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AUGUSTUS DOES HIS BIT
AUGUSTUS DOES HIS BIT GEORGE BERNARD SHAW AUGUSTUS DOES HIS BIT
The Mayor's parlor in the Town Hall of Little Pifflington. Lord
Augustus Highcastle a distinguished member of the governing
class in the uniform of a colonel and very well preserved at
forty-five is comfortably seated at a writing-table with his
heels on it reading The Morning Post. The door faces him a
little to his left at the other side of the room. The window is
behind him. In the fireplace a gas stove. On the table a bell
button and a telephone. Portraits of past Mayors in robes and
gold chains adorn the walls. An elderly clerk with a short white
beard and whiskers and a very red nose shuffles in.
AUGUSTUS [hastily putting aside his paper and replacing his feet
on the floor]. Hullo! Who are you?
THE CLERK. The staff [a slight impediment in his speech adds to
the impression of incompetence produced by his age and
appearance].
AUGUSTUS. You the staff! What do you mean man?
THE CLERK. What I say. There ain't anybody else.
AUGUSTUS. Tush! Where are the others?
THE CLERK. At the front.
AUGUSTUS. Quite right. Most proper. Why aren't you at the front?
THE CLERK. Over age. Fifty-seven.
AUGUSTUS. But you can still do your bit. Many an older man is in
the G.R.'s or volunteering for home defence.
THE CLERK. I have volunteered.
AUGUSTUS. Then why are you not in uniform?
THE CLERK. They said they wouldn't have me if I was given away
with a pound of tea. Told me to go home and not be an old silly.
[A sense of unbearable wrong till now only smouldering in him
bursts into flame.] Young Bill Knight that I took with me got
two and sevenpence. I got nothing. Is it justice? This country is
going to the dogs if you ask me.
AUGUSTUS [rising indignantly]. I do not ask you sir; and I will
not allow you to say such things in my presence. Our statesmen
are the greatest known to history. Our generals are invincible.
Our army is the admiration of the world. [Furiously.] How dare
you tell me that the country is going to the dogs!
THE CLERK. Why did they give young Bill Knight two and
sevenpence and not give me even my tram fare? Do you call that
being great statesmen? As good as robbing me I call it.
AUGUSTUS. That's enough. Leave the room. [He sits down and takes
up his pen settling himself to work. The clerk shuffles to the
door. Augustus adds with cold politeness] Send me the Secretary.
THE CLERK. I'M the Secretary. I can't leave the room and send
myself to you at the same time can I?
AUGUSTUS Don't be insolent. Where is the gentleman I have been
corresponding with: Mr Horatio Floyd Beamish?
THE CLERK [returning and bowing]. Here. Me.
AUGUSTUS. You! Ridiculous. What right have you to call yourself
by a pretentious name of that sort?
THE CLERK. You may drop the Horatio Floyd. Beamish is good enough
for me.
AUGUSTUS. Is there nobody else to take my instructions?
THE CLERK. It's me or nobody. And for two pins I'd chuck it.
Don't you drive me too far. Old uns like me is up in the world
now.
AUGUSTUS. If we were not at war I should discharge you on the
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