CHAINS A Play, IN FOUR ACTS BY ELIZABETH BAKER LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. 3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI. MCMXI. CHAINS ACT I _SCENE: Sitting-room at 55 Acacia Avenue. The principal articles of furniture are the centre table, set for dinner for three, and a sideboard on the right. There are folding doors at the back, leading to the front room, partly hidden by curtains; on the left a low French window leading into the garden. On the right is a fire burning; and above it a door into the kitchen._ _The furniture of the room is a little mixed in style. A wicker armchair is on one side of the fireplace, a folding carpet-chair on the other. The other chairs, three at the table and two against the walls, are of bent wood. The sideboard is mahogany. The carpet-square over oilcloth is of an indeterminate pattern in subdued colours, dull crimson predominating. Lace curtains at window. Family photographs, a wedding group and a cricket group, and a big lithograph copy of a Marcus Stone picture, are on the walls. There is a brass alarm clock on the mantelpiece and one or two ornaments. A sewing-machine stands on a small table near the window; and on the edge of this table and on the small table on the other side of the window are pots of cuttings. A couple of bookshelves hang over the machine. A small vase of flowers stands in the centre of the dinner table._ _LILY WILSON, much worried, is laying the centre table. She is a pretty, slight woman, obviously young, wearing a light cotton blouse, dark skirt and big pinafore. The front door is heard to close. CHARLEY WILSON enters. He is an ordinary specimen of the city clerk, dressed in correct frock-coat, dark trousers, carefully creased, much cuff and a high collar._ LILY. Here you are, then. [_She puts up her face and they kiss hurriedly._] Did I hear Mr. Tennant with you? CHAR. Met on the step. LILY. _How_ funny! Well, that's nice. We can have dinner almost directly. CHAR. [_putting down his hat carefully on sideboard, and stretching himself slowly, with evident enjoyment._] Saturday, thank the Lord! LILY. [_laughing prettily._] Poor thing! CHAR. [_looking at his silk hat._] I should like to pitch the beastly thing into the river. [_He shakes his fist at it. Then he stretches his neck as if to lift it out of the collar and shaking down his cuffs till he can get a fine view of them, regards them meditatively._] Pah! LILY. [_anxiously._] What's the matter with them? Are they scorched? CHAR. Scorched! No, they're white enough. Beastly uniform! LILY. But you must wear cuffs, dear. CHAR. A chap came to the office to-day in a red tie. Old Raffles had him up, and pitched into him. Asked him if he was a Socialist. Chap said he wasn't, but liked red. "So do I," says the Boss, "but I don't wear a golf coat in the city!" Thought he was awfully smart, and it did make Poppy swear. LILY. Who's Poppy, dear? CHAR. Popperwell. He almost left there and then. Said he should wear whatever tie he liked.