The Silver Box is much the clearer-sighted of the two plays; in the second the issues are occasionally confused, and both the construction and dramatic effect are inferior. The Silver Box is practically flawless. The two contrasting groups, the rich and important Barthwicks, and the poor, good-for-nothing Joneses, are perfectly balanced. There is no crude over-emphasis of the situation, nor inopportune enforcement of the moral, though perhaps in the trial scene Galsworthy is a little too anxious to point out the similarity of the positions of Jack Barthwick and Jem Jones, and the difference of their treatment: “Dad! that’s what you said to me!” says young Barthwick, more pointedly than naturally, when the magistrate tells Jones he is “a nuisance to the community.”
The characters are drawn with great vividness and restraint. Mrs Jones is particularly successful—pale, quiet, down-trodden, she has about her a certain dignified pathos which is perfectly human and natural. She does not pose as a martyr, she does not pretend that she would not leave her husband if she could and dared; the fact is not hidden from us that her sad-eyed silences must be particularly irritating to him. She does not complain over much, but she has nothing of stoical endurance—she endures rather because she has been battered into submission and sees the uselessness of revolt. She would revolt if she could.
One of the most direct and convincing scenes in the play is that between these two, in their home, when Mrs Jones discovers that her husband has stolen the silver box.
Jones. I’ve had a bit of luck. Picked up a purse—seven pound and more.
Mrs Jones. Oh, James!
Jones. Oh, James! What about oh, James! I picked it up, I tell you. This is lost property, this is.
Mrs Jones. But isn’t there a name in it or something?
Jones. Name! No, there ain’t no name. This don’t belong to such as ’ave visitin’ cards. This belongs to a perfec’ lidy. Tike an’ smell it. Now, you tell me what I ought to have done. You tell me that. You can always tell me what I ought to ha’ done.
Mrs Jones. I can’t say what you ought to have done, James. Of course the money wasn’t yours; you’ve taken somebody else’s money.
Jones. Finding’s keeping. I’ll take it as wages for the time I’ve gone about the streets asking for what’s my rights. I’ll take it for what’s overdue, d’ye hear? I’ve got money in my pocket, my girl. Money in my pocket! And I’m not going to waste it. With this ’ere money I’m going to Canada. I’ll let you have a pound. You’ve often talked of leavin’ me. You’ve often told me I treat you badly—well I ’ope you’ll be glad when I’m gone.