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Page 43
LADY BRITOMART [pouting] Then go away.
UNDERSHAFT [deprecatory] Go away!
LADY BRITOMART. Yes: go away. If you will do nothing for Stephen,
you are not wanted here. Go to your foundling, whoever he is; and
look after him.
UNDERSHAFT. The fact is, Biddy--
LADY BRITOMART. Don't call me Biddy. I don't call you Andy.
UNDERSHAFT. I will not call my wife Britomart: it is not good
sense. Seriously, my love, the Undershaft tradition has landed me
in a difficulty. I am getting on in years; and my partner Lazarus
has at last made a stand and insisted that the succession must be
settled one way or the other; and of course he is quite right.
You see, I haven't found a fit successor yet.
LADY BRITOMART [obstinately] There is Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT. That's just it: all the foundlings I can find are
exactly like Stephen.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew!!
UNDERSHAFT. I want a man with no relations and no schooling: that
is, a man who would be out of the running altogether if he were
not a strong man. And I can't find him. Every blessed foundling
nowadays is snapped up in his infancy by Barnardo homes, or
School Board officers, or Boards of Guardians; and if he shows
the least ability, he is fastened on by schoolmasters; trained to
win scholarships like a racehorse; crammed with secondhand ideas;
drilled and disciplined in docility and what they call good
taste; and lamed for life so that he is fit for nothing but
teaching. If you want to keep the foundry in the family, you had
better find an eligible foundling and marry him to Barbara.
LADY BRITOMART. Ah! Barbara! Your pet! You would sacrifice
Stephen to Barbara.
UNDERSHAFT. Cheerfully. And you, my dear, would boil Barbara to
make soup for Stephen.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: this is not a question of our likings and
dislikings: it is a question of duty. It is your duty to make
Stephen your successor.
UNDERSHAFT. Just as much as it is your duty to submit to your
husband. Come, Biddy! these tricks of the governing class are of
no use with me. I am one of the governing class myself; and it is
waste of time giving tracts to a missionary. I have the power in
this matter; and I am not to be humbugged into using it for your
purposes.
LADY BRITOMART. Andrew: you can talk my head off; but you can't
change wrong into right. And your tie is all on one side. Put it
straight.
UNDERSHAFT [disconcerted] It won't stay unless it's pinned [he
fumbles at it with childish grimaces]--
Stephen comes in.
STEPHEN [at the door] I beg your pardon [about to retire].
LADY BRITOMART. No: come in, Stephen. [Stephen comes forward to
his mother's writing table.
UNDERSHAFT [not very cordially] Good afternoon.
STEPHEN [coldly] Good afternoon.
UNDERSHAFT [to Lady Britomart] He knows all about the tradition,
I suppose?
LADY BRITOMART. Yes. [To Stephen] It is what I told you last
night, Stephen.
UNDERSHAFT [sulkily] I understand you want to come into the
cannon business.
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