Hobson's Choice: A Lancashire Comedy in Four ActsBrighouse, Harold
General
Hobson's Choice: A Lancashire Comedy in Four Acts
Brighouse, Harold
English drama -- 20th century; Fathers and daughters -- Drama; Sisters -- Drama
MAGGIE. And you don't help me any, lad. What's awkward about it?
WILLIE. You talking to me like this.
MAGGIE. I'll tell you something, Will. It's a poor sort of woman who'll
stay lazy when she sees her best chance slipping from her. A Salford
life's too near the bone to lose things through the fear of speaking
out.
WILLIE. I'm your best chance?
MAGGIE. You are that, Will.
WILLIE. Well, by gum! (_Rises_.) I never thought of this.
MAGGIE. Think of it now.
WILLIE. I am doing. Only the blow's a bit too sudden to think very
clear. I've a great respect for you, Miss Maggie. You're a shapely body,
and you're a masterpiece at selling in the shop, but when it comes to
marrying, I'm bound to tell you that I'm none in love with you.
MAGGIE. Wait till you're asked. (_Rises_.) I want your hand in mine and
your word for it that you'll go through life with me for the best we can
get out of it.
WILLIE. We'd not get much without there's love between us, lass.
MAGGIE. I've got the love all right.
WILLIE. Well, I've not, and that's honest.
MAGGIE. We'll get along without.
WILLIE. You're desperate set on this. It's a puzzle to me all ways. What
'ud your father say?
MAGGIE. He'll say a lot, and he can say it. It'll make no difference to
me.
WILLIE. Much better not upset him. It's not worth while.
MAGGIE. I'm judge of that. You're going to wed me, Will.
WILLIE. Oh, nay, I'm not. Really I can't do that, Maggie. I can see that
I'm disturbing your arrangements like, but I'll be obliged if you'll put
this notion from you.
MAGGIE. When I make arrangements, my lad, they're not made for
upsetting.
WILLIE. What makes it so desperate awkward is that I'm tokened.
MAGGIE. You're what?
WILLIE. I'm tokened to Ada Figgins.
MAGGIE. Then you'll get loose and quick. Who's Ada Figgins? Do I know
her? (_Moves_ L. _and turns_.)
WILLIE. I'm the lodger at her mother's.
MAGGIE. The scheming hussy. It's not that sandy gill who brings your
dinner? (_Moves_ C.)
WILLIE. She's golden-haired is Ada. Aye, she'll be here soon.
MAGGIE. And so shall I. I'll talk to Ada. I've seen her and I know the
breed. Ada's the helpless sort. (_Turns_ L.)
WILLIE. She needs protecting.
MAGGIE. That's how she got you, was it? (_Turns_ C.) Yes, I can see her
clinging round your neck until you fancied you were strong. But I'll
tell you this, my lad, it's a desperate poor kind of a woman that'll
look for protection to the likes of you.
WILLIE. Ada does.
MAGGIE. And that gives me the weight of her. She's born to meekness, Ada
is. You wed her, and you'll be an eighteen shilling a week bootmaker all
the days of your life. You'll be a slave, and a contented slave.
WILLIE. I'm not ambitious that I know of.
MAGGIE. No. But you're going to be. I'll see to that. I've got my work
cut out, but there's the makings of a man about you.
WILLIE. I wish you'd leave me alone. (_Sits_ R.)
MAGGIE. So does the fly when the spider catches him. You're my man,
Willie Mossop. (_Moves to desk_.)
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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