Part 53 (2/2)

_The scene is triangular, representing a corner of the living-room of No. 137, Burnley Road, Hindle, a house rented for about 7s. 6d. a week. In the left-hand wall, low down, there is a door leading to the scullery. In the same wall, but further away from the spectator, is a window looking on to the backyard. A dresser stands in front of the window. About half-way up the right-hand wall is the door leading to the hall or pa.s.sage. Nearer, against the same wall, a high cupboard for china and crockery. The fire-place is not visible, being in one of the walls not represented. However, down in the L. corner of the stage is an arm-chair, which stands by the hearth. In the middle of the room is a square table, with chairs on each side. The room is cheerful and comfortable. It is nine o'clock on a warm August evening. Through the window can be seen the darkening sky, as the blind is not drawn.

Against the sky an outline of roof tops and mill chimneys. The only light is the dim twilight from the open window. Thunder is in the air.

When the curtain rises, Christopher Hawthorn, a decent, white-bearded man of nearly fifty, is sitting in the arm-chair, smoking a pipe. Mrs.

Hawthorn, a keen, sharp-faced woman of fifty-five, is standing, gazing out of the window. There is a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder far away._

_Mrs. Hawthorn._ It's pa.s.sing over. There'll be no rain.

_Christopher._ Ay! We could do with some rain.

(_There is a flash of lightning._)

_Chris._ Pull down the blind and light the gas.

_Mrs. H._ What for?

_Chris._ It's more cozy-like with the gas.

_Mrs. H._ You're not afraid of the lightning?

_Chris._ I want to look at that railway guide.

_Mrs. H._ What's the good. We've looked at it twice already. There's no train from Blackpool till half-past ten, and it's only just on nine now.

_Chris._ Happen we've made a mistake.

_Mrs. H._ Happen we've not. Besides, what's the good of a railway guide? You know trains run as they like on Bank Holiday.

_Chris._ Ay! Perhaps you're right. You don't think she'll come round by Manchester!

_Mrs. H._ What would she be doing coming round by Manchester?

_Chris._ You can get that road from Blackpool.

_Mrs. H._ Yes. If she's coming from Blackpool.

_Chris._ Have you thought she may not come at all?

_Mrs. H._ (_Grimly_.) What do you take me for?

_Chris._ You never hinted.

_Mrs. H._ No use putting them sort of ideas into your head.

(_Another flash and a peal of thunder._)

_Chris._ Well, well, those are lucky who haven't to travel at all on Bank Holiday.

_Mrs. H._ Unless they've got a motor car, like Nat Jeffcote's lad.

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