Garside's Career: A Comedy in Four ActsBrighouse, Harold
General
Garside's Career: A Comedy in Four Acts
Brighouse, Harold
English drama -- 20th century
Peter (_protesting_). Mother, mother, without Margaret this would never
have happened to me. I owe it all to her.
Mrs. G. (_sceptically_). Because she told you to study? It's a proper
easy job to tell someone else to do a thing. A fine lot easier than
doing it yourself.
Peter. Come, mother, I can't have you quarrelling with Margaret.
Mrs. G. (_sulkily_). What does she want to go and discourage you for?
Peter. She didn't discourage me.
Mrs. G. She wouldn't say a word for it.
Peter. She will now. Won't you, Margaret?
Mar. What do you want me to say?
Peter (_surprised_). Say what you want.
Mar. Then I say this: Go on and prosper.
Peter (_relieved_). Ah! You couldn't wish me anything but well. You see,
mother?
Mrs. G. (_grimly_). Yes, but you don't.
Peter. Don't what?
Mrs. G. You don't sec what she means.
Peter (_confidently smiling at Margaret_). Oh, Margaret means what she
says.
Mrs. G. And more. She doesn't want you to go into Parliament.
Peter (_puzzled, looking at Margaret_). Doesn't what------? (_Slightly
pausing._) Speak, Margaret.
Mar. No. I don't want you to go into Parliament.
Mrs. G. (_triumphantly_). What did I tell you?
Peter. But Margaret, why not? Don't you see what a chance it is?
Take it, and I go up, up, Fortune, Fame, anything--the prospects are
tremendous. Miss it, and I sink baek to obscurity. You can't want me to
miss a chance like that.
Mar. I wanted to be married to you.
Mrs. G. That's it, Peter. That's your Margaret all over. All she cares
about is herself.
Peter (_ignoring her--to Margaret_). Nothing's going to interfere with
that. Nothing on earth. You needn't fear. We're to be married in a
month. Exactly as we fixed just now. A month? It'll come in the thick of
the fight.
Mar. We can't be married while the election's on.
Peter (_thinking aloud, enthusiastically_). Oh, but we must. We must.
I hadn't thought of that. Weddings are always popular. See what an
advertisement it will be.
Mar. (_quietly_). We won't use our love to advertise your candidature,
Peter.
Mrs. G. To hear you talk, it might be something you're ashamed of.
Peter. It's throwing away a golden opportunity.
Mar. I'm sorry, Peter. But I can't do that.
Mrs. G. Won't, you mean. You want to see him defeated.
Mar. (_with quiet force_). I shall work till I drop to help him on to
victory.
Mrs. G. You'll help best by doing what he asks.
Peter. I really think you might, Margaret. It's not a new plan. I'm only
asking you to carry out the arrangement you made this very evening. You
didn't object then, I can't see what your scruple is now.
Mar. If you can't see for yourself that it's vulgar and hideous and
horrible to drag our love into the glare of an election, I'm afraid I
can't help you to see it.
Peter. I don't see it. Love's not a hole-and-corner business. Why
shouldn't everybody know?
Mar. All who matter know already.
Peter. Only our own circle.
Mar. It doesn't concern the rest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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