You Can Never Tell

epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">The fish plates are removed. Dolly Is your son a waiter, too, William? Waiter Serving Gloria with fowl. Oh, no, miss, he’s too impetuous. He’s at the Bar. McComas Patronizingly. A potman, eh? Waiter With a touch of melancholy, as if recalling a disappointment softened by time. No, sir: the other bar⁠—your profession, sir. A Q.C., sir. McComas Embarrassed. I’m sure I beg your pardon. Waiter Not at all, sir. Very natural mistake, I’m sure, sir. I’ve often wished he was a potman, sir. Would have been off my hands ever so much sooner, sir. Aside to Valentine, who is again in difficulties. Salt at your elbow, sir. Resuming. Yes, sir: had to support him until he was thirty-seven, sir. But doing well now, sir: very satisfactory indeed, sir. Nothing less than fifty guineas, sir. McComas Democracy, Crampton!⁠—modern democracy! Waiter Calmly. No, sir, not democracy: only education, sir. Scholarships, sir. Cambridge Local, sir. Sidney Sussex College, sir. Dolly plucks his sleeve and whispers as he bends down. Stone ginger, miss? Right, miss. To McComas. Very good thing for him, sir: he never had any turn for real work, sir. He goes into the hotel, leaving the company somewhat overwhelmed by his son’s eminence. Valentine Which of us dare give that man an order again! Dolly I hope he won’t mind my sending him for ginger-beer. Crampton Doggedly. While he’s a waiter it’s his business to wait. If you had treated him as a waiter ought to be treated, he’d have held his tongue. Dolly What a loss that would have been! Perhaps he’ll give us an introduction to his son and get us into London society. The waiter reappears with the ginger-beer. Crampton Growling contemptuously. London society! London society!! You’re not fit for any society, child. Dolly Losing her temper. Now look here, Mr. Crampton. If you think⁠— Waiter Softly, at her elbow. Stone ginger, miss. Dolly Taken aback, recovers her good humor after a long breath and says sweetly. Thank you, dear William. You were just in time. She drinks. McComas Making a fresh effort to lead the conversation into dispassionate regions. If I may be allowed to change the subject, Miss Clandon, what is the established religion in Madeira? Gloria I suppose the Portuguese religion. I never inquired. Dolly The servants come in Lent and kneel down before you and confess all the things they’ve done: and you have to pretend to forgive them. Do they do that in England, William? Waiter Not usually, miss. They may in some parts: but it has not come under my notice, miss. Catching Mrs. Clandon’s eye as the young waiter offers her the salad bowl. You like it without dressing, ma’am: yes, ma’am, I have some for you. To his young colleague, motioning him to serve Gloria. This side, Jo. He takes a special portion of salad from the service table and puts it beside Mrs. Clandon’s plate. In doing so he observes that Dolly is making a wry face. Only a bit of watercress, miss, got in by mistake. He takes her salad away. Thank you, miss. To the young waiter, admonishing him to serve Dolly afresh. Jo. Resuming. Mostly members of the Church of England, miss. Dolly Members of the Church of England! What’s the subscription? Crampton Rising violently amid general consternation. You see how my children have been brought up, McComas. You see it; you hear it. I call all of you to witness⁠—He becomes inarticulate, and is about to strike his fist recklessly on the table when the waiter considerately takes away his plate. Mrs. Clandon Firmly. Sit down, Fergus. There is no occasion at all for this outburst. You must remember that Dolly is just like a foreigner here. Pray sit down. Crampton Subsiding unwillingly. I doubt whether I ought to sit here and countenance all this. I doubt it. Waiter Cheese, sir; or would you like a cold sweet? Crampton Take aback. What? Oh!⁠—cheese, cheese. Dolly Bring a box of cigarettes, William. Waiter All ready, miss. He takes a box of cigarettes from the service table and places them before Dolly, who selects one and prepares to smoke. He then returns to his table for a box of vestas. Crampton Staring aghast at Dolly. Does she smoke? Dolly Out of patience. Really, Mr. Crampton, I’m afraid I’m spoiling your lunch. I’ll go and have my cigarette on the beach. She leaves the table with petulant suddenness and goes down the steps. The waiter attempts to give her the matches; but she is gone before he can reach her. Crampton Furiously. Margaret: call that girl back. Call her back, I say. McComas Trying to make peace. Come, Crampton: never mind. She’s her father’s daughter: that’s all. Mrs. Clandon With deep resentment. I hope not, Finch. She rises: they all rise a little. Mr. Valentine: will you excuse me: I am afraid Dolly is hurt and put out by what has passed. I must go to her. Crampton To take her part against me, you mean. Mrs. Clandon Ignoring him. Gloria: will you take my place whilst I am away, dear. She crosses to the steps. Crampton’s eyes follow her with bitter hatred. The rest watch her in embarrassed silence, feeling the incident to be a very painful one. Waiter Intercepting her at the top of the steps and offering her a box of vestas. Young lady forgot the matches, ma’am. If you would be so good, ma’am. Mrs. Clandon Surprised into grateful politeness by the witchery of his sweet and cheerful tones. Thank you very much. She takes the matches and goes down to the beach. The waiter shepherds his assistant along with him into the hotel by the kitchen entrance, leaving the luncheon party to themselves. Crampton Throwing himself back in his chair. There’s a mother for you, McComas! There’s a