GRAFT A Comedy In Four Acts By Harold Brighouse London: Samuel French Publisher 1913 GRAFT [Illustration: 0001] [Illustration: 0001] ACT I _A small room on the first floor, awkwardly overcrowded with the entire furniture of a cottage, a pile of which is stacked in the left corner and covered with a sheet; the plain iron bed is right, the window coming between its foot and the pile of furniture; table centre; three plain upright chairs and one wicker armchair before the fire; fireplace left; opposite it right a kitchen dresser well stocked with crockery; pans and kettle about the fireplace. For all the uncomfortable crowding the room is bright and well kept. Door right. It is 7 p.m. on a September evening, and the approach of dusk is noticed gradually._ _Jim Pilling, a gardener, has finished tea and sits in his shirt-sleeves before the débris of the meal facing spectator lighting a briar pipe. Jim is thirty, clean looking, dressed in his rough working clothes without coat or his combined collar and "dicky" and red tie, which hangs with the coat behind the door. Sally Pilling is transferring the last of the table utensils to a tray which she puts on the bed; then removing the white cloth and shaking crumbs into the fire; a red cloth is underneath. Sally is of the pale complexion usual to a country girl living in a town; she dresses neatly and has an apron on; Dick, a thin boy of eight, in a blue sailor suit, gets off his chair at the table._ [Illustration: 0091] Dick. Can I go out and play now, mother? (_Jim rises and crosses l. with chair._) Sally. Yes. (_She crosses to door and takes down from a hook his sailor hat._) Here's your hat. (_Dick comes to her; she secures it on his head with an elastic band._) Don't go far from the door, Dick. I'll shout you when it's bedtime. Jim. And don't get playing in the road--keep on the footpath. Dick. Yes, dad. (_He runs out as Sally opens: the door._) Sally. Don't get run over now. Jim. The young _'_un misses the country. (_Sits in armchair above fire._) Sally (_closing door_). We all do that, Jim. Jim. Aye. Streets are no sort of playground for a growing child. Did you get out while he was at school this afternoon? Sally (_gathering up tea-things_). Oh, yes. There's not the cleaning to do in a single room to keep me in it all day. Jim. No; better for you to get out a bit. Sally (_dully_). It's no pleasure walking in the streets. Jim. Not when there's shops to look at? Sally. You can get tired of shops. (_Tea-things on tray._) Jim. You're no true woman. Sally. I'm no town's woman. (_Crosses to Jim._) I miss the flowers and the green. I'm pining for the country, Jim. Jim. And I'm same way, only I do get the smell of the earth in Mr. Vining's garden and it's not so bad for me. Sally (_wistfully standing above his chair_). I'd dearly love to see that garden, Jim. Jim. I know you would; but they're that strict about the Polygon. No getting in unless you've business.