Major Barbara, George Bernard Shaw [bookstand for reading txt] 📗

me. Well, I’m goin to ’av ’er out. Not that I care a curse for her or you: see? But I’ll let ’er know; and I’ll let you know. I’m goin to give ’er a doin that’ll teach ’er to cut away from me. Now in with you and tell ’er to come out afore I come in and kick ’er out. Tell ’er Bill Walker wants ’er. She’ll know what that means; and if she keeps me waitin’ it’ll be worse. You stop to jaw back at me; and I’ll start on you: d’ye hear? There’s your way. In you go. He takes her by the arm and slings her towards the door of the shelter. She falls on her hand and knee. Rummy helps her up again. Price Rising, and venturing irresolutely towards Bill. Easy there, mate. She ain’t doin you no ’arm. Bill Who are you callin mate? Standing over him threateningly. You’re goin to stand up for her, are you? Put up your ’ands. Rummy Running indignantly to him to scold him. Oh, you great brute⁠—He instantly swings his left hand back against her face. She screams and reels back to the trough, where she sits down, covering her bruised face with her hands and rocking and moaning with pain. Jenny Going to her. Oh God forgive you! How could you strike an old woman like that? Bill Seizing her by the hair so violently that she also screams, and tearing her away from the old woman. You Gawd forgive me again and I’ll Gawd forgive you one on the jaw that’ll stop you prayin for a week. Holding her and turning fiercely on Price. ’Av you anything to say agen it? Eh? Price Intimidated. No, matey: she ain’t anything to do with me. Bill Good job for you! I’d put two meals into you and fight you with one finger after, you starved cur. To Jenny. Now are you goin’ to fetch out Mog Habbijam; or am I to knock your face off you and fetch her myself? Jenny Writhing in his grasp. Oh please someone go in and tell Major Barbara⁠—She screams again as he wrenches her head down; and Price and Rummy flee into the shelter. Bill You want to go in and tell your Major of me, do you? Jenny Oh please don’t drag my hair. Let me go. Bill Do you or don’t you? She stifles a scream. Yes or no. Jenny God give me strength⁠— Bill Striking her with his fist in the face. Go and show her that, and tell her if she wants one like it to come and interfere with me. Jenny, crying with pain, goes into the shed. He goes to the form and addresses the old man. Here: finish your mess; and get out o’ my way. Shirley Springing up and facing him fiercely, with the mug in his hand. You take a liberty with me, and I’ll smash you over the face with the mug and cut your eye out. Ain’t you satisfied⁠—young whelps like you⁠—with takin the bread out o’ the mouths of your elders that have brought you up and slaved for you, but you must come shovin’ and cheekin’ and bullyin’ in here, where the bread o’ charity is sickenin’ in our stummicks? Bill Contemptuously, but backing a little. Wot good are you, you old palsy mug? Wot good are you? Shirley As good as you and better. I’ll do a day’s work agen you or any fat young soaker of your age. Go and take my job at Horrockses, where I worked for ten year. They want young men there: they can’t afford to keep men over forty-five. They’re very sorry⁠—give you a character and happy to help you to get anything suited to your years⁠—sure a steady man won’t be long out of a job. Well, let ’em try you. They’ll find the differ. What do you know? Not as much as how to beeyave yourself⁠—layin’ your dirty fist across the mouth of a respectable woman! Bill Don’t provoke me to lay it acrost yours: d’ye hear? Shirley With blighting contempt. Yes: you like an old man to hit, don’t you, when you’ve finished with the women. I ain’t seen you hit a young one yet. Bill Stung. You lie, you old soupkitchener, you. There was a young man here. Did I offer to hit him or did I not? Shirley Was he starvin’ or was he not? Was he a man or only a crosseyed thief an a loafer? Would you hit my son-in-law’s brother? Bill Who’s he? Shirley Todger Fairmile o’ Balls Pond. Him that won 20 pounds off the Japanese wrastler at the music hall by standin’ out 17 minutes 4 seconds agen him. Bill Sullenly. I’m no music hall wrastler. Can he box? Shirley Yes: an’ you can’t. Bill Wot! I can’t, can’t I? Wot’s that you say? Threatening him. Shirley Not budging an inch. Will you box Todger Fairmile if I put him on to you? Say the word. Bill Subsiding with a slouch. I’ll stand up to any man alive, if he was ten Todger Fairmiles. But I don’t set up to be a perfessional. Shirley Looking down on him with unfathomable disdain. You box! Slap an old woman with the back o’ your hand! You hadn’t even the sense to hit her where a magistrate couldn’t see the mark of it, you silly young lump of conceit and ignorance. Hit a girl in the jaw and ony make her cry! If Todger Fairmile’d done it, she wouldn’t a got up inside o’ ten minutes, no more than you would if he got on to you. Yah! I’d set about you myself if I had a week’s feedin’ in me instead o’ two months starvation. He returns to the table to finish his meal. Bill Following him and stooping over him to drive the taunt in. You lie! you