesn’t frighten me. Go and meet them and take them round to the hall door. And no scraping or touching your hat to them. Don’t be a serf.
JOHN. You’re a wonderful woman [_going_]. Outrageous.
MRS. S. Stop a minute, John. How often have I told you to stop using those two big words, outrageous and atrocious? Flinging them round you like paving-stones, and the whole parish laughing at you.
JOHN. It’s just a habit, Briget. Only a habit. I’ve tried my best to drop them, but it beats me. I must try again. [_Goes out back._]
MRS. S. Is the parlour tidy, Peggy?
PEGGY. Yes. I dusted it and opened the windows.
MRS. S. Did you know these people were coming?
PEGGY. I thought they might drop in going past to the auction.
MRS. S. Why, of course, that’s it. They’re going to the auction. Go and let them in.
PEGGY. Ah, mother, let them in yourself. I’m dirty.
MRS. S. So am I. But I’m clean enough for the Kilroys. [_Goes out left._]
PEGGY. Now for the match-making! [_Voices are heard in the yard. She goes to the window._] Oh, holy father!
_JOHN ushers in through the back door JAMES KILROY and son JOSEPH._
JOHN. The good-woman’ll kill me for bringing you in the back door, Mr. Kilroy. She said I was to take you round to the front. We’ve a fine hall door, sir. Varnished and all. Outrageous.
KILROY. This is first rate, John. First rate. Good morning, Miss Scally.
PEGGY. Good morning, Mr. Kilroy.
JOSEPH. Mornin’, Pegness!
PEGGY. Good morning, Joseph.
_MRS. SCALLY comes in._
JOSEPH. Mornin’, mother Scally!
MRS. S. Good morning, everybody. I told John to take you round to the front, Mr. Kilroy. But you mightn’t try to tell John anything.
KILROY. This is first rate, Mrs. Scally. First rate. [_Inspects it_] Very clean and neat and up-to-date. Sanitary.
MRS. S. Indeed it isn’t clean at all. We must get the whole house cleaned down from top to bottom, for my brother--the Professor--is going to pay us a visit shortly. He’s in London at present. He hasn’t been home for twenty years.
KILROY [_takes off hat_]. I never knew you’d a brother a professor. I never heard of him.
MRS. S. Oh, indeed, yes. Tim’s a professor. Won’t you sit down?
KILROY. Thanks. [_Sits._]
JOSEPH. I’ll make myself at home over here. [_Sits on table beside PEGGY and teases her awkwardly._]
KILROY. This scoundrel O’Cahan, the bank’s selling him up at last.
MRS. S. Yes, the auction’s at eleven o’clock.
JOHN. Aye, as Briget says, at eleven o’clock. Allison’s the auctioneer....
MRS. S. Silence, John. [_To KILROY_] He has nothing left to sell but the land. Not a four-footed beast about the house....
PEGGY. Excuse me, Joseph. [_She goes out back._]
JOSEPH. Will I go with you, Peggy? [_No answer._] I’ll risk it anyway. [_Goes out back._]
MRS. S. [_smelling a rat_]. Joseph’s getting a fine young man.
JOHN. Outrageous.
KILROY. Between ourselves, Joseph’s a bit of a playboy. No real vice, you know, but reckless and wild and full of animal spirits. I sent him to an agricultural college, but they had to send him home. He was just that wild. He put himself at the head of a band of gentlemen’s sons and half wrecked the college, and then wrecked the town.
MRS. S. [_laughs_]. I wouldn’t think a ha’porth of that. Students are full of mischief.
JOHN. Aye, as Briget says, full of life. Fine fellows, Mr. Kilroy. Atrocious.
KILROY. Now, John Scally, I want no more “mistering.” You and I kneel in the same church, and after myself you’re the best respected people in the parish. Call me James.
MRS. S. That’s what I like to hear. No pride or nonsense.
KILROY. I’m going over to this auction. What condition’s the place in, John? I haven’t been up to Rush Hill for years.
JOHN. The sun never warmed a better place, James. Never. Two hundred acres of land like a carrot-bed. You could sow at Christmas....
KILROY. I know the land’s good. But what about the house? They tell me it’s in ruins....
JOHN. It’s not in very good re----
MRS. S. Silence, John.... The house inside is in ruins, James. O’Cahan had a band of ruffians like himself playing cards there, and last winter they burnt down the stairs and most of the woodwork....
JOHN. For firewood, James. As Briget can tell you.
KILROY. Well, to come to the point. The Bank has four thousand pounds against it, and--but this is very private--the Bank wants me to buy it.
MRS. S. Buy it, James. Buy it. You’ll never rue the day you bought Rush Hill. Only that we bought a second farm last year, we’d buy it ourselves.
JOHN. As Briget says, buy it, James. Buy it. It’s an outrageous fine sate....
MRS. S. Silence, John.... It could be made a fine place, James.
KILROY. Well, I’ve a bit of a plan worked out in my head. I’ll submit it to you, Mrs. Scally, for I’ve a deal of faith in your judgment.
JOHN. So well you may, James. She’s a head like an almanac.
MRS. S. Silence, John. Let me hear your plan, James. Whatever you say here is private.
KILROY. I know that or I wouldn’t broach it. A public man has to know who he’s talking to.
MRS. S. Very true.
JOHN. Very, as Briget says.
KILROY. We were speaking about my son Joseph. He’s twenty-one years old this morning.
MRS. S. Bless him, I didn’t think he was near that.
JOHN. Amen. I didn’t think he was sixteen.
KILROY. Joseph comes into his legacy this morning--two thousand pounds. His aunt’s money that died ten years ago.
MRS. S. I remember when she died. God guard him, it’s a lot of money.
JOHN. Amen. As Briget says, it’s a mint.
KILROY. Pay good attention both of you to what follows. Seems Joseph attended a Gaelic class last winter in somebody’s barn.
MRS. S. In Cassidy’s barn. Peggy was there too.