FOOTMAN.They're trying to force the terrace gate, sir.They've no business coming on to private property--no matter what!
In the surging entrance of the mob the footman, HENRY, who shows fight, is overwhelmed, hustled out into the crowd on the terrace, and no more seen.The MOB is a mixed crowd of revellers of both sexes, medical students, clerks, shop men and girls, and a Boy Scout or two.Many have exchanged hats--Some wear masks, or false noses, some carry feathers or tin whistles.
Some, with bamboos and Chinese lanterns, swing them up outside on the terrace.The medley of noises is very great.Such ringleaders as exist in the confusion are a GROUP OF STUDENTS, the chief of whom, conspicuous because unadorned, is an athletic, hatless young man with a projecting underjaw, and heavy coal-black moustache, who seems with the swing of his huge arms and shoulders to sway the currents of motion.When the first surge of noise and movement subsides, he calls out: "To him, boys! Chair the hero!" THE STUDENTS rush at the impassive MORE, swing him roughly on to their shoulders and bear him round the room.When they have twice circled the table to the music of their confused singing, groans and whistling, THE CHIEF OFTHE STUDENTS calls out: "Put him down!" Obediently they set him down on the table which has been forced into the bay window, and stand gaping up at him.
CHIEF STUDENT.Speech! Speech!
[The noise ebbs, and MORE looks round him.]
CHIEF STUDENT.Now then, you, sir.
MORE.[In a quiet voice] Very well.You are here by the law that governs the action of all mobs--the law of Force.By that law, you can do what you like to this body of mine.
A VOICE.And we will, too.
MORE.I don't doubt it.But before that, I've a word to say.
A VOICE.You've always that.
[ANOTHER VOICE raises a donkey's braying.]
MORE.You--Mob--are the most contemptible thing under the sun.When you walk the street--God goes in.
CHIEF STUDENT.Be careful, you--sir.
VOICES.Down him! Down with the beggar!
MORE.[Above the murmurs] My fine friends, I'm not afraid of you.
You've forced your way into my house, and you've asked me to speak.
Put up with the truth for once! [His words rush out] You are the thing that pelts the weak; kicks women; howls down free speech.This to-day, and that to-morrow.Brain--you have none.Spirit--not the ghost of it! If you're not meanness, there's no such thing.If you're not cowardice, there is no cowardice [Above the growing fierceness of the hubbub] Patriotism--there are two kinds--that of our soldiers, and this of mine.You have neither!
CHIEF STUDENT.[Checking a dangerous rush] Hold on! Hold on! [To MORE] Swear to utter no more blasphemy against your country: Swear it!
CROWD.Ah! Ay! Ah!
MORE.My country is not yours.Mine is that great country which shall never take toll from the weakness of others.[Above the groaning] Ah! you can break my head and my windows; but don't think that you can break my faith.You could never break or shake it, if you were a million to one.
A girl with dark eyes and hair all wild, leaps out from the crowd and shakes her fist at him.
GIRL.You're friends with them that killed my lad! [MORE smiles down at her, and she swiftly plucks the knife from the belt of a Boy Scout beside her] Smile, you--cur!
A violent rush and heave from behind flings MORE forward on to the steel.He reels, staggers back, and falls down amongst the crowd.A scream, a sway, a rush, a hubbub of cries.The CHIEFSTUDENT shouts above the riot: "Steady!" Another: "My God!
He's got it!"
CHIEF STUDENT.Give him air!
The crowd falls back, and two STUDENTS, bending over MORE, lift his arms and head, but they fall like lead.Desperately they test him for life.
CHIEF STUDENT.By the Lord, it's over!
Then begins a scared swaying out towards the window.Some one turns out the lights, and in the darkness the crowd fast melts away.The body of MORE lies in the gleam from a single Chinese lantern.Muttering the words: "Poor devil! He kept his end up anyway!" the CHIEF STUDENT picks from the floor a little abandoned Union Jack and lays it on MORE's breast.Then he, too, turns, and rushes out.
And the body of MORE lies in the streak of light; and flee noises in the street continue to rise.
THE CURTAIN FALLS, BUT RISES AGAIN ALMOST AT ONCE.
AFTERMATH
A late Spring dawn is just breaking.Against trees in leaf and blossom, with the houses of a London Square beyond, suffused by the spreading glow, is seen a dark life-size statue on a granite pedestal.In front is the broad, dust-dim pavement.The light grows till the central words around the pedestal can be clearly read:
ERECTED
To the Memory of STEPHEN MORE
"Faithful to his ideal"
High above, the face of MORE looks straight before him with a faint smile.On one shoulder and on his bare head two sparrows have perched, and from the gardens, behind, comes the twittering and singing of birds.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
The End