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diff --git a/old/54063-0.txt b/old/54063-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index dfac10a..0000000 --- a/old/54063-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11415 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mimic Stage, by George M Baker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Mimic Stage - A Series of Dramas, Comedies, Burlesques, and Farces for - Public Exhibitions and Private Theatricals - -Author: George M Baker - -Release Date: January 28, 2017 [EBook #54063] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIMIC STAGE *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note: Non-standard contractions such as “have’nt”, “wont”, -“must’nt” are as in the original. - - - - -[Illustration: DOWN BY THE SEA.] - - - - -[Illustration: - - THE - MIMIC STAGE - - CAPULETTA - - _KILBURN SC_ - - _BOSTON, LEE & SHEPARD._ -] - - - - - THE - MIMIC STAGE. - - A SERIES OF - DRAMAS, COMEDIES, BURLESQUES, - AND FARCES, - FOR - PUBLIC EXHIBITIONS AND PRIVATE THEATRICALS. - - BY - GEORGE M. BAKER, - _Author of “Amateur Dramas,” “An Old Man’s Prayer,” &c._ - - BOSTON: - LEE AND SHEPARD. - 1869. - - Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by - GEORGE M. BAKER, - In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court - of the District of Massachusetts. - - GEO. C. RAND & AVERY, - STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS, - 3 CORNHILL, BOSTON. - - - - - _To_ - MATT. A. MATHEW, ESQ., - PROPRIETOR OF - THE “HANDS” AND “LAUGH” - WHICH HAVE SO OFTEN - _GIVEN ASSURANCE OF SUCCESS_. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The gratifying success of a previous volume of “AMATEUR DRAMAS,” and -the increasing demand for pieces of a light character suitable for -representation without the usual costly theatrical accessories, has -induced the writer to prepare a second volume for publication. Like -the first, it contains pieces which have been specially prepared for -occasional exhibitions, society benefits, and parlor theatricals, and -which have only been admitted to “the mimic stage” after having stood the -test of public approval. For their production, no scenery is required. -A moderate-sized room, having folding-doors or hanging curtains to -separate the audience from the actors; costumes such as the modern -wardrobe will easily supply, with now and then a foray on some good old -grandmother’s trunks; a wig or two; a few pieces of chalk; red paint; and -India-ink,--is all the “extraordinary preparations” and “great expense” -necessary. For benefits, fairs, and temperance gatherings, many of the -pieces will be found particularly appropriate. To give variety, three -dialogues, originally published in “Oliver Optic’s Magazine,” have, by -the kind permission of its popular editor, been added to the collection. -Amateur theatricals have now become a part of the regular winter-evening -amusements of young and old; and, with proper management, no more -rational, pleasant, and innocent diversion can be devised. Endeavoring -to avoid bluster and rant, relying more on touches of nature, hits at -follies and absurdities, for success, the writer trusts his little book -may contain nothing which can detract from the good name those amusements -now enjoy. - - -STAGE-DIRECTIONS. - -R means Right; L, Left; C, Centre. - -The performer is supposed to be upon the stage, facing the audience. - - All the pieces in this book have been published separately, and - can be obtained by addressing the publishers. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - DOWN BY THE SEA 7 - - A CLOSE SHAVE 62 - - CAPULETTA 79 - - THE GREAT ELIXIR 106 - - THE MAN WITH THE DEMIJOHN 128 - - AN ORIGINAL IDEA 140 - - “MY UNCLE THE CAPTAIN” 170 - - NO CURE, NO PAY 189 - - HUMORS OF THE STRIKE 209 - - BREAD ON THE WATERS 221 - - - - -DOWN BY THE SEA. - -A DRAMA, IN TWO ACTS. - - -CHARACTERS. - - ABNER RAYMOND, (a city merchant.) - CAPT. DANDELION, (a city flower.) - JOHN GALE, (a fisherman.) - SEPTEMBER GALE, } (Protégés of John Gale.) - MARCH GALE, } - JEAN GRAPEAU, (an old French peddler.) - KATE RAYMOND, (a city belle.) - MRS. GALE, (John Gale’s wife.) - KITTY GALE, (John Gale’s daughter.) - - -ACT 1. - - _JOHN GALE’S house down by the sea. Fireplace, R. Doors, R., L., - and C. Table right of C., at which MRS. GALE is ironing. MARCH - seated on a stool, L., arranging fishing-lines._ - -_March_, (_sings_.) - - “Oh, my name was Captain Kyd - As I sailed, as I sailed. - Oh, my name was Captain Kyd - As I sailed!” - -_Mrs. G._ Do, March, stop that confounded racket! - -_March._ Racket! well that’s a good one. Mother Gale, you’ve got no ear -for music. - -_Mrs. G._ More ear than you have voice. Do you call that singing? - -_March._ To be sure I do. (_Sings._) - - “Oh, my name was Captain--” - -_Mrs. G._ March Gale, if you don’t stop that catawauling, I’ll fling this -flat-iron right straight at your head. - -_March._ Now, don’t, Mother Gale. Don’t you do it. The iron would enter -my soul. (_Sings._) - - “As I sailed, as I sailed.” - -_Mrs. G._ Dear, dear! what does ail that boy? March Gale, you’ll distract -our fine city boarders. - -_March._ Not a bit of it. Don’t they come from the great city where -there’s lots of grand uproars, organ-grinders, and fiddlers. I tell -you, Mother Gale, they are pining for the delights of the city; and I’m -a public benefactor, when, by the sound of my musical voice, I wake in -their hearts tender recollections of “Home, sweet Home.” (_Sings._) - - “As I sailed, as I sailed.” - -_Mrs. G._ I do wish you were sailing. Now, do stop, that’s a good boy. -You make my head ache awfully. - -_March._ Do I? why didn’t you say that before: I’m done. But, Mother -Gale, what do you suppose sent these rich people to this desolate spot? - -_Mrs. G._ It’s their whims, I s’pose: rich people are terrible whimsical. -Mr. Raymond told your father he wanted a quiet place down by the sea. - -_March._ Blest if he hasn’t got it! It’s almost as desolate here as poor -old Robinson Crusoe’s Island. - -_Mrs. G._ Well, well! p’raps he had a hankering for this spot, for he -was born down here. Ah, me! how times do change. I remember the time when -Abner Raymond was a poor fisherman’s boy. Law sakes, boy, when I was a -gal, he used to come sparking me; and he and John Gale have had many a -fight, all along of me. Well, he went off to the city, got edicated, and -finally turned out a rich man. - -_March._ You don’t say so. Why, Mother Gale, you might have been a rich -lady. - -_Mrs. G._ P’raps I might, March; p’raps I might: but I chose John Gale; -and I never regretted it, never. - -_March._ Bully for you, Mother Gale, and bully for Daddy Gale, too. He’s -a trump. But I say, Mother Gale, isn’t Miss Kate a beauty? My eyes! Keep -a sharp look-out, Mother Gale, a sharp eye on our Sept.; for, if I’m not -much mistaken, he’s over head and ears in love with her. - -_Mrs. G._ Goodness, gracious! what an awful idea! - -_March._ Awful! perhaps it is; but she likes it. I’ve seen them on the -rocks as chipper as a pair of blackbirds; her eyes glistening and her -cheeks rosy, while Sept. was pouring all sorts of soft speeches into her -ears. - -_Mrs. G._ Heavens and airth! this won’t do! I’ll tell your father of this -the minit he comes home. - -_March._ No you won’t, Mother Gale. Hush, here’s the young lady now. - -(_Enter KATE, R._) - -_Kate._ May I come in? - -_Mrs. G._ To be sure you may, and welcome (_places a chair, R., and dusts -it with her apron_). It’s awful dirty here. - -_Kate_ (_sits_). Dirt? I have not yet been able to discover a particle in -the house. It’s a miracle of cleanliness. Well, March, what are you doing? - -_March._ Oh! fixin’ up the lines a little. - -_Kate._ Who was singing? While I was sewing I’m sure I heard a musical -voice. - -_March._ No: did you though? Do you hear that, Mother Gale. Miss Kate -heard a musical voice. I am the owner of that voice, and I’m mighty proud -of it; for there’s precious little I do own in this world. - -_Kate._ You should cultivate it. - -_Mrs. G._ Fiddlesticks! there’s no more music in that boy than there is -in a nor’easter. - -_March._ Now, Mother Gale, don’t show your ignorance of music. Yes, Miss -Kate, I should cultivate it; but then, you see. I’m an orphan. - -_Kate._ An orphan? - -_March._ Yes, an orphan,--a poor, miserable, red-headed orphan. The only -nurse I ever had was the sea, and a precious wet one she was. - -_Kate._ Do you mean to say you are not the son of John Gale? - -_March._ That’s the melancholy fact: I’m nobody’s son. I was found upon -the sands, after a fearful storm and a shipwreck, very wet and very -hungry, by Daddy Gale. This little occurrence was in the month of March. -Fearing, from my youth and inexperience, I should be likely to forget the -circumstances of my birth, Daddy Gale christened me March, and it’s been -march ever since. You march here, and you march there. - -_Kate._ And September? - -_March._ Oh! Sept. came in the same way, by water, a little sooner, the -September before. Daddy Gale evidently expected to complete the calendar, -and have a whole almanac of shipwrecked babbies. - -_Kate._ He is not Mr. Gale’s son? - -_March._ No, he’s a nobody, too: we’re a pair of innocent but unfortunate -babbies. - -_Kate._ Strange I have not heard this before. I have been here nearly a -month. - -_Mrs. G._ Bless your dear soul, John Gale doesn’t like to talk about it. -He’s precious fond of these boys; and I tell him he’s afeard somebody -will come and claim ’um. But he’s done his duty by them. No matter how -poor the haul, how bad the luck, he always manages to lay by something -for their winter’s schooling; and, if ever anybody should claim them, -they can’t complain that they have’nt had an edication. - -_March._ That’s so, Mother Gale, all but my singing; but I have strong -hopes of somebody coming to claim me. I feel I was born to be something -great,--a great singer, or something else. - -_Mrs. G._ Something else, most likely. - -_March._ Yes. I expect to see my rightful owner appearing in a coach and -four to bear me to his ancestrial castle. - -_Mrs. G._ Fiddlesticks! - -_March._ Mother Gale, your ejaculations are perfectly distressing. I -don’t open my mouth to indulge in a few fond hopes, but you ram your -everlasting “fiddlesticks” down my throat to choke all my soaring fancies. - -_Mrs. G._ Well, I should think your throat _would_ be sore, with all -those big words. - -_March._ Yes, Miss Kate: I have strong hopes of being rewarded for my -blighted youth with one or more parents of some standing in the world. - -_Kate._ I trust your hopes will be realized. This is a strange story, and -will interest my father, startle him; for years ago he lost a child by -shipwreck. - -_March._ A child,--a boy? - -_Kate._ Yes, a boy, the child of his first wife, who left France with her -infant in a ship that never reached her port. - -_March._ Good gracious! when was this? - -_Kate._ Oh! a long, long time ago, before I was born, for I am the -daughter of his second wife: it must have been twenty,--yes, more than -twenty years ago. - -_March._ A boy, shipwrecked twenty years ago. Good gracious, it almost -takes away my breath. - -_Kitty_ (_outside, C._). Much obliged, I’m sure. You’d better come in. - -_March._ Hallo! there’s Kitty. (_Enter KITTY, C._) Hallo, Kitty! who’s -that you are talking to? - -_Kitty_ (_tossing her head_). Wouldn’t you like to know, _Mister_ Gale? - -_March._ To be sure I should. - -_Kitty._ Well, you can’t: a pretty idea, that I can’t have a beau without -being obliged to tell you who it is! - -_March._ A beau! It’s that Bige Parker: I know it is. - -_Kitty._ Well, suppose it is, Mr. March Gale. - -_March._ I’ll just give him the biggest licking ever he had: you see if I -don’t. - -_Kitty._ What for, pray? - -_March._ What right has he to be tagging after you, I’d like to know? - -_Kitty._ Suppose I choose to let him, Mr. Gale; and suppose I like to -have him, Mr. Gale. What do you say to that? - -_March._ That I’ll punch him all the harder when I get at him. - -_Kitty._ Will you? You’re a pretty brother, ain’t you? Won’t let your -sister have a beau without making a fuss! - -_March._ I ain’t your brother: you know I ain’t. I’m a shipwrecked -innocent. - -_Kitty_ (_laughing_). Oh, ho, ho! you’re a pretty innocent, you are! - -_Mrs. Gale._ Kitty Gale, stop your laughing and behave yourself. Don’t -you see Miss Kate? Where have you been? - -_Kitty._ Oh! I’ve been over to Mrs. Parker’s. - -_March._ Bige Parker’s. Darn him. - -_Kitty._ Mrs. Parker was not at home (_looking slyly at March_): nobody -but Bige. - -_March._ I’d like to get hold of him: I’d send him _home_, and keep him -there. - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear! I am so hungry! - -_March._ I am glad of it. - -_Kitty._ Bige Parker wanted to give me a great thick slice of bread and -butter; but I knew there was somebody at home (_looking at March_) who -could spread bread and butter better than he. - -_March._ No: did you, Kitty? you just keep still, and I’ll bring you a -slice. (_Exit, L._) - -_Kate._ O Kitty, Kitty! I suspect you are a little coquette. - -_Kitty._ Me! why I never thought of such a thing. - -_Mrs. Gale_ (_going to door, C._). It’s about time for John to be back. -(_Enter MARCH, L., with slice of bread and butter._) - -_March._ There, Kitty, there you are! - -_Kitty._ Oh! ain’t that nice, now if I only had a seat. - -_March._ Here’s one: here’s a high old seat (_attempts to lift her upon -the table, burns his hand with the flat-iron, yells, drops Kitty, and -runs, L._). - -_Mrs. Gale._ I told you you’d catch it (_takes iron from table, and -places it in the fireplace_). - -_March._ You didn’t tell me any such thing: I found it out myself. Look -at that (_shows his hand_). There’s a blister. - -_Kate._ Dear me! I forgot I had a message to deliver. Father would like -to see you in his room a moment. - -_Mrs. Gale._ I’ll go right up. - -_Kate._ Where’s Sept., March: I haven’t seen him this morning? - -_March._ I saw him off the point about an hour ago: it’s about time he -was in. - -_Kate._ Come up to my room when you have finished your luncheon. I’ve -something to show you. (_Exit, R._) - -_Kitty._ Yes, I’ll come right up. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Now, March, be careful of that musical voice of yours while -I’m gone: don’t strain it. (_Exit, R._) - -_Kitty._ March Gale! you ain’t a bit perlite: why don’t you give me a -seat? - -_March._ Well, I’ll give you a seat, now the flat-iron’s out of the way -(_lifts her to table, where she sits swinging her feet and eating bread -and butter_). - -_Kitty._ Isn’t she pretty? - -_March._ Mother Gale? - -_Kitty._ Mother Gale! No: Miss Kate. - -_March._ Yes, indeed. - -_Kitty._ And she’s so rich, and dresses so fine. I suppose she lives in -a big house with a buffalo on top, and a pizzaro, and a miranda, and all -that. - -_March._ Yes, indeed, she’s very rich; but then you just wait till my -mysterious parent turns up. I know he’s a rich man: you never heard of a -shipwrecked baby but what had a rich father,--never. Sometimes I think -he’s a rich English lord, or a French marquis, or a Turkish bashaw. I do -hope he’s a Turk: I am very fond of Turkey. - -_Kitty._ So am I, with cranberry sauce. - -_March._ Oh, pshaw! what’s the use poking fun! - -_Kitty._ Do you know what I would do if I was rich? - -_March._ No: what is it? - -_Kitty._ I’d have some molasses on my bread. - -_March._ You won’t have to wait for that (_runs off, L._). - -_Kitty._ Now, ain’t he obliging. I do like to be waited upon: and there’s -plenty to wait upon me; for, between March and Bige Parker, I’m very -comfortably settled. (_March runs in, L._) - -_March._ Here you are Kitty (_pours molasses on her bread_). - -_Kitty._ Oh, ain’t that sweet! - -_March._ Yes, Kitty, I’ve been thinking that it’s about time I should -make an effort to find my father. - -_Kitty._ But what can you do? there is nothing by which you can be -identified. - -_March._ No, but instinct will guide me. I know, if I once set eyes on -the man who is truly my father, there will be a come-all-overishness that -will cause me to rush into his arms, crying, “Father, behold your son!” -In the mean time I must wait. - -_Kitty._ While you are waiting, suppose you take me down from this table. - -_March._ All right (_lifts her from table_), down you come. I say, Kitty, -what did Bige Parker say to you? - -_Kitty._ Oh! lots of sweet things. - -_March._ Darn him! - -_Kitty._ Let me see,--what did he say? He said that the sand seemed like -shining gold when I walked upon it. - -_March._ I’d like to stuff his throat with it: perhaps it would change -the color. - -_Kitty._ He said the sky seemed filled with beautiful rainbows. - -_March._ I’d like to paint a rainbow round his eyes. He might see stars -too. - -_Kitty._ And the water-- - -_March._ Oh, confound the water! you set me on fire. I’ll punch that Bige -Parker, you see if I don’t. - -_Kitty._ Why, March, you’re jealous. - -_March._ Jealous! well, perhaps I am. But I won’t have that Bige Parker -sneaking after you: mind that, now. And the next time I see him grinning -at you, he’ll catch it: mind that, too. He’s a confounded sneak, darn -him. (_Exit, C._) - -_Kitty._ Well, I declare, March is really jealous. Now, that’s too bad. -(_Enter JOHN GALE, L._) - -_John._ What’s too bad, Kitty? Where’s all the folks? where’s your marm? -where’s Sept.? Where’s anybody? - -_Kitty._ Where’s anybody? why, don’t you see me? - -_John._ Yes, I see you, you chatterbox. Where’s your mother? - -_Kitty._ Up-stairs. - -_John._ Up-stairs: now, _what_ is she doing up-stairs? - -_Kitty._ I’m sure I don’t know. - -_John._ Then run and find out. - -_Kitty._ Well, I suppose-- - -_John._ You suppose! Now, _what_ right have you to suppose? Run and find -out, quick! - -_Kitty._ Gracious, the fish don’t bite. (_Exit, R._) - -_John._ Pretty time of day, this is. Cold, wet, and hungry; and nobody at -home. Wonder where my rich boarder is? Having what he calls a _si_esta, I -s’pose. Well, every one to his taste; but the idea of a live man snoozing -in the house when there’s salt water, a bright sun, and a roaring breeze -outside. Bah! (_Enter MRS. GALE, R._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ Well, John, back again? - -_John._ Back, of course I’m back. You don’t s’pose I’d stay out after -four hours’ fishing, without a bite, do you? Hey! - -_Mrs. Gale._ Well, you needn’t bite me. You’ve had bad luck. - -_John._ Now, what’s the use of telling me that? Don’t I know it? I tell -you what, old lady, if we ain’t mighty careful, we shall have nothing to -eat one of these days. - -_Mrs. Gale._ When that time comes, we’ll begin to complain. But with two -sich boys as our Sept. and our March-- - -_John._ Now, what’s the use of talking about them boys? What are they -good for? Where’s Sept.? - -_Mrs. Gale._ Off in his boat, I s’pose. - -_John._ His boat! a pretty boat he’s got. If he’s not kerful, he’ll see -the bottom afore he knows it. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Our Sept.! Why, he’s the best boatman along shore. You -needn’t be scared about him. - -_John._ Not when he’s a stout plank under him. But that skiff of his is -as frail as a shingle. Where’s March? - -_Mrs. Gale._ I left him here a minnit ago. - -_John._ There’s another beauty. I tell you what, Mother Gale, I’m going -to turn over a new leaf with these boys. I won’t have so much of this -shirking work. Sept. shall sell that boat; and March-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ Why, you ugly old bear! what’s the matter with you? Turn -over a new leaf indeed! Well, that’s a good one. Only this morning you -were blessing your stars you had two such boys,--the best and smartest-- - -_John._ Humbug! you don’t know what you are talking about. I tell you -they’re a good-for-nothing, lazy pair of--Hallo! here’s Raymond. (_Enter -MR. R., R._) - -_Ray._ Halloo, Gale! back already? what luck? - -_John._ Hem! luck. Precious poor. - -_Raymond._ I’m sorry for that. But, Gale, my daughter has been telling -me a strange story about these boys. They’re not yours. - -_John._ Who says they ain’t? I’d like to know who’s a better right to ’em. - -_Ray._ Well, well, I’m not going to dispute it. But I _would_ like to -hear the story from your lips. - -_John._ It’ll be a precious short one, I can tell you. Well, they _ain’t_ -my boys. They were shipwrecked on the coast twenty-three years ago. - -_Ray._ Twenty-three years ago? - -_John._ Yes, exactly twenty-three years ago, in the month of September, -we were awakened one night by the booming of guns off shore. ’Twas a -black night, I tell you,--a roaring gale, the sea dashed over the rocks -almost to our door, and the rain poured in torrents. We hastened to the -beach. Half a mile off, stuck fast in the sands, was a ship, blue-lights -burning and cannons firing. It was no use: mortal man could not reach her -in such a sea. In the morning, scattered pieces of the wreck, a few dead -bodies, and a live baby, was all there was left of her. - -_Ray._ A living child? - -_John._ Yes, our Sept. A precious tough time he had of it, I can tell -you: we thought he’d die; but mother’s care and a healthy constitution -brought him through, and there is not a smarter boatmen or a better lad -on all the coast than our Sept., if I do say it. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Why, John, you said just now-- - -_John._ What’s the use of talking about what I said just now? You never -did take kindly to him; but I say he’s the best lad-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ John Gale, you’re stark, staring mad! Don’t I idolize ’em -both? - -_Ray._ But the other, Gale? - -_John._ Well, he came in the same way. ’Twas very queer; but the very -next March, in a blinding storm, we were again turned out at night by -the booming of guns. Another ship in the sands; more blue lights; in the -morning, more wreck, more dead bodies, and another live baby. - -_Ray._ March? (_Enter, MARCH, C._) - -_John._ Yes, March; and he was a roarer, I tell you. We haven’t had a -shipwreck since: the squalls of that brat, night after night, was enough -to scare off all the ships in creation. He weathered it; and though I do -say he’s a smart clever-- (_sees March, L._) You confounded scoundrel! -where have you been? - -_March_ (_Aside_). My! touching biography. (_Aloud._) Where have I been? -been looking for you. - -_Ray._ But, Gale, was no inquiries ever made for these lads? - -_John._ No; and I didn’t take particular care to hunt up their owners. If -they don’t care enough for ’em to hunt ’em up, I’m content. They’ve been -well brought up: they’re a credit to anybody. There’s a good home for -’em here; there’s the broad ocean for their labor; and there are honest -hearts here that love ’em as their own; and, if they’re not content, -’twill not be the fault of John Gale. - -_March._ Hurrah for John Gale! - -_John._ Now, what do you mean by yelling in that way, you -good-for-nothing-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ Smart, clever,--Hey, John? - -_John._ Now what’s the use of talking-- - -_Ray._ But these lads, Gale: was nothing found about them by which they -could be identified? - -_John._ No; Sept. was well bundled up in nice soft flannels, while March -was tied up in an old pea-jacket: but no name or marks about them. - -_Ray._ This is very strange--very strange. (_Enter KITTY, R. hurriedly._) - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear!--run, quick!--run, quick! - -_March._ Run quick! where, what’s the matter? - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear! I’m so frightened! - -_John._ What is it? - -_All._ Speak, speak! - -_Kitty._ Oh! do wait till I get my breath! No, no! run quick! - -_Mrs. Gale._ Lord sakes, Kitty! what is the matter? - -_Kitty._ I was up in Miss Raymond’s room, looking out of the window-- - -_All._ Well, well! - -_Kitty._ Oh! if you don’t run quick something will happen. - -_March._ Well, well, where shall we run? - -_Kitty._ I saw Miss Kate walking on the rocks-- - -_All._ Well, well! - -_Kitty._ When suddenly she slipped-- - -_All._ Well, well-- - -_Kitty._ And fell into the sea. - - _Ray._ My daughter. } - _Mrs. Gale._ Goodness! Gracious! } (_together._) - _John Gale._ Overboard! } - _March._ Man overboard! } - -_All rush for door, C. Enter SEPT., C., with KATE in his arms._ - -_Sept._ Very wet, but safe and sound. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Thank Heaven! - -_Ray._ My daughter! (_Takes her from SEPT. MRS. GALE places a chair, C., -in which they seat her._) - -_March._ Hurrah for Sept.! - -_Mrs. Gale._ Here, Kitty, March, run for my camphire. (_March takes a -flat-iron from the fireplace. Kitty runs off, L., and brings in a bucket -of water. They rush around the stage two or three times. March, finding -the iron hot, plunges it into the bucket of water, L. Have iron hot so -it will sizzle in water._) Land sakes, what are you doing? ye’ll set the -house afire. - -_March._ Darn your old irons: there’s another blister. - -_Kate._ Don’t be alarmed, there’s nothing the matter. I accidentally -slipped off the rock; but, thanks to dear Sept., I am quite safe. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Come right straight up to your room, and change your -clothes. You’ll ketch your death a cold. Come right along. (_Leads KATE -off, R._) - -_Ray._ (_seizing SEPT.’S hand_). Sept. Gale, Heaven bless you! you’ve -done a noble deed. (_Exit, R._) - -_Sept._ Well, well, here’s a jolly spree about just nothing at all! But, -I say, March, isn’t she splendid? Do you know, when I pulled her from -the water into my little craft--I couldn’t help it--I felt as though she -belonged to me. Yes: rich, young, beautiful as she is, but for the arm -of the rough sailor she would now be sleeping her long sleep beneath the -waves. - -_March._ Well, I dunno about her belonging to you. All the fish you pull -out of the water are yours; but a woman isn’t exactly a fish. - -_Sept._ No, no, not exactly, March. - -_March._ Sept., you’re a lucky dog. That’s just your luck. I might have -been on the water a month without making such a haul as that. - -_Sept._ Well, Father Gale, my little spinning Jenny, as you call her, has -done good service to-day. Haven’t you a little better opinion of her? - -_John Gale._ Sept., my boy, as March says, you’ve had a streak of luck. -But don’t brag about that boat. - -_Sept._ But I will, though. She is the fastest sailer on the coast; the -neatest trimmed, and the cleanest built; and I’m proud of her. Hallo, -Kitty, what’s the matter? - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear, this is an awful world! Suppose Miss Kate should have -been drowned,--and she would if it hadn’t been for me,--hurrying down -stairs to tell-- - -_March._ After she had been saved. You’re a smart one, you are. - -_Kitty._ I couldn’t help being late, could I? (_Enter MRS. GALE, R._) - -_Sept._ Well, mother, all right, hey? - -_Mrs. Gale._ Yes, Sept., all right. Come right here and kiss me. You’re a -dear, good, noble-- (_hugging him_). - -_Sept._ Now, don’t, mother. You’ll spoil me. You’ll make me believe I’ve -done something great instead of my duty. (_Enter MR. R., R._) - -_Ray._ Kate has quite recovered. Sept. Gale, how can I express my -obligations, how reward-- - -_Sept._ Now, please, don’t Mr. Raymond. Don’t say any thing about it. If -I have been the humble instrument of Heaven in saving a life precious to -you, believe me the consciousness of duty done is a rich reward, and I -ask no other. Oh! here’s Kate. (_Enter KATE, R._) - -_Kate._ Here I am, just as good as new. Where’s my preserver? Now, don’t -raise your hand: I’m not going to say one word in praise of your conduct. -Man was born to wait on woman; and so, sir, you will please follow me to -the rock to find my handkerchief, and see that I don’t take another bath. -Come along. (_Exit, C._) - -_Sept._ Ay! Ay! I’ll watch you: never fear. (_Exit, C._) - -_John._ Mother Gale, it strikes me forcibly that if we are to have any -dinner to-day-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ Heavens and airth! I forgot all about it. You, March, run -and split me some wood; and you, Kitty, peel me some pertaters; and you, -John--dear, dear, what a confusion! (_Exit, L._) - -_March._ Come along, Kitty. - -_Kitty._ Dear me! If there’s any thing I hate, it’s peeling taters. - -_March._ Well, you jest wait until I get my wood, and I’ll fix ’em for -you. Come along. (_Exit KITTY and MARCH, L._) - -_John._ It strikes me, that March has a mighty fancy for our Kitty. Who -knows but what there’ll be a wedding here some of these days? I say, Mr. -Raymond, you’ll excuse me, but I must look arter my boat. (_Exit, C._) - -_Ray._ Oh, never mind me! Twenty-three years ago! What revelation can -fate have in store for me? Twenty-three years ago, I was the possessor -of a young and beautiful wife. Travelling in France, I was hastily -summoned to America, and obliged to leave my wife, with her infant -child, to follow me: she took passage in the ship Diana, in the summer -of ’31: the vessel was never more heard of. Every inquiry was made, but -no intelligence could be obtained. What was also remarkable, the ship -Gladiator, which sailed from Havre on the same day, met a like mysterious -fate. These boys found on the sands,--can they be connected with this -history? Strange, strange, I never heard of this circumstance! But twenty -years ago communication was more difficult than now; and that dreadful -winter the fearful losses by storm were never known. New ties,--another -wife,--she, too, gone,--a daughter loving and beloved,--have stilled the -longings to gain tidings of the fate of the lost one: but this strange -history awakens a desire to learn more. I have watched them attentively, -but can see no resemblance to my lost wife in either of their faces. Yet -something tells me that this strange meeting--this desolate place--the -wrecks--the children--cannot be accidental. I will be calm, and watch and -wait: for I believe that in one of these boys I shall find my lost son. -(_Exit, R._) (_Enter MARCH, C., with an armful of wood, in time to hear -the last words. He drops the wood._) - -_March._ It’s coming, it’s coming! Hold me, somebody! Hold me, especially -my head, for I hear strange sounds! I hear the roll of carriage-wheels, -and oh, there’s a piebald horse gave me a thundering kick in the head! -What did he say? “one of these boys must be his lost son.” So, so! he’s -got a lost son; and I’ve got a lost father, somewhere. I shouldn’t wonder -if we found out we were related. I’ve seen quite a resemblance between -Mr. Raymond and myself,--the same aristocratic air. Suppose it should -be--oh! it must be,--I never could have been left out in that cold sand, -hungry and wet, for nothing. Won’t it be gay? I long for the time when he -will disclose himself. I knew he never could have come to this desolate -spot for nothing. And now it’s all out. (_Enter MRS. G., L._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ Yes, it is all out, you lazy scamp! Didn’t I tell you to put -the wood on the fire? - -_March._ (_Picking up wood he dropped._) Now, don’t scold, Mother Gale. -There’s a fire here (_hand on heart_). - -_Mrs. Gale_ (_at fireplace_). I tell you, there’s no fire here. What are -you thinking of? - -_March_ (_placing wood on fire_). “I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls.” - -_Mrs. Gale._ Marble fiddlesticks! O March, March! you’ll never set the -river afire! - -_March._ Won’t I, Mother Gale? You may be sure of one thing: I shan’t try -in a hurry. Shall I tell her? no; I will keep silence, least I interfere -with his plans. (_Enter KITTY, L._) - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear! oh, dear! I’ve cut my finger with those plaguey taters. - -_March._ Dear me, Kitty! you are always in trouble. - -_Kitty._ Well, I couldn’t help it. My hands were never made to peel -taters. - -_March._ No, indeed, they wa’nt. Here, let me fix it for you (_wraps -cloth round it_). You shan’t do it again. Fortune has at last smiled upon -me: I shall soon be rich, and then-- - -_Kitty._ How long must we wait? - -_Mrs. Gale._ How long must I wait for the pertaters? - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear! I wish they were in the sea (_goes to door, C._). O -March, look here, quick! There’s a yacht coming round the point. Isn’t -she a beauty? - -_March._ My eyes! look at her! A gentleman’s yacht, and headed this way. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Mercy sakes! More visitors. Who can it be? (_All exit, C. -Enter RAYMOND, R._) - -_Ray._ Confusion! That confounded Capt Dandelion, to escape whom I fled -to this out-of-the-way place, is almost at the door in his yacht. His -pursuit of Kate is persistent; and, but that I knew the utter selfishness -of the man, I could honor him for the apparently unwearied patience with -which he follows her. (_Enter KATE and SEPT., C._) Well, child, you have -heard of the new arrival? - -_Kate._ A new arrival? No: who is it? - -_Ray._ Your persevering gallant, Capt. Dandelion, is after you. That is -his yacht just dropping anchor. - -_Kate._ Now, what could have sent him here? - -_Ray._ You don’t seem pleased. Perhaps I may have been unkind in thought; -but, remembering your partiality for him in the city, I feared you might -have clandestinely invited him here. - -_Kate._ Why, Father! can you think so meanly of me? Capt. Dandelion is -very pleasant society in the city; but here I can do without him. Oh! I -forgot: Sept. wants to speak to you. - -_Sept._ Me? No I don’t. - -_Kate._ Why, Sept.! what did you tell me when we were walking by the -shore? - -_Sept._ What did I tell you? why--that--I--what did I tell you? - -_Kate._ Come, come, sir. - -_Sept._ Well, then, I said you were very beautiful. - -_Kate._ Oh, pshaw! not that. - -_Sept._ Yes, I did; and I meant it; that you were rich, admired and -courted; that your presence here had been like the coming of a new star -in a dark night, to light the path of us hardy fisherman; that--that-- - -_Kate._ O father! speak to him. - -_Ray._ Well, Sept., I’m willing to obey; but what shall I say?--that I -fear the presence of my daughter has made a young man forget his lowly -station? - -_Sept._ Yes, you may say that: it has. It has made him forget that he is -poor, rough, and untutored,--that there are social bonds which hold the -rich within their circles, where the poor may not enter. He has forgot -all, all this. For the manhood within him--the love of the beautiful -implanted in his breast--has burst all slavish bonds, and his heart has -forced from his lips the words, ‘I love you!’ - -_Ray._ And you have said this to my daughter? - -_Sept._ I have: I could not help it. - -_Ray._ Base,--base,--base! you have taken advantage of having saved my -daughter’s life-- - -_Kate._ Hold, father! you are mistaken. He has taken no advantage: I do -not believe he ever thought of it. It was I who remembered that when I -said, ‘Sept., I am glad to hear this; for I dearly, truly love you.’ - -_Ray._ Confound it, girl! what have you done? - -_Kate._ Obeyed the instincts of a true woman, who, when she gains the -heart of a man noble and good, accepts it fully and freely, caring not -for wealth or station. - -_Ray._ You’re a pair of romantic fools. I tell you, girl, you know not -what you have done. This must not, cannot be. - -_Kate._ Oh! but it is; you are too late: the mischief is done. So, -father, give your consent and make us happy. (_Enter KITTY, C._) - -_Kitty._ O Miss Kate! here’s somebody to see you,--a real gentleman, -with rings on his fingers and bells on his toes, I should say, a great -mustache under his nose, and half a pair of specs in one eye; and he says -“he’s deused wearwy, ah!” (_imitating._) - -_Kate._ That’s Capt. Dandelion, sure. (_Enter MARCH, C., with Captain._) - -_Capt._ Wall, now, wearly, what a surpwise! You don’t know, my dear -fwiends, what a search I’ve had for you; you don’t wearly! - -_Ray._ Well, Captain, you have found us out. I suppose it would not be -polite for me to say we came here on purpose to get rid of you? - -_Capt._ Say it, my dear fellah, say it: it’s just like you; it is, -wearly; you’re always joking. But, you know, you can’t affwont me, ’pon -my word. - -_Ray._ (_Aside._) No: I wish I could. - -_Capt._ And how is the beautiful, bewitching, adowable Miss Kate? - -_Kate._ Quite well, thank you, Captain. How are all our friends in the -city? - -_Capt._ Miserwable, perfectly miserwable: the sun don’t shine in the city -when you are not there; it don’t, wearly. I couldn’t live there, and so I -took my wacht and sailed after you. - -_Kitty._ (_L. to MARCH, L._) Took his what? - -_Kate._ Excuse me, Captain: let me present my friends. This is Mr. March -Gale. - -_Capt._ No, wearly? What a queer name! queer fish, too, ’pon honor. - -_March._ The Captain and I have met before. He’s a little near-sighted, -and tumbled head over heels over a rock; but I picked him up. - -_Kate._ And this is Mr. Sept. Gale. - -_Capt._ Oh! wearly, a fisherman. - -_Sept._ (_Takes Captain’s hand, and gives it a rough shaking._) Glad -to see you, Captain, glad to see you: we’ll make you comfortable here; -plenty of fish. - -_Capt._ (_Grinning, and shaking his head._) Fish! Yes, and lobsters, too: -I’ve felt their claws. - -_Kate._ And this is Miss Kitty Gale. - -_Capt._ Ah, wearly! (_Bows, puts his eye-glass to his eyes._) Positively -bewitching! wuwal simplicity! Wenus in a clamshell! (_To Kate._) But all -fisherman. - -_Kate._ Yes, all fisherman; and you’ll find me handy with the line, too, -thanks to Sept.’s teaching. - -_Capt._ Glad to hear it; quite a womantic place this; so pwimitive, -though it does smell hawibly of fish. - -_March._ Yes, Captain, she’s a capital fisherman. (_Aside._) I do wish -they would clear out, and give me a chance for a word with Mr. Raymond. -There’s something in my bosom tells me-- - -_Mrs. Gale_ (_Outside, L._). March, March! - -_March._ Yes: there’s always something telling me that. It’s nothing but -March. (_Exit, L._) - -_Capt._ By the by, Miss Kate, I have a message from a friend in the city, -Blanche Allen. - -_Kate._ Dear Blanche! give it me quick. - -_Capt._ I declare I’ve left it in my wacht. - -_Kate._ Oh! do run and get it quick. Come, I’ll go with you. - -_Capt._ Will you? that’s deused kind of you,--it is wearly. - -_Kate._ Come, come! I’m impatient to hear from dear Blanche. (_Takes -Captain’s arm, and exit, C._) - -_Sept._ She seems mightily pleased with her city friend. Well, he’s an -elegant gentleman, while I’m but a rough fisherman. Can I ever hope to -win her! And yet she told me, but a little while ago, she loved me. -(_About to exit, C._) - -_Ray._ (_R._) Sept., a word with you. - -_Sept._ Ay, ay, sir. (_Comes down, L._) - -_Ray._ John Gale has been telling me a strange story about you. You are -not his son. - -_Sept._ Ah, the story of the shipwreck. No, sir: I am not his son by -birth; but he has been a true father to me, and I love him as though he -were my own. - -_Ray._ Have you no recollection of a mother? - -_Sept._ None: I was an infant when found upon the shore. - -_Ray._ This rough fishing life,--do you like it? - -_Sept._ Like it! to be sure I do; for I have known no other. I was -lulled to sleep in infancy by the dash of the waves upon the rocks, -the whistling of the breeze among the shingles of the old house; and, -winter and summer, I have been rocked upon the bosom of the only mother I -know,--the ocean. - -_Ray._ Oh! but there’s danger in it. - -_Sept._ Yes, there is danger; but who, with a true heart and a stout arm, -cares for danger! Ah, that’s the sport of it! To be upon the sea when the -winds are roaring, and the waves are seething in anger; to hear along -shore the dash of the sea upon the rocks, and to know you have a stout -plank beneath you and a light bark obedient to your command, braving the -fury of the tempest,--ah, that’s glorious! - -_Ray._ But it is mere drudgery. You have read some, I know. Have you -never longed for other scenes,--other occupations? - -_Sept._ To be sure I have. As I have read of great generals and their -campaigns, of merchant princes,--their thrift and industry,--I have -longed to be among them, to bear a hand in the battle, to test my brain, -or strain my sinews with the best. - -_Ray._ Well, why have you never tried? The city is open to all who -possess industry and talent. - -_Sept._ Ay, ay, sir. But here’s father and mother Gale; age is creeping -upon them: who is to take care of them? No, no! let the dream pass. They -might have left me to die upon the sands: but they took me to their -hearts; and, with Heaven’s help, I’ll be a true son to them in their old -age. (_Enter MARCH, L._) - -_March._ (_Aside._) Halloo! what’s going on here! Something about me. - -_Ray._ March,--is he contented here? - -_March._ (_Aside._) Not by a long chalk. - -_Sept._ March? Oh! he’s a queer fish; his head is filled with whimsical -notions regarding his parentage. - -_Ray._ Has he any clue to his parents? - -_Sept._ No more than I have. - -_March._ (_Aside._) Don’t be too sure of that. - -_Ray._ Has he any recollection of a mother? - -_March._ (_Breaking in._) Most certainly he has. - -_Ray._ How? - -_March._ That is, I think I must have had one; and my father,--I know -where he is, and just what he looks like. - -_Ray._ You do! - -_March._ Yes: he’s rather tall, gray hair, dresses well, and looks like -me. - -_Ray._ (_Laughing._) A very accurate description. - -_March._ You know him, then? - -_Ray._ Me! how should I? - -_March._ He’s rich too. - -_Ray._ Ah! that’s good. - -_March._ Yes; and he’s got his eye on me. He’s looking after me. He’s -only waiting to see how I take it. He fears it will overcome me: but when -he finds I am instinctively drawn towards him; when he finds I only wait -to hear a voice say-- (_Enter KITTY, L._) - -_Kitty._ March, I’ve peeled the taters. - -_March._ Confound your taters! - -_Ray._ Well, well, March, remember the old adage, “Patient waiting, no -loss.” Come, Sept., let’s go down and look at the captain’s boat. (_Exit -with SEPT., C._) - -_March._ Kitty Gale, you’re enough to try the patience of Job: just when -I was on the brink of a discovery, you must pop in, and spoil every thing. - -_Kitty._ How could I help it? I did’nt know you was on the brink of any -thing. - -_March._ In another moment, I should have found my father. - -_Kitty._ Oh, pshaw! you’re always finding a father. I don’t believe you -ever had one. - -_March._ You don’t, hey? I have got one, and he’s rich too; got a fine -horse-- - -_Kitty._ Then why don’t you find him? Bige Parker don’t have to hunt for -his father! - -_March._ Bige Parker! Do you dare to speak his name to me? - -_Kitty._ To be sure I do. I’m going to walk with him to-night: perhaps -he’ll see more beautiful rainbows. - -_March._ We’ll see about that. I’ll just go and hunt him up, and he’ll -ketch the darndest licking ever he got: you see if he don’t. (_Dashes -out, C._) - -_Kitty._ Now he’s gone off mad. Well, I don’t care. (_Enter MRS. GALE, -L._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ Come, Kitty, hurry and set the table (_pulls table out, C., -spreads it; she and KITTY get cloth and dishes, and lay the table, during -the scene_). - -_Kitty._ Lord! here comes the captain back again. (_Enter CAPT. and KATE, -C._) - -_Kate._ It’s no use, Captain; my answer is still the same: I can never -marry you. - -_Capt._ Now, that’s deused unpleasant, after a fellah has come down here -in his _wacht_. - -_Mrs. Gale_ (_to Kitty_). What’s he say? he’s got warts! I’ll cure ’em -for him. - -_Kitty._ Hush, mother! he’s making love to Miss Kate. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Land sakes! he don’t look strong enough to make love to a -skeeter. - -_Capt._ Do let me entreat you to reverse your decision. - -_Kate._ Not another word, Captain. (_Enter JOHN GALE, L._) Ah! here’s Mr. -Gale. Mr. Gale, let me make you acquainted with a friend of mine, Capt. -Dandelion. - -_Mr. Gale_ (_seizing Captain by hand, giving him a rough shake_). Glad to -see you, Captain. I’ve been admiring your yacht. She’s a beauty. - -_Capt._ (_shaking his own hand_). Another fisherman. More lobsters’ -claws. (_Enter RAYMOND, R._) - -_Ray._ John Gale, I forgot one question about the wrecks. Did you find no -name about them? - -_John Gale._ Name? yes. We found the name of one on pieces of the wreck. -’Twas the Gladiator. The name of the other, on a bucket,--this one -(_takes up bucket, L., turns it round, showing the name Diana nearly -effaced_), the Diana. - -_Ray._ The Diana? Merciful Heaven! which one was this? - -_John Gale._ The first. The one which gave us our Sept. - -_Ray._ Sept.? - -_John Gale._ You seem mighty interested in these wrecks. - -_Ray._ I am, I am, John Gale. My wife and her infant son sailed from -Havre in that same Diana, twenty-three years ago. She was the only -passenger with a child: of that I have had abundant proof. This wreck, -this name (_Enter SEPT., C._), the story of the wreck, are convincing -proofs of the presence of my lost child beneath your roof. He can be no -other than September Gale. - -_Sept._ Me? I your son? - -_Ray._ Yes, my boy: you are indeed my son. You see now, Kate, why your -marriage with him was impossible. He is your brother. - -_Kate._ My brother? oh, misery! - -_Sept._ Her brother? thus ends my dream of happiness. - -_Capt._ Her brother? ’Pon honor, my chance is wealy better. - -_John Gale._ Well, this does beat all natur. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Sept.! Sept.! My dear boy, I can’t lose you. - -_March._ (_outside, C._). Darn you, Bige Parker! You just come out here -in this public highway. (_Enter C., with a black eye and nose bloody._) - -_Kitty._ Why, March Gale! what have you been doing? Fighting Bige Parker? - -_March._ Yes, rather. - -_Kitty._ Did you thrash him? - -_March._ Does this look like it? (_Points to eye._) - -_Kitty._ O March! there’s been such a time here! Mr. Raymond lost a son -twenty-three years ago. - -_March._ Yes. - -_Kitty._ And what do you think?--he’s just discovered him. - -_March._ I told you so,--I told you so! It’s coming. - -_Kitty._ He’s discovered him here. - -_March._ Yes, yes. - -_Kitty._ And who do you suppose it is? - -_March._ Suppose? I know, Kitty. Can I smother the paternal instinct in -my bosom? It is--it is-- - -_Kitty._ Our Sept. - -_March._ O Lord! there’s another black eye for me. (_Tumbles against -table, knocking it over._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ Heavens and airth! All my best chiny! (_Grand crash of -crockery and quick curtain._) - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS AT END OF ACT: - -R. CAPT., KATE, MR. RAYMOND, MARCH (on floor), KITTY, SEPT., MRS. GALE, -JOHN GALE. L. - - -ACT SECOND. - - SCENE. _Same as Act 1. (JOHN GALE, seated at fireplace. R., - smoking; MRS. GALE sitting, L., knitting. MARCH on stool, C._) - -_March._ Now, isn’t this a nice little family party? Since Sept. found -his father, the house has been about as lively as a funeral. Daddy Gale -is as cross as Julius Cæsar, and Mother Gale as dumb as an oyster. Sept. -doesn’t seem to take kindly to his new position; and Miss Kate acts as -though she had lost a mother, instead of finding a brother. Nobody seems -to have any life, except Kitty; and she’s busy flirting with that Capt. -Dandelion--confound him. I say, Mother Gale? - -_Mrs. Gale._ Well? - -_March._ Where’s Sept.? - -_Mrs. Gale._ Don’no, and don’t care. - -_March._ Daddy Gale? - -_John._ Well? - -_March._ Where’s Sept.? - -_John._ Don’no, and don’t care? - -_March._ Dry weather, ain’t it? - -_John_ (_fiercely_). Now, what’s the use of talking about the weather? - -_March._ So I say: what’s the use of talking at all? I like singing -better (_sings_),-- - - “Oh, my name was Capt. Kyd.” - - _John Gale_ } (_together_). Stop that confounded squalling! - _Mrs. Gale_ } Heavens and airth, yelling again! - -_March._ (_Aside._) I thought that would fetch them. - -_Mrs. Gale._ If John Gale was any kind of a man, he’d soon put an end to -sich nonsense. - -_John._ Now, what’s the use of telling about John Gale? You spilt the -boys! you know you did. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Gracious goodness! the man is crazy: I spiled ’em? - -_John._ Yes, you. - -_Mrs. Gale._ John Gale, you’re a brute. - -_John._ You’re another. - -_March._ (_Aside._) Hallo! it’s getting squally here. - -_John._ Here I find these ’ere lads left to die on the shore: and, in the -goodness of my heart, I brings ’em home, and tries to make good, honest -men on ’em; but what have you done? You’ve made one a fine gentleman, -that don’t know us; and the other a sassy chap, that’s eternally -squalling when we want peace and quiet. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Well, I never, John Gale! if I had a skillet, I’d comb your -hair for you, you brute. (_Enter SEPT., C._) - -_Sept._ Hallo! hallo! what’s the matter now? Silent! no word of welcome -for me! Well, well, what’s gone wrong, father? what’s gone wrong? - -_John Gale._ Now, what’s the use of calling me _father_? I ain’t yer -father. You’ve got a rich father, rolling in riches; and you’re a great -man now. Of course you look down on us poor fishing-folks: it’s what we -expected. - -_Sept._ Indeed! - -_Mrs. Gale._ Yes: poor folks must remember their station now. - -_Sept._ Ay, mother, that they must. If they are honest and true, loving -God and their fellow-men, their station is the proudest and the noblest -among mankind: for the hands they raise to heaven bear the proof-marks of -their kinship to Nature’s first nobleman, Father Adam; and their hearts -are rolls of honor, ever brightened by inscriptions of good works and -noble heroism. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Heavens and airth! do hear that boy talk! - -_Sept._ Pray heaven, I may never forget mine,--never forget the kind -benefactors who in my helplessness rescued me from the fury of the storm, -who took me to their hearts, watched over me in sickness, guided my feet -in the path of duty, and made a man of me. It may be as you say,--that I -have found a father, one who claims me by right of birth; but my heart -beats with no such feeling of love, of reverence, and of duty, towards -him, as it does for the honest, true-hearted old fisherman, John Gale -(_takes JOHN GALE’S hand_). - -_John._ God bless you, Sept.! God bless you, boy! I knew you were true as -steel; but the old lady-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ Now, stop, John Gale! don’t you go to slandering. - -_Sept._ And a mother! where shall I find her? They tell me, that, long -ago, she found a grave beneath the wave; but my heart tells me she is -here,--here, where my childhood was passed; here among the rocks and -sands, where the wild winds roar their loudest and the dark waves beat -their fiercest. At the feet of her who first taught me the name of -mother, I lay a son’s love and duty, which she, and she alone, has right -to claim (_kneels at MRS. GALE’S feet_). - -_Mrs. Gale._ O Sept., Sept.! my dear, dear, boy: we thought we were going -to lose you now you are rich and high in the world. - -_Sept._ Never fear, mother, never fear. Come what will, this is my home. -We have weathered it together when the clouds of adversity gathered thick -about, and we’ll share together the sunshine of prosperity which now -breaks upon us. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Dear me, dear me! what does ail my glasses? I can’t see. -There, I’ve dropped another stitch; and good gracious! where’s my -handkercher? I declare, I’ve dropped it somewhere--I never did see such -careless-- (_Exit, L._) - -_John Gale._ Hang me if I don’t believe something, run into my pipe, and -put it out. Well, Sept., here’s my hand: you’re an honor to us, and all -you’ve got is rightly yours; you deserve it. Come, March, let’s go down -and look arter the boats. (_Exit, C. MARCH has been sitting staring at -SEPT. with mouth open._) - -_Sept._ Hallo, March, who are you staring at? - -_March._ At a chap that’s got a father. It’s a wonderful curiosity to me. -I say, Sept., how does it feel? - -_Sept._ Well, March, thus far I can’t say I like it. - -_March._ Don’t like it? what a queer chap you are! I wish I was in your -shoes. - -_Sept._ I wish with all my heart you were. - -_March._ A rich father and a beautiful sister! - -_Sept._ Sister! Ah, there’s the sting! - -_March._ Why, you don’t mean to say--oh? good gracious! why, you were -dead in love with her--you can’t marry her now, you know. - -_Sept._ No: all my fond dreams of happiness are dispelled by this -unfortunate affair. - -_March._ Unfortunate! well, you are a queer one. Don’t I wish it was me? -wouldn’t I make the money fly? - -_John Gale_ (_outside, C._). March, March, must I wait all day for you, -hay? - -_March._ Hallo! I forgot I had a job on hand. Good-by Sept.,--poor -unfortunate son of a millionnaire. (_Exit, C._) - -_Sept._ Sister! can I ever call her by that name; must I forever -relinquish the hope of claiming her by a dearer title. No, no: I bear -to her something warmer than a brother’s love. This cannot be: this man -Raymond treated with scorn my overtures for the hand of his daughter. -He can have no proof that I am his son,--nothing but the fact that his -infant child was a passenger in the vessel that left me on the sands. He -cannot claim me upon such a mere thread as this. Perhaps it is a plot to -keep me quiet until his daughter is married to some wealthy suitor; and -then how easy to discover his mistake, and cast me adrift in the world. -Ah! here is Kate. (_KATE, R._) Good-morning, sister. - -_Kate._ Sister? - -_Sept._ It sounds strange from my lips, does it not? - -_Kate._ Indeed, it does, Sept.: you know I have never been called so -before; and--and-- - -_Sept._ You expected once that I should use a dearer title. - -_Kate._ Once--O Sept., Sept.! this is so strange. We were so happy -yesterday, it seems like awakening from a glorious dream. That you should -be fated to call me by the name of sister--it is cruel. I awoke last -night, and saw the moonbeams stream in at my window. I arose, and looked -out upon the night! the waters were calm and peaceful; the moon glistened -upon the rocks, lighting the very spot where you and I sat last night, -telling our future hopes. I know it was wicked; but I was so wretched, so -miserable, I wished I was sleeping calm and still beneath the waves from -which you rescued me, ere I had awakened to such misery as this. - -_Sept._ Be calm, dear Kate: all will yet be well; I am not your brother. - -_Kate._ Not my brother! you jest now. My father has claimed you. - -_Sept._ But there is something here that revolts at the kinship. Why -should he claim me as his son? There are no proofs, no likeness to him, -or her he calls my mother. Nothing but the mere fact that I was found -after the wreck of the vessel in which his wife sailed. - -_Kate._ No, no! Sept., he must be right. He does see a resemblance to his -lost wife in your face. No, no! it must be true. - -_Sept._ I will not believe it without further proof. I do not feel -towards him as I know I should were he my father; and as for a brother’s -love, the love within my heart for you is of a higher and a holier nature -than even that of brother. Kate, you told me last night that you loved -me, that you would one day be my wife: will you still keep your promise? - -_Kate._ O Sept.! it is impossible! - -_Sept._ If this should be a trick,--a trick to rob me of you,--this claim -put forward to keep me from your path until you had wed a richer suitor-- - -_Kate._ Why, Sept., you cannot believe my father so base as that: you are -mad? - -_Sept._ Yes, Kate! I am mad,--madly in love with you. Believe me, I am -not your brother. This is, at the best, a mere suspicion. - -_Kate._ Suspicion! yes: it is a suspicion, but one that must forever -separate us. It may be you are right, and something at my heart tells me -you are; but this suspicion will forever darken my life. No, Sept.; much -as I love you, it were better we should forever dismiss the hope. For, -whether further proof should be found or not, every hope of happiness -would be blasted by the fear--the dread--that you might be my brother. -Sept., you shall always find in me a sister, a loving sister; ever -watchful for your comfort, ever praying for your happiness; but, for -Heaven’s sake, no more of a warmer tie. (_Exit, R._) - -_Sept._ Have I lost her? What can I do? where turn to escape from this -bewildering maze? Upon this I am determined: I will not accept this man’s -bounty, or acknowledge his claim. (_Enter RAYMOND, C._) - -_Mr. R._ My dear boy, I’ve just despatched a messenger to town with the -glad tidings; and to-morrow we’ll leave this barren spot, and hie to the -gay scenes of city-life. Gad! boy, we’ll make a gentleman of you. You -must drop that outlandish name of September: you shall be Alden Raymond, -jr. - -_Sept._ You go to town? - -_Ray._ Yes, to-morrow: I’m impatient to show my city friends the fine lad -I found down by the sea. - -_Sept._ I cannot share your gratification, sir, for I shall remain here. - -_Ray._ Remain here! what for? - -_Sept._ Because I belong here. Mr. Raymond, I am extremely obliged to you -for the kind interest you have manifested in me; but I cannot accept your -claim. I do not believe I am your son. - -_Ray._ Not my son! why, boy, you are crazy. There cannot be the least -doubt of it: you came in the vessel with my wife; there was no other -infant on board. - -_Sept._ That you are not certain of. - -_Ray._ Certain! of course I am. I tell you, boy, there can be no mistake. - -_Sept._ There may be; there must be. I do not feel towards you the love -of a son for his father; and, until some other proof is found, I shall -remain here, and bear the only name to which I feel I have a right,--that -of September Gale. (_Exit, L._) - -_Ray._ But, boy--Sept., come here. Confound him! Here’s a pretty -predicament. Here’s an ungrateful scamp who refuses to acknowledge his -father. I’ll disinherit him--oh, pshaw! what does he care for that? He’s -a noble fellow, and he must be my son. (_Exit, R. Enter CAPTAIN, C., with -KITTY on his arm._) - -_Kitty._ Well, I declare, Captain, you are the most delightfulest beau -that ever I saw. - -_Capt._ No, wealy: ’pon honor, you overwhelm me; you do, wealy, you dear, -delightful little nymph of the sea. - -_Kitty._ You’re the sweetest man: your conversation is so sugary. - -_Capt._ Yes, jest so: ’pon my honor, I don’t know the weason, but the -ladies in the city are very fond of me. I am quite a flower in the city. - -_Kitty._ (_Aside._) A sunflower! Oh, I do wish that March could see us! - -_Capt._ Yaas, you should go to the city; such a beautiful cweature is -wasting her sweetness on the desert air in this howid place, that smells -so of fish. - -_Kitty._ Now, do you think so, Captain? Well, I’ve always thought I was -born for a higher sphere. - -_Capt._ You were, weally. Your beauty would be the admiration of the -whole city: it would, weally. - -_Kitty._ O Captain! you flatter now. - -_Capt._ Flatter? ’pon honor, no. Do let me take you to the city in my -_wacht_: the trip would be delightful. - -_Kitty._ What! (_Aside._) I do believe the man wants me to run away with -him. (_Enter March, C._) - -_Capt._ Yaas, we could slip away from here, go to the city, see all the -sights, and return, without any of these people being the wiser. - -_March._ (_Aside._) Confound his picture! he’s trying to run off with -Kitty. - -_Kitty._ Why, what an idea! I run off with a man!-- - -_Capt._ Who loves you to distraction; he does, weally. - -_Kitty._ What would Miss Kate say? - -_Capt._ Who cares what she says? ’Tis you I love, you whom I adore. - -_Kitty._ Why, what would March say? - -_March._ (_Coming between them._) He’ll be cursed if you do any thing of -the kind. - -_Kitty._ March! you here? - -_Capt._ That howid fisherman! - -_March._ Yes, that howid fisherman, you confounded old goggle-eyed -sculpin! And as for you, Kitty Sands, I’m ashamed of you. A pretty pair -you are! Want to run off, do you? - -_Capt._ Come, come, sir! you’re impertinent. - -_March._ Oh! I’m impertinent, am I? Wall, I ain’t near-sighted, and I -don’t wear eye-glasses, and I can see your nose plainly. (_Takes off his -coat, and rolls up his sleeves._) - -_Kitty._ Why, March! what are you doing? - -_March._ I’m just going to open your nose in the most approved style of -the manly art! (_Squares off._) - -_Capt._ Lord, gwacious! I believe the fellah’s going to fight! - -_Kitty._ March, if you touch him, I’ll call father just as loud as ever I -can. - -_March._ Well, you call: you’ll get a pretty talking to, I tell you. -(_Advances to Capt._) - -_Capt._ Here, you stop, you fellah! Stop, I say! (_Retreating towards -door, C._) - -_March._ I’ll teach you to skulk round here with your airs! (_Advances._) - -_Kitty._ Father, father! quick, quick! - -_Capt._ That’s right: call your father, or I’m a dead man! (_Enter, C., -Jean Grapeau with a large bundle._) - -_Grap._ Ha! ze top of ze morning, gentlefolks! How you vas? how you vas? - -_Kitty._ A peddler. - -_March._ Hallo, Frenchy! where did you drop from? - -_Capt._ (_Aside._) They seem to be busy: I’ll just step out. (_Exit, L._) - -_Grap._ Ah, sacre! I am ver mouch fatigue, ver mouch all ovar. I have -travel all ze day wiz my pack, and not sell ze fust thing; and I see your -door open, and I slip in to show you my goods. You pardon me ver mouch. - -_March._ Well, old chap, sit down. I’ve got a little job here. Why, the -Captain’s gone! - -_Kitty._ Yes, he has gone. You’re a pretty fellow, you are!--scared him -about to death. - -_March._ I’ll scare him if I catch him! - -_Kitty._ No, you won’t! - -_March._ Yes, I will! Making love to you, darn him! - -_Kitty._ Pooh! I don’t care for him. I’m only amusing myself while Bige -Parker’s away. - -_March._ Bige Parker? Confound him! I’ll lick him, too! - -_Kitty._ Oh! will you? You tried that once before, you know. - -_Grap._ Sacre! what for you scold, hey? You ver mouch angry, ver mouch. -Now, you jest keep yourself quiet, and I sal show you what I has in my -pack. Silks for ze leetle girl and shawls for ze leetle girl, brazelets -for ze leetle girl. - -_Kitty._ Oh, do let me see them! - -_March._ See! Why, you’ve got no money to buy. - -_Grap._ Nevar mind, nevar mind. I will show zem all ze same for ze -plesure I have to please ze leetle girl. Ha, sacre! I be ver mouch -fatigue. My old legs, zay have what you call ze shakes. Parbleu! I -remember ze time when I vas ver spry,--ver active,--ver robust. In mine -own France, ven I vas young, I vas ze great acrobat. I dance on ze cord -elastique, zis way,--you see,--zis way! (_Imitating._) Oh, sacre! it is -what you call no go, ver mouch. My legs be very old. - -_March._ How long you been here? - -_Grap._ I have ben in zis country, let me see, ten--twenty--more years -ago. I have leave my own home wiz ze grand acrobatic trope zat nevar -reach ze land,--nevar. - -_March._ Acrobats! why, them’s circus chaps! - -_Grap._ Circus chaps! vat you call circus chaps, hey? I no comprend -circus chaps. - -_March._ Why, the fellers that turn flip-flaps in the tan. - -_Grap._ Flip-flaps in ze tan? what for, hey? - -_March._ Oh! no matter: let’s see your goods. - -_Grap._ (_Attempts to untie bundle._) Sacre! my pack has ze ver hard -knot. I must take off my coat! (_Takes off coat_). Parbleu! I am grow old -ver fast ver much. - -_Mrs. Gale_ (_outside, L._). Kitty! Kitty! - -_Kitty._ Oh, gracious! there’s mother. What shall we do? She can’t abide -peddlers. - -_March._ That she can’t. Old gent, you’ll have to tramp. - -_Grap._ Tramp! what for I tramp? - -_March._ You’ll get broomed out if you don’t. Here’s a pretty kettle of -fish! - -_Grap._ Keetle of fish? I see no keetle of fish. (_Enter MRS. GALE, L._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ What! a peddler in my house! Get out of this, quick! Out of -this, I say! - -_Kitty._ It’s only a poor old Frenchman. - -_Mrs. Gale._ But he’s a peddler; and I won’t have a peddler in my house. -Start! Where’s my broom? (_Exit, L._) - -_Grap._ What for she get her broom, hey? - -_March._ You’ll find out: quick, run for it! - -_Grap._ What for I run for it? Oh, sacre! I see ze old woman wiz ze -broom, and I comprend, I comprend! (_Darts out door, C. Enter MRS. GALE, -with broom, L._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ Where is he? where is he? (_Darts out door, C._) - -_Kitty._ Hide the old gentleman’s pack, March, quick! Mother will pitch -it into the water. (_March carries it off, L., as MRS. GALE enters._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ The idea of a peddler! I’ve had enough on ’em; but they -won’t cheat me again in a hurry, I can tell ’em. (_Exit, L._) - -_Kitty._ What a blind, silly goose March Gale is!--fighting Bige Parker, -and going to fight the Captain, because I encourage their attentions, and -can’t see that it’s all to make him speak. So jealous of everybody! If he -loves me, why don’t he tell me so? (_Enter Capt., C._) - -_Capt._ Ah, ha, my little beauty! you see I have returned. - -_Kitty._ Like a dear, charming Captain, as you are. - -_Capt._ Where’s that howid fisherman? - -_Kitty._ Oh! you needn’t be afraid of him: he’s gone. - -_Capt._ Gone, has he? and left the coast clear? What a chawming -opportunity! - -_Kitty._ Charming opportunity for what? - -_Capt._ To tell you, divine cweecher, how I love you. - -_Kitty._ You’ve told me that a hundred times. - -_Capt._ Let me tell you a hundred times more. (_Sees Grapeau’s coat._) -Hold! what’s that? - -_Kitty._ Why, your coat,--isn’t it? - -_Capt._ Mine? what an howid idea! The idea of my wearing such a coat as -that! (_Slips it on._) And such a hat! good gracious! (_Puts on hat._) -Don’t I look queer! - -_Kitty._ Oh, my! what a queer-looking chap you are! You wouldn’t feel -much like making love in that suit,--would you, Captain? - -_Capt._ Make love to you, my chawmer! Yes, in any dress. - -_Kitty._ Oh, capital! It would be so jolly to have a lover on his knees -at my feet, dressed as you are! - -_Capt._ On my knees! - -_Kitty._ Yes, on your knees. (_Aside._) Don’t I wish March could catch -him there! Down on your knees! Quick, or I’ll run off! - -_Capt._ (_L._) Well, then, here I am. (_Kneels._) What a howid idea! -(_Enter Mrs. Gale, with broom._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ That horrid old peddler here again? - -_Capt._ Beautiful nymph of the sparkling sea! - -_Mrs. Gale._ I declare, he’s sparking our Kitty! - -_Capt._ Captivating cweecher! I do love you,--’pon my honor, I do! Your -beauty charms me! your bewitching manner stwikes--stwikes--stwikes--st-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ (_Rushes at him, knocks his hat over his eyes with broom._) -I’ll strike you, you tarnal varmint! Get out of my house I say! - -_Capt._ (_Gets on his feet, tries to get hat off._) Murder! murder! - -_Mrs. Gale._ (_Strikes his hat down again._) Out of my house! You -scamp, you villain, you cheat! (_Beats him off, R., the Captain yelling -“Murder!”_) - -_Kitty._ (_Sinking into chair._) Ha, ha, ha! what a comical figure the -Captain does cut! He won’t make love to me again in a hurry. (_Enter -Grapeau, C._) - -_Grap._ Whist, leetle girl! I have come back for my pack and mine hat -and mine coat. Sacre! I have run ver much from ze old lady wiz ze broom. -Where she be, hey? - -_Kitty._ (_Aside._) Oh, dear! what shall I say?--the Captain’s run off -with them. (_Aloud._) My brother has put them away somewhere: you must -wait till he returns. - -_Grap._ Sacre! I sal get me head break ver much, if I stay here. - -_Kitty._ No, mother has just gone out. - -_Grap._ Oh! the old lady have gone out? Parbleu! I feel all ze better, -ver much; I feel quite ze comfortable. Ha, you be ver pretty girl! - -_Kitty._ Oh, pshaw! - -_Grap._ What for you say ‘pshaw’? You know I speaks ze truth all ze time! -You break ze young men’s hearts all to pieces ver much. - -_Kitty._ No, I don’t, Mr. Frenchman. - -_Grap._ Ah, ma chere, but you do, you leetle rogue! Did I not see ze -young man viz ze red hair? He be ver much in love all over. - -_Kitty._ He,--March--in love with me! You are quite mistaken. - -_Grap._ Ah, but he be ver much. I see it in his eyes. (_Enter MARCH, C._) - -_Kitty._ March love me? No, sir! He’s a selfish-- - -_Grap._ Take care, ma chere,--take care! You leetle rogue, you love -him,--you know you do! - -_Kitty._ I don’t, one bit. - -_Grap._ Ha, you do! Vat for you plague him so if you no love him? Ha! -your eyes,--zay tell ze tale. - -_Kitty._ I don’t care if I do: he’s a booby! He don’t love me. - -_March._ (_Aside._) Don’t I, though! - -_Grap._ Vat for you say that, hey? - -_Kitty._ Because he never told me. - -_March._ (_Rushing down C._) Then, by jingo! he tells you so now. Kitty -Sands, you’re the idol of my heart. There’s a devouring passion in my -bosom that gnaws--Oh, pshaw! I can’t imitate the Captain. But, Kitty -Gale, I do truly and sincerely love you. - -_Kitty._ Why, March Gale! you’ve been listening. - -_March._ A little bit, Kitty,--just enough to find out what a fool I’ve -been: but it’s all right now. And you’ll marry me one of these days. - -_Kitty._ One of these days? When? - -_March._ Well, when I find my father. - -_Kitty._ Oh, yes, I’ll marry you then, never fear. - -_Grap._ Ha! zat is good,--zat is very much better. - -_Kitty._ Oh, dear, March! here’s mother coming again. - -_Grap._ Ze old lady wiz ze broom? Sacre! I sall get my head broke ver -much! - -_March._ Old gentleman, you’ll have to make a run of it. - -_Grap._ But I have not ze coat nor ze hat. I will catch ze death of cold -in mine head! (_Sneezes._) Sacre! I have him now! (_Sneezes._) - -_March._ Where is his hat and coat, Kitty? - -_Kitty._ I don’t know, but I suspect mother has them now. - -_Grap._ Ze old lady wiz my coat? Sacre! zat is ver much too bad,--ver -much too bad! - -_March._ Run and hide him somewhere,--in the wash-room,--anywhere; for -here comes Mother Gale. - -_Kitty._ Come, old gentleman! I’ll hide you. (_Exit, with JEAN, L._) - -_March._ What a confounded ninny I have been! If I had known this before, -I might have saved Bige Parker the trouble of giving me the thrashing I -intended for him. But ain’t it jolly! I’m so happy I could sing for joy! -(_Sings._) - - “Oh, my name was Captain Kyd.” - -(_Enter MRS. GALE, R., with broom, which she claps upon MARCH’S head._) - -_Mrs. Gale._ I’ll Kyd you! - -_March._ Mother Gale, what are you about? - -_Mrs. Gale._ About mad. Where’s Kitty? Such a caper! Oh dear, oh dear! -I’ve been and chased and chased that confounded peddler way down to the -water; and when he gets there, he strips off his coat and hat, and--would -you believe it?--it was the Captain! - -_March._ Why, Mother Gale! what have you done? what will he say? - -_Mrs. Gale._ He didn’t stop to say any thing: he jest gave one leap into -the water, and swam for his yacht! - -_March._ This is bad. What will Daddy Gale say? - -_John Gale._ (_Outside, C._) Now, what’s the use of talking about Sept.? - -_Mr. Raymond._ (_Outside._) But I tell you I will be obeyed! (_Both -enter, C._) - -_March._ Hallo! here’s a breeze. - -_Ray._ It’s all your doing, you rusty old sea-horse! You’ve made the boy -disobey his father. - -_John Gale._ I tell you, Sept. is his own master; and, if he doesn’t -choose to go, why here he stays. - -_Ray._ It’s a conspiracy to defraud me of my son, and I won’t stand it! - -_Mrs. Gale._ What’s the matter? - -_John Gale._ Matter? Matter enough! Sept. won’t own his father: that’s -what’s the matter! - -_Ray._ By your advice! Now, don’t tell me! I know it’s your doing. You -envy me the possession of such a son, and you try all you can to keep him -here. (_Enter SEPT., C._) - -_John Gale._ Do I? Well, here’s the boy now to speak for himself. Look -here, Sept. Gale, you’re an ungrateful young scamp! Here’s a father -boiling over with love, and rich as an alderman, waiting to take you to -his arms. _He_ says I’m trying to keep you here. - -_Sept._ Mr. Raymond knows well you have nothing to do with it. I do not -acknowledge his claim, because I see no proof. (_Enter KATE, C._) - -_Kate._ What’s the matter, father? - -_Ray._ Matter? Your brother refuses to acknowledge me as his father, or -you as his sister. - -_Kate._ Indeed! - -_Ray._ Yes, indeed! But I’ll find a way to make him. Hark you, Kate! -Capt. Dandelion has again proposed for your hand, to _me_ this time, and -I have accepted him: so you can look upon him as your future husband. - -_Kate._ Capt. Dandelion!--my husband? - -_Sept._ Her husband! I thought it would come to that. - -_Ray._ Yes, your husband! You cannot object to the match: he is rich and -highly accomplished. - -_Kate._ But I do object. He is rich; but, when I marry, it shall be a -man, and not a money-bag. - -_Ray._ You refuse to obey me? - -_Kate._ In this, yes. You have ever found me an obedient child, ready -and eager to obey you: but this is a matter in which the heart commands; -and mine bids me obey a higher law, which not even a father has power to -set aside. - -_Ray._ Well, here’s another! The son refuses to acknowledge his father, -the daughter her husband! I tell you, girl, you shall marry this man! - -_Kate._ I will not! I love another. - -_Ray._ And that other?-- - -_Kate._ September Gale. - -_Sept._ True, true as steel. - - -SITUATION. - - (_KATE, R. RAYMOND, R. C. SEPT., C. JOHN GALE, L. C. MARCH, L. - C. MRS. GALE, L. Enter KITTY and GRAPEAU, L., KITTY trying to - screen him as they creep toward door, C. MARCH attracts MRS. - G.’S attention, who seems inclined to turn around._) - -_Ray._ Your brother. Confound it, you’re all crazy! Do you want to drive -me mad? - -_Kate._ He is not my brother. - -_Ray._ But I say he is: every circumstance goes to prove it,--“The -Diana,” the wreck, the child found upon the sands. I tell you he must be -my son. - -_John Gale._ Now, what’s the use of talking about the wreck? Wa’n’t there -two on ’em? Couldn’t there have been a baby born on board? Couldn’t your -wife have made a mistake in the vessel? I don’t see your proof. She might -have sailed in “The Gladiator.” (_GRAP. rushes down, C._) - -_Grap._ “Ze Gladiator?” What for you say “Ze Gladiator”? - -_John Gale._ Hallo! who’s this? - -_March._ The old Frenchman’s caught. - -_Mrs. Gale._ That plaguy peddler here! Where’s my broom? - -_March._ Hold on, Mother Gale! The old gentleman has done me a service, -and I’ll stand by him. - -_Ray._ What does he know of “The Gladiator”? - -_Grap._ “Ze Gladiator”? Sacre! I have know “Ze Gladiator” too much,--ver -too much. I have sailed from my own France ever so long ago in ze ship -call “Ze Gladiator.” - -_John Gale._ When was that? - -_Grap._ Oh, sacre! ten, twenty-one, two, three years ago. - -_Ray._ Twenty-three years ago? - -_Grap._ Oui, oui! But, sacre? she was vat you call wreck; she all go to -ze pieces on ze sands, and I have to make ze passage on ze leetle frail -hen-coop. - -_March._ Oh, it’s coming,--it’s coming! Say, old man,--Frenchy,--look -here! where was this? - -_Grap._ Parbleu! I do not know ze place. I have sail on ze hen-coop far, -far away from ze wreck before I picks myself up. - -_March._ But--O Lord! somebody hold me!--the passengers?--any babies -aboard? - -_Grap._ Babies? passengers? Oui, oui! zere vas ze passengers,--ze lady -and ze little baby; but ze poor lady die before ze ship all go to ze -pieces. - -_Ray._ Died! This lady,--do you know her name? - -_Grap._ Oh, sacre, no! ze membrance fail me ver much. Ze beautiful -lady,--she was so pale and so young, mine heart feel ver much for her. -Her name--sacre!--oh, it have gone from me. She was ze kind lady, for I -vas ver sick. Her name--She was ze light--ze light--Oh, sacre! I have ze -name. What ze sun do when he shine,--when he shine? He shoot--he shoot -de--de--oh, sacre! my poor old head!--He shoots de-- - -_Kitty._ Rays? - -_Grap._ Ha, ze little rogue,--ze pooty leetle girl! Zat vas her -name,--Ray--Ray--Ray-- - -_Ray._ Heavens, man, speak! Was it Raymond? - -_Grap._ Oui, _oui_! Ze Raymond,--ze beautiful Madam Raymond! - -_Ray._ Gracious heavens! My wife! But the child, old man?--the child? - -_Grap._ Ze child? ah, ze poor lady,--she have made ze grand mistake: -she have engage a passage in ze oder ship vich sail ze same day; but -ze stupid driver take her to ze wrong ship, too late for her too make -ze change. Ze fatal mistake; for ze unlucky ship met wiz disaster upon -disaster,--ze very long passage, and ze wreck at last. - -_John Gale._ Long passage! I should think so; six months behind time! - -_Ray._ But the child? - -_Grap._ Oui, ze child! Ven ze poor lady die, ze capitan, he take ze -leetle boy, and he say, “I do not know zis child or his mozar, but ze -child sall be remembered.” So, wiz ze needle and ze ink, he prick upon ze -leetle arm of ze leetle boy ze leetle red anchor. - -_Ray._ Sept. Gale, speak the truth! Have you such a mark upon your arm? - -_Sept._ No, no,--thank Heaven, no! - -_March._ (_Rushing to C._) One minute! Just somebody watch me, for I know -it’s coming! (_Throws off his coat and rolls up his sleeves._) It’s no -use trying to deceive me any longer! I am the child! See the little red -anchor! - -_All._ The anchor! - -_Ray._ My boy, my boy! - - _John Gale._ } Our March! - _Mrs. Gale._ } - -_Sept._ Heaven be praised! - -_Kate._ My dear, dear brother! - -_Grap._ (_Patting March on the back._) Ha! ze leetle baby have grown ver -much,--ver much. Zis is vat you call jolly. - -_March._ Jolly, old Frenchy? That’s so, and I owe it all to you. But -where’s Kitty? - -_Kitty._ (_Up stage, C._) Here, March. - -_March._ What are you skulking back there for? You know what you told me -to-day. - -_Kitty._ But I didn’t think you’d ever find your father; and now you’re -rich, and I’m only a poor girl. - -_March._ Father, you’ve found a son to-day, and that son has found a -wife. You must take both, or neither: which shall it be? - -_Mrs. Gale._ What! our Kitty! - -_John Gale._ Yes, our Kitty. - -_Ray._ Well, I don’t know. I must have time to consider. - -_March._ No, you mustn’t. Speak quick, or you lose us. I wanted a father -bad enough; but thus far I have done without one, and I rather think-- - -_Ray._ Now, stop! don’t _you_ disobey me. I’ll take you both. - -_Kate._ That’s a dear father! I know I shall love Kitty dearly; and March -and I have been like brother and sister,--haven’t we, March? - -_March._ Ay, that we have,--you and I and Sept. By the by, what’s to -become of Sept.? Where’s _his_ father? - -_Sept._ Don’t trouble yourself about me. I’ve got a father here in John -Gale. - -_Ray._ And here’s another, if you’ll own him. Sept., here’s my daughter, -who refused to obey me. I’d give her to you, only, as she has refused to -obey me, and-- - -_Kate._ Dear father, I wouldn’t refuse again for the world. - -_Ray._ Then take her, Sept. You deserve her. Well, John Gale, what have -you got to say to this? - -_John Gale._ Now, what’s the use talking about what I’ve got to say? What -will the Captain have to say? (_Enter Capt., C._) - -_Capt._ Quite a family party, I declare! - -_Ray._ Why, Captain! where have you been? - -_Capt._ I’ve just been aboard my wacht, to change my clothing; that’s -all. ’Twas a little chilly. - -_Mrs. Gale._ Why, Captain! you looked warm enough when I saw you last. - -_Capt._ That howid old woman!--she’s poking fun at me: I know she is. - -_Ray._ Well, Captain, I mentioned your proposal to my daughter; but she -positively refuses to marry you. - -_Capt._ I’m doosed glad of it; for I’ve found a beautiful cweecher, who -suits me better. - -_Ray._ Who is that, pray? - -_Capt._ Miss Kitty Gale. - -_March._ You’re too late, Captain: she’s engaged to me. - -_Capt._ You?--a howid fisherman! - -_Ray._ You are mistaken. This young man is my son. It’s all out at last. - -_Capt._ Well, it’s doosed plain that I’m out too: so I’ll get up anchor, -and off for the city again in my wacht. - -_Grap._ Ze Capitan seems what zay call ver much over ze come. - -_John Gale._ Old lady, it strikes me, if we are to have any dinner -to-day-- - -_Mrs. Gale._ Land sakes! I forgot all about it. You, March, run--Oh, -dear! what shall I do without March? - -_John Gale._ Never mind March: we’ve got Sept. left. - -_Kate._ But suppose I take him away? - -_John Gale._ O Lord! what shall we do without Sept.? - -_Sept._ You shan’t do without him. We began life here in the old shanty; -and, whatever fortune may have in store for him, this is his home. - -_Ray._ I begin to like this place. We’ll set the men at work, and put up -a house on the bluffs, large and roomy. - -_John Gale._ That’s right; for this union of the Gales will be likely to -end in a squall. - -_Ray._ It shall be a family house, with room enough for Sept. and his -wife, March and his wife, John Gale and his wife, I and the Captain; and, -once a year at least, we’ll all meet there, to talk over old times, and -return thanksgiving for the treasures found down by the sea. - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS: - -R. KATE, SEPT., CAPT., RAY., JOHN GALE, MRS. GALE, MARCH, KITTY, L. - - - - -A CLOSE SHAVE. - -A FARCE. - - -CHARACTERS. - - CRUSTY (a man of means, generally considered a mean man). - TONSOR (a barber). - MCGINNIS (his assistant). - ZEB (a colored apprentice). - HEAVYFACE (a hypochondriac). - SIMPER (an exquisite). - - - SCENE.--_Tonsor’s barbershop. Two barber’s chairs, C., facing - audience. Table, L., with two hand-mirrors upon it. Table, - R., with razors, strop, shaving-cups, towels, &c. MCGINNIS - discovered dusting._ - -_McGinnis._ Now, isn’t this illigant! It’s a moighty foine lift I -have in the worrld, onyhow. Mike McGinnis, who’s curried the horse -and fed the pig, toted the hod and tinded the cows, promoted to the -illigant position of a man-shaver! Oh! be jabbers, it’s moighty foine -intirely,--what much I know ov it, and that’s moighty little. Faith, when -Mr. Tonsor’s assistant was took wid the faver, it was at his wit’s ends -he was intirely. Sez he to me, sez he,--for it’s always moighty fond he -was of me whin I lived wid his father,--“Mike,” sez he, “did iver yer -shave?”--“Is it meself?” says I: “faith, yes,--wid a pair of scissors.” -“No, no!” sez he: “did ever yer shave anybody?” “Faith, yes,” sez -I--“the pig.”--“Oh, murther!” says he: “I mane a man.”--“Niver a wun,” -sez I; “but I could soon learn.” And so he took me in here to learn the -business; but it’s precious little I’m learning, for the mashter does all -the shaving: but the time must come, and then look out for yoursilf, Mike -McGinnis. (_Enter Tonsor, R._) - -_Ton._ Ah, Mike! Brushing up? That’s good. I do like to see a busy man. -Where’s Zeb? - -_Mike._ Faith, I don’t know. It’s moighty little he’s shown of his face -at all, at all. - -_Ton._ The lazy scamp! that’s just like him. No doubt he’s down at the -Corners dancing jigs, or turning flip-flaps for coppers. - -_Mike._ Faix, that’s what yer might call turning an honest penny! - -_Ton._ Any customers this morning, Mike? - -_Mike._ Sorra a wun. - -_Ton._ It’s a little early. They’ll soon be dropping in. Heigho, Mike! -was you ever in love? - -_Mike._ Ah! away wid yer, now! Ask an Irishman such a silly question as -that! Musha, it’s nearly kilt I am wid the love of Nora Honey. Ah! but -the ould man’s got rich _peddling panuts_. - -_Ton._ A rich father, who does not encourage your attentions! - -_Mike._ Sorra a bit. “Mike,” sez he,--and it’s moighty winning he -is in his way,--“the front uv my door is illigantly painted on the -outside,--much finer than the inside; and you’d do well to examine it -whin you’re passing by,--whin you’re passing by, mind.” - -_Ton._ Meaning, “I won’t turn you out, but you can’t stay here.” - -_Mike._ That’s jest what he meant. Faith, it’s well posted yez are in the -trials and tribulations uv the tinder passion. - -_Ton._ Yes, Mike; I can sympathize with you. I’m desperately in love -myself. - -_Mike._ You? - -_Ton._ Yes, and with the daughter of a rich man, and my love is returned. -Ah, Mike! she is the paragon of loveliness!--the otto of roses!--the pink -of purity. - -_Mike._ The shaving-cream uv perfiction, and the hair-oil uv illigance! -Oh, murther! they’re all alike till they find you’ve no money. - -_Ton._ Ah! but she’s entirely different, Mike. She is willing--nay, -anxious--to share my humble fortunes. ’Tis I who dread to take her from -all the rich comforts she has enjoyed, and ask her to share-- - -_Mike._ Love in a cottage, wid bacon and greens! Faith, you’re right: -it’s a mighty foine picter, but hard of digestion. What says the ould -gintleman? - -_Ton._ He knows nothing about it. - -_Mike._ And yer haven’t asked his consint? - -_Ton._ No: it would be useless. He has declared his daughter shall marry -only a rich man; that he will not let her walk, ride, or receive the -visits of any young man; that he will cut her off with a shilling should -she marry _without his consent_. - -_Mike._ The taring ould heathin! - -_Ton._ He is encouraging the attentions of young Simper, whom the young -lady detests, and whom he only tolerates because he has a rich father. - -_Mike._ The miserable ould varmint! But who is he? - -_Ton._ One of my customers,--old Jotham Crusty. - -_Mike._ What! that ould skinflint? His consint? It’s precious little he’d -give onyhow. - -_Zeb._ (_Outside, R._) Ain’t yer ’shamed yerself, yer great, overgrown? -Fie!--for shame! Yer ought to be redicleish! - -_Ton._ Hallo! here’s Zeb. What’s the matter now? (_Enter ZEB, R., shaking -his head and fighting imaginary foes outside._) Where have you been? and -what is the matter? - -_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess--Who-o-o-’s a nigger? Who--who’s a nigger? Dar -ain’t no niggers now: didn’t de prancepation krocklemation make ’em white -folks, hey? - -_Ton._ Here, what’s the matter? - -_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess--a parcel of ignumramuses a-yellin’ and -a-shoutin’ as ef dey nebber seed a tanned man afore. What does de -Declamation of Indempendence say,--hey? - -_Ton._ No matter what it says. You just take off your jacket and go -to work, or you’ll find out what a tanned man is. (_ZEB takes off his -jacket, R._) - -_Mike._ Faith, Zeb, it’s plaguing uv yez the b’ys have been. - -_Zeb._ Yes, well I guess--Who’s a nigger? what does the Constitution -say,--hey? - -_Ton._ Look here, Zeb! if you open your mouth again, it won’t be healthy -for your constitution. - -_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess!-- - -_Ton._ Shut up quick, and hone those razors! (_ZEB goes to table, R._) -We’ve had just enough of your talk. (_Enter CRUSTY, R._) - -_Crusty._ Oh! you’re here, are you? Pretty time this is to get your place -open,--ain’t it? You forget it’s the early bird that catches the worm. - -_Zeb._ Worms? worms? Going a-fishing, Massa Crusty. - -_Ton._ You Zeb!-- - -_Zeb._ By golly, I know where ’em are!--flounders as big as a slab; and -eels, golly,--what whoppers! - -_Ton._ Shut up, and mind your business! Yes, Mr. Crusty; first chance for -you this morning. - -_Crusty._ Yes, I should think so! I tell you what, Tonsor, you don’t go -to work right to make a fortune. Do as I did,--early to bed, and early up -in the morning. You live too fast: you should sober down. Why don’t you -get married? - -_Ton._ Ah, Mr. Crusty, that’s the very thing I would like to do. A nice -little wife, a nice home, every thing comfortable,--ah, sir! a man must -be happy. - -_Crusty._ Of course he must, and make money too. Why don’t you try it? -There’s plenty of girls about here anxious to get a husband. - -_Ton._ I know that, sir; but I’ve already made my choice. - -_Crusty._ Oh! you have? Then why don’t you get married, have a little -comfort, and not poke along in this way, with no company but a -thick-headed Irishman and a ball of blacking? - -_Mike._ Faith, it’s mighty complimentary is the ould gint, onyhow. - -_Zeb._ Yes, well I guess! Ball of blacking,--blacking! What does the -Declamation-- - -_Ton._ Shut up, Zeb! - -_Crusty._ Say, Tonsor, why don’t you get married? - -_Ton._ Well, sir, you see, sir-- - -_Crusty._ Oh, bother! why don’t you speak out? - -_Mike._ Faith, Mr. Crusty, I’ll be afther telling uv yez: it’s mighty -bashful is the masther. Ye say, sir, it’s all along uv the young lady’s -father. - -_Crusty._ Well, what of him? - -_Mike._ Ye say, sir, he’s wealthy and concaited, and manes the daughter -shall niver marry anybody but a rich man. - -_Crusty._ Not when such a likely young man as Tonsor offers? The mean old -scamp! - -_Mike._ That’s thrue for yez, sir. He won’t let her go wid a young man, -or have a young man come uv courtin’ her. - -_Crusty._ The miserable old scoundrel! - -_Mike._ And swears by all that’s blue that he’ll cut her off widout a -shilling if she marries widout his consent. - -_Crusty._ The miserly old vagabond! Look here, Tonsor, you must marry -this girl directly. - -_Ton._ Marry her! - -_Crusty._ Marry her?--yes! Confound you! don’t you want to? - -_Ton._ But her father-- - -_Crusty._ Who cares for him? The mean old scamp! I’d like to play him -a trick, and I will too. Here, you just take my chaise,--it’s at the -door,--get the young lady, go down to Hobson, get a license, and then be -off to Parson Sanborn, and get married at once. - -_Ton._ But, Mr. Crusty, her father will not consent to this. - -_Crusty._ Confound her father! Who cares for him or his consent? I -give mine, and that is enough. I’m the richest man in the place; and, -if anybody complains, let ’em sue me for damages. I won’t have such a -confounded mean old cuss-- - -_Ton._ Take care, Mr. Crusty! - -_Crusty._ --tomer in town! - -_Ton._ You will back me in this? - -_Crusty._ Back you?--of course I will! Do you suppose I’ll stand by and -see youth and honesty and worth given the go-by, by an old, mean-- - -_Ton._ Don’t, Mr. Crusty,--don’t call him names. - -_Crusty._ Here, I’ll give you a note to Parson Sanborn, and another for -old Hobson. They’ll help you along. I’ll tell the parson to tie the knot -strong. (_Goes to table, R._) A mean, contemptible scamp! - -_Zeb._ By golly, the old man’s crazy sure for sartain! See him eyes roll! - -_Ton._ Mike, I’ve a great mind to take the old man at his word. - -_Mike._ If yer don’t, yer a goose. He gives his consent, and ye’ll have -it in writin’, too. Go it, honey! - -_Crusty._ There you are: there’s a note for the parson, and another for -old Hobson. Give my regards to the lady, and tell her she’s a goose if -she misses such a chance of getting a husband. - -_Ton._ Thank you, Mr. Crusty. I’ll be off at once. Mike, you look after -the shop. Don’t let old Crusty out of here for half an hour, mind. - -_Crusty._ Come, come! I want that horse and chaise in half an hour. - -_Ton._ All right, sir. I’ll be back before then. Mike, give the old -gentleman a shave. Good-by! I’m off. (_Exit, R._) - -_Mike._ Good luck to yez! Here’s an old shoe for luck. (_Throws a shoe -off, R., which hits ZEB in head._) - -_Zeb._ Stop, yer fool--will yer? By golly, you almos’ broke my jaw! - -_Mike._ Faith, if I had, ’twould been a savin’ for the shop. - -_Crusty._ The young man’s off. Good joke on the girl’s father! Well, it -won’t cost me any thing; so I can afford to give my consent. (_Takes off -handkerchief and dicky._) Now, my man, I’ll trouble you for a shave. - -_Mike._ A shave! (_Aside._) Oh, murther! how could I go to work to shave -this ould rhinoceros? - -_Crusty._ Come, be lively! I want to get out of this at once. I’m wanted -at the house. - -_Mike._ Oh, murther and Irish! at the house is it? (_Aside._) Faith, -that’ll niver do. (_Aloud._) Here, sit down here, sir. - -_Crusty._ (_Sits in chair, R. C._) A close shave, mind! - -_Mike._ A close shave is it? (_Aside._) By the blissed St. Patrick, -what’s that? (_Enter SIMPER, R._) - -_Simper._ Now, weally, ’tis disgustingly vulgaw,--it is weally,--the -ideah of a wefined gentleman being compelled to entaw such a howid place, -to have his chin shaved, and his whiskaws twimmed: it is weally! - -_Mike._ Your turn next, sir: take a seat. - -_Simper._ My turn next? Do you weally mean to say that I must wait? Aw! - -_Mike._ Faith, honey, you must: there’s niver a wun to shave you at all, -at all! - -_Simper._ But I can’t wait,--I can’t weally. I have a pwessing -engagement. A dear, delightful cweecher is fondly waiting my coming,--she -is weally. - -_Crusty._ (_Aside._) Then all I’ve got to say, she’s got a job. Here, you -slow coach! am I never to have a shave? - -_Mike._ In a minit, sir: the wather’s could. (_Puts wrappers, towel, &c., -round him._) - -_Simper._ Yes, weally, you must attend to me. The dear cweecher will die: -I know she will. - -_Crusty._ Then let her die, or shave yourself! - -_Mike._ Faith, sir, I can’t help it. Oh, murther! that’s Zeb. It’s high -time he had his hand in. Here, Zeb! shave that gintleman. - -_Zeb._ What dat you say, hey? - -_Mike._ Oh, bother! Shave that gintleman. - -_Zeb._ Shabe him,--shabe him? me shabe him? By golly! in coose,--in -coose! (_To SIMPER._) Dar’s de cheer. Hist yerself,--hist yerself! - -_Simper._ Do what? - -_Zeb._ Hist yerself, honey! Discompose yerself in dat are cheer. - -_Simper._ Now, weally, the ideah of placing myself in the hands of such -a howible cweecher! It’s too bad,--it is weally. (_Sits in chair, &c. ZEB -puts wrapper and towel about him._) - -_Simper._ Now, Mr. Bawbaw. - -_Zeb._ Mr. Which? - -_Simper._ Use despatch. - -_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess not; we use razors hea, we do. - -_Crusty._ Come, come, hurry up. - -_Mike._ Yes, sir, intirely, sir. (_Lathers him. ZEB lathers SIMPER, -putting it plentifully in his mouth._) - -_Simper._ Ph--ph--ph--! deuse take you; do you want to choke me with your -nasty soap? - -_Zeb._ Yes, well, I guess not. It’s jest as wholesome as flap-jacks and -sirup. (_To MIKE._) I’ve got him lathered: what will I do with him now? - -_Mike._ Do, you spalpeen?--do wid him as I do wid de _other_ chap. -(_Takes the razor._) Now for my first attimpt at shaving. Blessed St. -Patrick, befrind me, or I be afthir cuttin’ his wizen. - -_Zeb._ (_Goes to table, taking razor._) I’m to do as Mike does: golly, -I kin do dat jist. (_During the next speeches he runs between the two -chairs, watching MIKE, and shaving SIMPER._) - -_Simper._ Now, bawbaw, do your neatest; for, in a few minutes, I shall be -at the feet of a divine cweecher. - -_Zeb._ Screecher! does she play on de banjo too. - -_Simper._ Be careful now, don’t destwoy the symmetwy of my whiskaws. - -_Zeb._ (_aside_). Sim--sim--sim--what am dat? By golly, Mike’s taking de -whiskers off dat chap of his’en. - -_Simper._ I say, bawbaw: in a few minutes I shall thwow myself at the -feet of this divine cweecher; and I shall say-- - -_Crusty._ Confound you, stupid, you’ve cut me-- - -_Mike._ Oh, murder! it was the razor. Bedad, I wish I was well out of -this. - -_Simper._ Oh!--murder!--murder! you’ve cut me hawwibly! - -_Zeb._ By golly, so I has. (_Aside._) Must do jes as Mike does. - -_Simper._ Be careful, bawbaw: don’t spoil my complexion; for it would be -hawwible to meet my chawmew, the divine Kate Cwusty, with a howwid cut. - -_Crusty._ Kate! this must be Simper. (_CRUSTY and SIMPER having their -heads back in the chairs are supposed not to see each other._) - -_Simper._ Yes, bawbaw, the rich Miss Kate Cwusty. Her fathaw’s immensely -wich,--a gay old boy, who likes to save his money; but we’ll teach him -better when we are mawwied. - -_Crusty._ (_Aside._) Will you? confound you! we’ll see about that. - -_Simper._ Bawbaw, be a little more gentle, if you please; handle my -ambwosials very carefully. - -_Zeb._ Ambrose who? Ambrose! by golly, I used to know an Ambrose down -Souf,--a molasses-darkey, about your complex-- - -_Simper._ Why, you, bawbaw, do you mean to compare me to a negwo? - -_Zeb._ Molasses-color, molasses-color! dat’s all. - -_Simper._ Why, you infuwnal nigg-- - -_Zeb._ Hey! what’s dat you call? Hey! what’s dat, what den’s the -Constitution say. Hey! (_flourishing razor._) - -_Simper._ Good gwacious! put down that wazor! - -_Zeb._ What did the ’mancipation krocklamation do, hey? (_Flourishing -razor._) - -_Simper._ Dear me! will you put down that wazor? - -_Zeb._ Nigah! by golly, if you ain’t dark complexed yourself I’d--I’d-- - -_Simper._ Help! murdew! put down that wazor! - -_Mike._ Faith, Zeb, if yer not quiet, out yer go. - -_Zeb._ Ob course, ob course! what’s the dec-- - -_Mike._ Oh! whist wid yer blarney, and shave the man. - -_Crusty._ Come, come, hurry up: will you never get through? - -_Mike._ In a minute: aisy, aisy, sir! (_Enter HEAVYFACE._) - -_Heavy._ Oh, yes! of course: all full, just as I expected! That’s the -way the world over: there’s nothing but disappointment; every thing goes -against me. - -_Mike._ Your turn next, sir. - -_Heavy._ Now, I suppose you call that consolation. I tell you the world -is all going wrong; there’s nothing but misery and deceit in it. (_Takes -a chair, and seats himself between the two barber’s chairs._) A man’s got -no real friends in this world: your riches are deceitful, your dearest -friend may be your foe. Now, I suppose you two chaps feel perfectly -comfortable in those chairs, with a pair of grinning fiends standing over -you with razors, ready at the slightest provocation to plunge them in -your throats. - - _Simper._ Oh, hawaws! } _Together rising up._ - _Crusty._ What do you mean? } - -_Mike._ (_Pushing back CRUSTY._) Aisy, now, honey: it’s all right; don’t -be timorous. - -_Zeb._ (_Pushing back SIMPER._) It’s all right, all right! don’ be -timbertoed. - -_Heavy._ Oh, yes! of course they say it’s all right, and you believe -them; but I tell you it’s all wrong: wickedness and deceit are hid -beneath the most smiling faces. I’ve heard horrible stories of barbers: -they have been known to murder their customers in their chairs. - - _Crusty._ } _Starting up._ { Goodness, gracious! - _Simper._ } { Oh, hawwible! - -_Mike._ Now, do be aisy: I’ll finish you directly. - -_Crusty._ No, you won’t! I object to being finished by you. Put down -that razor: I’ve had quite enough. You’ve been long enough on my face to -plough an acre of land. - -_Mike._ (_Aside._) Faith! it’s about as tough a job,--but I haven’t -finished. - -_Crusty._ Well, then, you shan’t; wipe my face! quick! quick, do you -hear? (_MIKE wipes face._) - -_Simper._ Bawbaw, I’ve had quite enough: wipe my face, and give me a -mirraw. (_ZEB wipes face._) - -_Zeb._ All right, massa! all right! - -_Heavy._ Quite enough! I should think you had! Men generally do get -enough in this world of misery! nothing but misery! We’re all going -to the bad. There’s that barber, Tonsor, instead of attending to his -customers, he is off on a spree. I met him with a young woman, and I’ll -bet he’s off to get married. He’s bound for perdition. - -_Crusty._ Good, good, good! - -_Heavy._ Good! suppose he’s run off with somebody’s daughter! - -_Crusty._ I know he has! - -_Heavy._ You know he has? You are a pretty man,--you are! perhaps you -aided and abetted him. How should you like it if it was your daughter, -instead of old Crusty’s? - -_Crusty._ (_Starting up._) My daughter? - -_Simper._ Old Cwusty’s daughtaw? - -(_They both start up, and speak together. CRUSTY has one side of face -shaved clean of whiskers, the other untouched. SIMPER has one of his -whiskers and half of his mustache gone; they sit, and look at each other. -HEAVYFACE between, ZEB, L., and MIKE, R._) - -_Heavy._ Well, you’re a pair of beauties,--you are! - -_Simper._ Old Cwusty here--as I’m alive! it’s all up with me. (_ZEB hands -him mirror._) - -_Crusty._ My daughter! I see it all! What a confounded fool I’ve been! -gone and helped that Tonsor to run off with my daughter. It’s horrible! I -shall be the laughing-stock of the whole village! - -_Simper._ (_Looking in mirror._) Good gwacious! horwible! what do I see! -my whiskaws and my beautiful mustache totally wuined! totally wuined! - -_Crusty._ After all the money I have spent for her education! - -_Simper._ Good gwacious! after all the hair-oil I’ve poured ovaw them! - -_Crusty._ The masters I’ve given her! - -_Simper._ The care I’ve bestowed upon them! - -_Crusty._ Every accomplishment has been given her! - -_Simper._ They’ve been twimmed and curled day aftew day! - -_Crusty._ And to lose her thus! It’s too bad! - -_Simper._ And to be shorn and mangled thus! It’s hawwible! - -_Crusty._ (_Sees his face in the glass._) What’s this? my whiskers gone! -O you idiot! you infernal scoundrel, what have you done? - -_Mike._ Faith, it’s the bist I could do: it’s mighty little I’m -acquainted round here. - -_Crusty._ I’ll teach you to mangle me in that way, you scoundrel! (_Runs -after MIKE, who gets under table, L._) - -_Mike._ Aisy, Mr. Crusty: yer wanted a close shave; and, ’pon my word, -I’d a ’gin it to yer if you’d waited! - -_Zeb._ By golly! Mike’s under de table. Well, I guess I better look out -for squalls. (_Gets under table, R._) - -_Simper._ Where’s that horrid bawbaw? (_Sees ZEB under table, R._) The -scoundwel! you black imp!-- - -_Zeb._ Hold yer hush! hold you hush! what dous the Declamation-- - -_Crusty._ Come out of that, or I break the table about your head. - -_Mike._ If you plaze, Mr. Crusty, I’d rather stop here. (_Enter TONSOR, -L._) - -_Crusty._ Oh! you’re back,--are you? Now, you villain, what do you mean -by running off with my daughter? - -_Ton._ I beg your pardon, sir; but I couldn’t help it: I was tempted. - -_Crusty._ Tempted by who? - -_Ton._ The writer of this note (_reads_). “Dear Parson, Marry this couple -quickly, and marry them strong. The young man is worthy of any young lady -in the place. The father of the lady, an ugly old scamp, objects; but -I’ll give my consent and will pay all damages. Yours, Jotham Crusty.” -These were my instructions, which I have carefully obeyed. I’ve brought -back your chaise; and you’ll find my wife in it ready to thank her dear -father for his thoughtful attention in giving her the husband of her -choice. - -_Heavy._ (_Who has taken barber’s chair vacated by CRUSTY._) Crusty, you -are slightly done. - -_Crusty._ Oh, yes! this is nuts for you, you sour old hypochondriac. -You think you are going to crow over me; but you shan’t. I’ve lost a -daughter, but I’ve found a son. Here, Tonsor, here’s my hand: the old -man’s sold, and must own up. Sell out this business, shut up shop, and -come home. - -_Ton._ Thank you! I’ll sell at once. Here’s Mike: he shall have it. - -_Crusty._ He! why, look at my face! - -_Ton._ We’ll set him up in business with Zeb. - -_Simper._ That horrid bawbaw! look at my ambwosials. - -_Mike._ Faix! I go into business wid dat black son of Africa? - -_Zeb._ Hold yer hush! hold yer hush! dare’s no brack, now. What doz the -Declamation of Indecempendence say? - -_Ton._ No matter what it says: you shall have the business. So, after -thanking all here for their kind attention to my business while away, I -will retire, as there is only one thing I require,--their kind plaudits. - -_Crusty._ Hold on, Tonsor: there’s something else. Here’s Simper: he’s -lost a wife and half his whiskers; I’ve lost a daughter and half mine; so -I’ll take the chair. - -_Heavy._ Hold on! hold on! it’s my turn next! - -_Crusty._ Why, you’ve just been railing at barbers and razors and the -wickedness of the world: will you put yourself in their hands? - -_Heavy._ To be sure I will. We’re all going to the bad. I’m reconciled, -and they can’t hurt me. - -_Crusty._ Well, have your turn; and, after you get through, I’ll see if I -can’t have what I came here for. - -_Ton._ What was that, father-in-law? - -_Crusty._ A clean shave. - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS. - -R., ZEB, SIMPER, CRUSTY, TONSOR, HEAVY, MIKE, L. - - - - -CAPULETTA; OR, ROMEO AND JULIET RESTORED. - -AN OPERATIC BURLESQUE. - - -CHARACTERS. - - CAPULET, a Gentleman of Verona. - ROMEO, } Gay Lords of Verona. - MERCUTIO, } - JULIET, Capulet’s Fair Daughter. - -_Costumes to suit the taste of the performers._ - - - SCENE 1. _Garden in front of CAPULET’S house. Door, C. - Balcony (the balcony is a shed with poles and lines filled - with clothes drying), R. C. Set bushes or trees, L. C. Enter - CAPULET, C., in dressing-gown, carrying a lantern._ - - _Cap._ Now is the winter of my discontent - Made glorious summer by this dark night sent, - And all the troubles gathering o’er my house - In inky darkness I may bid _varmouse_. - Now on my brows my night-cap sets at ease; - My bruised arms no more my _fire_-arms seize; - No stern alarms to wake me from a nap, - To spring wild rattles, and revolvers snap; - Stern visaged war--Why, what am I about? - I did not come out, Richard III. to spout. - I am the father of a daughter dear,-- - Dear! yes, she costs a thousand pounds a year. - They call her fair, they praise her auburn tresses, - And go in raptures o’er her handsome dresses. - Her hats outdo Verona’s richest lasses-- - So small they can’t be seen without opera glasses. - She sports in silks and satins of the best - That can be made by Madam Demor_est_. - Verona’s gallants seek to flirt and flout - With this dear _gal_, when’er her _aunt_ is out. - They’d like to catch her with a wedding-ring; - And so they come at night to spout and sing. - But I won’t have it: under lock and key, - This floating _belle_ shall _ring_ for none but me. - I am her father; and my lawyer knows, - Paying for her dresses, I can keep her _close_. - All’s safe to-night, and so I’ll tramp to bed-- - -(_Moon rises._)[1] - - What’s that? the moon is rising overhead, - And coming up in such a smashing way, - It rivals the Museum’s famous Peep o’ Day. - So I’ll to bed, and should marauders roam, - Let them beware; for Capulet’s at home. - -(_Exit, C._) - -_JULIET appears on balcony with a jar of pickled limes._ - -_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “No one to Love.”_ - - No one to woo, none to address - A tender young maid in the greatest distress. - Hard is my lot; beaux I have none; - On this piazza I’m sitting alone. - No gentle man, no tender lad, - Comes here to woo: ’tis really too bad. - No one to woo, none to address - A tender young maid in the greatest distress. - Hard is my lot, beaux I have none; - On this piazza I’m sitting alone. - - _Jul._ Ah, me! Ah, me! Ah, me! Oh, my! - I cannot sleep, nor tell the reason why. - ’Tis now the very _witching_ hour of night, - _Which_ is to say, it would be if ’twas light. - Why, there’s the moon, quite dear to me, I’m sure: - I never felt she was so _near_ before. - O beauteous queen! descend from thy high sphere, - And taste a pickled lime with me, my dear. - I’ll tell thee lots of scandal and of fashion, - And whisper in thine ear my tale of passion; - For I’m in love; in love with a dear feller - I met one night while seeing Cinderella. - Oh, such a dear! dear me, I’m in a flutter. - He’s young and rich, and sweet as fresh June butter: - His name is Romeo; he’s the idol of the town; - I’ll sing his praise. Prythee, dear, come down. - -_ROMEO (outside), L. sings._ - - We won’t go home till morning, - We won’t go home till morning, - We won’t go home till morning, - Till Juliet doth appear. - -_Enter ROMEO and MERCUTIO, L._ - - _Mer._ Shut up, old chap, this strain will never do: - ’Twill get us both locked up in Station Two. - - _Rom._ Mercut_h_, old chap, I’ll own I’m rather airy, - And feel as limber as a Black-Crook fairy. - ’S all right, old fel’, I’m deuced glad you’re here: - Fact is, I hardly know which way to steer. - - _Mer._ Oh, ho! I see King Lager’s been with you, - And on his beer you’re settled fast and true. - He is the Dutchman’s idol, and he puffs - In shape as monstrous as Jack Falstaff’s stuffs. - His throne’s a monstrous cask of his own brew, - With courtiers drawing him by two and two. - His crown Dutch cheese, his sceptre’s a Bologna. - His subjects--well, they’re _mustered_ in Verona. - His drink is Bock, his food is sour krout, - Pretzels his lunch, his night-cap, gin, without. - And in this guise he keeps a jolly pace, - Shaking his sides, a grin upon his face. - Great in our land as is our famous eagle, - He sings in opera, and he fights mit Sigel. - - _Rom._ Steady, my boy, you’re really getting dry. - My stars! old fellow, what’s that in the sky? - - _Mer._ The moon, of course-- - - _Rom._ But I see two, I’ll swear. - - _Mer._ Then you see double. - - _Rom._ There’s the other there (_points to Juliet_). - - _Mer._ Another? Bless me! ’tis too brilliant far. - Call that a moon? It is a glorious star. - - _Rom._ Call that a star? by what arrangement, pray? - - _Mer._ Why, don’t you know? The star of our new play. - - _Rom._ You speak in _meteor_-phor, now pray have done. - What is’t o’clock? - - _Mer._ Four-quarters after one. - -_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “Five o’clock in the Morning.”_ - - My father is snugly in his bed, - Taking his morning nap; - My aunt has stuffed her waterfall - Under her snow-white cap; - The crickets are singing merrily; - While I, all danger scorning, - Sit quietly eating pickled limes, - At two o’clock in the morning. - - Then what care I for costly gems, - Or silks and satins fine? - I know full well when daylight comes - That those will all be mine. - Alone on my father’s balcony, - Far, far, from fashion’s warning, - I’m happier far with my pickled limes, - At two o’clock in the morning. - - _Rom._ Mercutio, it’s really getting late: - You know that your mamma for you will wait; - You’d better go. - - _Mer._ Oh, no! I thank you, chum! - My ma will look for me when I’m to _hum_. - I’ll stay a while. - - _Rom._ Mercutio, listen now, - ’Tis not the time of night to pick a row. - There’s an old proverb, really ’tis well done, - That two is company, and three is none. - Now, pray consider-- - - _Mer._ You are right, ’tis so: - As two is company, you’d better go. - - _Rom._ Oh, pshaw! Mercutio have no more such fun. - - _Mer._ He’s scared at jests who never made a pun. - - _Rom._ But, soft! what light in yonder window lies? - It is the (_y_)east. - - _Mer._ There’s something on the rise. - - _Rom._ It is the east, and Juliet is the sun-- - Arise! fair sun. - - _Mer._ Oh, murder! do have done; - Of grammar you are making fearful slaughter. - What gender makes a son of Capulet’s daughter? - - _Rom._ Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon-- - - _Mer._ You are getting to the killing part too soon. - - _Rom._ Who is already sick and pale with grief-- - - _Mer._ Then give it a dose of Radway’s Ready Relief. - - _Rom._ She speaks, yet she says nothing-- - - _Mer._ Nary word; - Upon my life, such silence ne’er was heard. - - _Rom._ See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! - - _Mer._ Because she’s tired: can’t you understand? - - _Rom._ Oh! would I were some gloves upon thy-- - - _Mer._ _Pause!_ - Or else old Capulet’ll have us in his claws. - - _Rom._ That I might print a kiss upon that cheek! - - _Mer._ Hold on a moment ere you further speak: - You’re getting cheeky with your warm address. - If you must print, go try the printing-press. - - _Jul._ Ah, me! ah, me! ah, me! oh, my! - - _Rom._ She speaks. - - _Mer._ She’s got a meteor in her eye. - - _Rom._ Oh, speak again, bright angel! - - _Mer._ So I will: - You’ll catch the rheumatism by standing still. - - _Rom._ Shut up; she speaks. - - _Jul._ O Romeo! Romeo, say - Wherefore, oh, wherefore art thou Romeo, pray? - - _Rom._ Well, really, madam, that’s a poser, rather: - I really think you’d better ask my father. - -_Song, “Romeo.” Air, “Pat Molloy.”_ - - At fourteen years of age I was a tall and strapping lad: - My father had the oil-fever, and had it awful bad. - “I’m hard up, Romeo,” says he, “and cannot raise the tin: - My copper stocks are getting low; I really must give in.” - He put my best clothes in a bag, and put it on my back, - And, with his knotty walking-stick, gave me a parting whack. - “Get out of this, my boy,” says he, “and remember, as you go, - Old Montague’s your daddy, and your name is Romeo.” - - _Jul._ Deny thy father, and refuse thy name, - Call thyself Smith or Jones, ’tis all the same; - Or, if thou art inclined to give it me, - I’ll pack my trunk and go along with thee. - - _Rom._ Shall I hear more, or had I better-- - - _Mer._ Wait, - Give her a chance, she’ll pop the question straight. - - _Jul._ What’s in a name? - - _Mer._ Why, often there’s a letter. - - _Jul._ Pickles by any other name taste all the better, - And so would Romeo-- - - _Mer._ Oh, dear! here’s a row: - She’s got you in a precious pickle now. - - _Jul._ Romeo, doff thy name now, that’s a dear; - For Mrs. Montague would sound so queer: - I do not like it; for thy name mine take; - A better bargain you did never make. - - _Rom._ I’ll take thee at thy word: I’ll change my nature, - And get my name changed by the legislature. - - _Mer._ Not in _our_ General Court can you, I’ll swear: - They change not names, but only color, there. - - _Jul._ What lads art thou beneath my window met? - - _Mer._ Lads! With a ladder we’d be nearer yet. - - _Rom._ I know not how, dear saint, to tell you that, - Because my name is written in my hat, - And you don’t like it. I would rub it out, - If there was any rubber here about. - - _Jul._ Whist! how came you here, and why? - My father’s fence is very sharp and high, - And should he find you here-- - - _Mer._ The ugly cuss - Would straight salute us with a blunderbuss. - - _Rom._ With love’s light wings did I the fence o’erleap - On sounding pinions-- - - _Mer._ Ain’t you getting steep? - - _Jul._ I cannot hear you; pray come nearer, love. - - _Rom._ Oh! that I had wings to mount above. - - _Mer._ Wings? Pshaw! a stouter platform you will need - If that fond purpose in your eye I read. - -(_Rolls in barrel of flour from L.; places it beneath balcony, and -assists ROMEO to mount it._) - - Here is the article, and just the size, - Placed in your east, ’twill help you to _arise_. - Now mount, my hero, spread your softest talk, - And, while you’re busy, I’ll go take a walk. - Be careful of your feet, or, by the powers, - Our next tableau’ll be “love among the _flours_.” _Exit, L._ - - _Jul._ By whose direction found you out this spot? - - _Rom._ ’Tis put down in the Directory, is it not? - - _Jul._ If you are found here, you’ll be murdered straight, - So pray begone-- - - _Rom._ I think I’d rather wait. - Fear not for me my jewel, on my word, - Your eyes cut deeper than the sharpest sword. - Oh! beauteous Juliet, fairest of the fair, - Within my heart a roaring flame I bear. - I’m over ears in love within this hour. (_Stumbles on barrel._) - - _Jul._ Be careful, you’ll be over ears in flour. - - _Rom._ If thou wouldst have me paint the home - To which I’d bear thee when our nuptials come, - Listen. In a deep vale where huckleberries grow, - And modest sun-flowers blossom in a row, - Where blooming cabbage rears its lofty head, - And fragrant onion spreads its lowly bed, - A yellow cottage, with a chimney tall, - Lifts to eternal summer its shingled wall. - From out a bower made musical with frogs, - Who chant their wild lays in the neighboring bogs, - At noon we’d sit beneath the arching vine, - And gather grapes to make our winter wine; - And when night came we’d guess what star - Should next attract us to the op--era; - And then-- - - _Jul._ Oh, pshaw! give o’er, - Your yellow-covered cottage is a bore; - For cabbages and onions find new names: - I mean to have rooms at the new St. James. - And if you love me it is surely fair-- - - _Rom._ Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear-- - - _Jul._ Oh! swear not by the moon. - - _Rom._ Well, then, I won’t. - What shall I swear by? - - _Jul._ Swear not at all, my dear. - - _Rom._ What! not a swear? Oh, this ain’t love, ’tis clear! - - _Cap._ (_outside_). Ho, Juliet! Juliet, are you there? - I cannot find my night-cap anywhere. - - _Rom._ Who’s that? - - _Jul._ My father. Oh, the deuse’s to pay! - - _Rom._ I wish the old man was _farther_ any way. - - _Cap._ (_outside_). Juliet! - - _Jul._ Coming, coming soon. - - _Rom._ I wish old Capulet was the man in the moon. - - _Jul._ Good night, dear Romy; tie your ears up tight. - - _Rom._ And wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? ’taint right. - - _Jul._ What satisfaction canst thou have, my blade? - - _Rom._ Why, that of giving you a serenade. - -(_“Mocking Bird,” Whistling serenade, by ROMEO._) - -_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “Listen to the Mocking Bird.”_ - - My father now has spoken, has spoken, has spoken, - My father now has spoken, - And the whistling lad is ringing in my ear. - I feel like one heart-broken, heart-broken, heart-broken, - I feel like one heart-broken, - For my Romey can no longer linger here. - Listen to the whistling lad, - Listen to the whistling lad, - The whistling lad who pipes his merry lay. - Listen to the whistling lad, - Listen to the whistling lad, - Who whistles where the yellow moonbeams play. - - I’m dreaming now of Romey, of Romey, of Romey, - I’m dreaming now of Romey, - And the tender, tender words he spake to me. - To the opera he shall beau me, shall beau me, shall beau me, - To the opera he shall beau me, - And I the happiest maid in town will be. - Listen to the whistling lad, &c. - - _Cap._ (_without_). Juliet, I say, ho! Juliet, do you hear? - - _Jul._ Coming, papa; and now good-night, my dear. - _Exit._ - - _Rom._ Good-night, good-night; parting were such sweet sorrow, - I’ll come again and try it on to-morrow. - -_Exit, L._ - -_Enter MERCUTIO, L._ - - _Mer._ Is this a bottle which I see before me? - The nozzle towards my mouth. Come, let me pour thee. - I have thee not; and yet I’ll swear I saw - Thee just as plain as this which now I draw. - -(_Draws bottle from his pocket._) - -_Song, “Mercutio.” Air, “Rootle tum, tootle tum ta.”_ - - Mercutio, you have been told, - Was a gay boy of old: - One Shakspeare his story has told - In a humorous sort of a way. - He was fond of a nice little game,-- - Any game you can name, - Would see you, and go it again. - Rootle tum, tootle tum tay. - For frolic or fighting quite ready, - You could hardly, I think, call him steady. - Rootle tum, tootle tum, tootle tum, tootle tum, - Tootle tum, tootle tum tay. - - Of his virtues we oft have been told - By this wise bard of old; - But his vices he didn’t unfold, - But just kept them out of the way. - A patron he of the race-horse, - And the turf,--what is worse, - Was given to betting, of course. - Rootle tum, tootle tum tay; - So a moral to put if you’re willin, - I’ll make him a sort of a villain. - Rootle tum, tootle tum, &c. - - Ha! ha! ha! this Romeo, silly looney, - Has, on old Capulet’s daughter, got quite spooney; - And now to wed her he is nothing loth. - Ha! ha! he’ll find my fingers in the broth. - He’s ordered cards for Wednesday--Park-st. Church: - Mayhap his bride will leave him in the lurch; - I’ll marry her myself, or rot in prison. - Why should’nt she be mine as well as his’n? - I do remember an apothecary, or rather orter, - Who, somewhere hereabouts, sells soda-water. - I’ll hie to him, and high this bottle fill, - With laughing gas. Ha! ha! my heart be still. - We’ll block this little game, that’s very plain; - Conscience, avaunt! Mercut_h_’s himself again. - -_Turns and meets CAPULET, who has entered from door, C., with revolver._ - - _Cap._ So, so, my early bird you’ve caught a worm; - Keep still, you stupid, don’t begin to squirm; - Explain this early visit if you can. - - _Mer._ “Pity the sorrows of a poor old man.” - - _Cap._ Oh! that won’t do, shut up, you silly elf: - I do the old man’s business here myself. - Your business here? My name is Cap-- - - _Mer._ --You let - Me off, and I won’t come again, you bet. - I came to look at yon revolving moon. - - _Cap._ You’ll get a taste of my revolver soon. - - _Mer._ You have a daughter-- - - _Cap._ What is that to you? - - _Mer._ Nothing, but she is very fair to view: - Her name is Juliet-- - - _Cap._ I knew that before. - - _Mer._ You did? Well, you’re a smart old man, I’m sure. - A pretty name; what is her dowry, pray? - - _Cap._ A hundred thousand on her wedding-day. - - _Mer._ The noble Plaster Paris seeks her hand? - - _Cap._ Yes, and to marry him is my command. - - _Mer._ O wild old man! I came to ope your eyes, - To save you from a fearful sacrifice. - - _Cap._ How, now? speak out! you rouse my wildest fears! - - _Mer._ Hush, hush, old man! they say the walls have ears. - To save you fifty thousand dollars, I agree, - If for one moment you will list to me. - Paris to take her gets a hundred thousand plum: - I’ll marry her for just one-half the sum. _Exit, L._ - - _Cap._ Get out, you scamp! I am completely sold: - I’ll back to bed, for it is bitter cold, - And I’ve been bit already; but to-morrow - I’ll give that girl a taste of early sorrow; - Pack up her crinoline, and off she’ll go - To Di----o Lewis, or Professor Blot. - -_Exit, R._ - -_Enter JULIET from house._ - - _Jul._ O Romeo, Romeo! I forgot to say-- - Why, he is gone--oh! for the trumpet’s bray, - The watchman’s rattle, or the fire-alarm, - To lure him back-- - - _Enter MERCUTIO, L. (wrapped in a domino), eating a - sandwich._ - - _Mer._ It’s really getting warm. - How tender sweet taste sandwiched tongues by night - To hungry stomachs!--now I feel all right. - - _Jul._ Romeo-- - - _Mer._ My sweet. - - _Jul._ When shall we wedded be? - - _Mer._ What’s that? when wedded? Dear me, let me see. - Hush! love, a fearful tale I have to tell, - That but a moment since on me befell. - Your father swore point blank that you should marry - Only that spooney, the young Plaster Paris. - - _Jul._ Never! I’ll be an old maid first. - - _Mer._ Now, don’t you fret: - I’ll fix his flint; we may be happy yet. - Just take this bottle, wrap your shawl around, - And hie you off to Capulet’s burying-ground. - - _Jul._ What is it, ketchup or Peruvian dye? - - _Mer._ No matter, dear: just ketch it up and fly. - When you get there, imbibe a goodly dose, - Then near the tomb of Capulet hide you close. - Just read the label, sweet, before ’tis taken: - My precious jewel, it must be well shaken. - Hush! I hear a voice, a footstep too, beware! - Remember, burying-ground and gas, you’ll find me there. - -_Duet, “Mercutio and Juliet.” Air, “We Merry-hearted Marched Away.”_ -(_Grand Duchess._) - - _Jul._ Well, well, my love, I’ll start away, - Your strange request to quick obey; - Equip myself in hat and shawl, - And meet you ’neath the church-yard wall. - - _Mer._ She don’t suspect--it is all right; - I’ll be a happy dog to-night; - Rob Romeo of his darling spouse, - And ’neath the church-yard wall carouse. - -“_I Love the Military._” - - _Both._ Oh, I’ll } run for my } millinery, - you’ll } your } - - Run for my } millinery, run for my } millinery; - your } your } - - Oh yes, I’ll } quickly run and get my } shawl. - you’ll } your } - -(_Repeat, and Dance off, R._) - -_Enter ROMEO, L._ - - _Rom._ My sweet, my dove. - -_Enter JULIET, R._ - - _Jul._ What, back again so soon? - Why, you’re as wayward as the silver moon. - - _Rom._ My dear, I came to fix our wedding-day. - -_CAPULET appears at door, C., with pitch-fork._ - - _Cap._ I’ll fix you! - - _Rom._ Murder! - - _Jul._ Don’t, father, pray. - - _Rom._ Oh, dear! - - _Jul._ Oh, my! - - _Cap._ Well, sirrah, how is that? - - _Rom._ Help, help, Mercutio! - - _Cap._ You are cutting fat. - -_Enter MERCUTIO, L._ - - _Mer._ Holloa, old man! ’tis time you were in bed: - Just let me fix your night-cap on your head. - -_Pulls his night-cap over his eyes._ - -_Chorus. Air, “Sabre du mon pére.”_ - - Pull on your night-cap, your night-cap, your night-cap! - Pull on your night-cap, and take yourself to bed. - -(_Repeat._) - -(_Quick change._) - - - SCENE 2. _A Wood._ - - (_Should it be found necessary to drop the curtain, scene 2 and - scene 3 can be run into one._) - -_Enter MERCUTIO, L._ - - If I had a beau for a soldier would go, - Do you think I’d marry him? No, no, no! - And so must not Miss Juliet, that is flat, - Bestow her hand, her money, and all that, - On such a reckless, foolish, soft young man - As Romeo, who would join the Klux Klux Kahn - Because old Capulet, o’er his gin and water, - Has vowed he shall not carry off his daughter. - Such carryings-on are very bad, no doubt; - And so my little game I’ll carry out. - Oh, ch!--this midnight roaming suits not me, - This influenza shall not influence me, - Ah, ch--would I were safe in bed! - There’s cold without and cold within my head. - ’Tis time this little maid should be along: - I’ll while away the time with a ch--ch--song. - -_Song, “Mercutio.” Air, “French Sneezing-Song.”_ - - I’m really very stiff and cold - As you can very plainly see; - This mild spring weather here, somehow, - Has raised the very deuse with me. - My eyes are getting red and weak, - My nose appears inclined to freeze; - And, when I seek to raise my voice, - I only raise a sneeze, sneeze, sneeze. - Too ral la, too ral la, &c. - - O Juliet Capulet! my love, - To keep me waiting ’tis a sin: - This May-day weather will, I fear, - Put out the flame of love within. - My heart with love is burning high, - My bones with cold are like to freeze: - For you I seek to raise a sigh, - But only raise a sneeze, sneeze, sneeze. - Too ral la, too ral la, &c. - - Mercutio, you’re a silly goose - To choose a maid so very cruel: - This midnight prowl for you, I fear, - Will end in rheumatiz and gruel; - And then, should Romeo cross your path, - Prepare to face another breeze: - He’d cut you down in his great wrath, - Nor give you time to sneeze, sneeze, sneeze. - Too ral la, too ral la, &c. - - - SCENE 3. _CAPULET’S burying-ground. Tomb, C., on which is - written, “No one allowed to pick here without permit of - the proprietor.” Graves, R. and L., with headstones facing - audience. On R. is painted, “To be occupied by JULIET CAPULET;” - on L., “To be occupied by ROMEO MONTAGUE.”_ - -_Enter JULIET, L., with basket, bottle, and candle._ - - _Jul._ Here is the place (_dog barks_), our plaguy _Spot_, I say. - You should not follow your mistress in this way. - (_Clock strikes._) One, two, ’tis now the very time, I think, - When I was bid this sleeping draught to drink. - Oh, dear! suppose this should not work at all; - Suppose this evening Romeo should not call; - Suppose, suppose--oh! I’ll leave off supposing, - For really I begin to feel like _dozing_: - And so I’ll take a _dose_ (_drinks_). Why, this is queer! - What new-found sherry-cobbler have we here? - Narcotic music in my head is ringing - Such blissful airs, I cannot keep from singing. - -_Song, “Juliet.” Air, “O Mio Fernando.”_ - - Oh mio Romeo, my galliant loverier! - My father’s house I’ve slipped for to meet thee; - But oh! my ducksey, do you be tenderer - Or else a broken-hearted maid I’ll be. - If by this cup my senses be capsized - When I have drank this sherry-cobbler down, - Oh! do not, dearest, do not, be surprised, - But wake me gently, Romeo, from my nap. - - _Jul._ To bed, to bed! it’s really getting late. (_Knock._) - What knocking’s that? The watchman’s at the gate. - What is undone can’t be done up, ’tis said. - My hair is down, and so to bed, to bed! - -_Lies down on grave, blows out candle, R. Enter MERCUTIO, L._ - - _Mer._ Rest, my maid, lie still and slumber: - Now for my carriage. I’ve forgot the number: - That is too bad, I ne’er can find mine, - So many are ordered for just half-past nine. - What’s to be done? I’m getting in a muss, - I know. I’ll take her off instanter in a buss. - Halloo, halloo! Why, here’s the deuse to pay,-- - Man with a light, and coming down this way! - I’ll step aside and of this light keep dark. - -(_Hides R._) - -_Enter ROMEO, L., dragging child’s carriage, containing a large bottle of -MRS. WINSLOW’S Soothing Syrup._ - - _Rom._ Bah! I’m chilled through, and hungry as a shark. - I do remember where an oysterman did dwell - Who opened Providence Rivers passing well, - Concocted luscious stews and toothsome roasts - And “Fancys,” which are oysters laid on toast. - I would that I to-night within his stall - Might seat myself, and for a good roast call; - But I’m forbid, for I to-night must stir up, - My fainting soul with Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. - My Juliet, poisoned, in this church-yard lies; - And I, poor silly fellow!--I--I--cries. - I’ll weep no more, but to my Juliet flee. - -_Knocks down gravestone at head of JULIET._ - - Get out, you pale-faced slab, make way for me! - -_Enter MERCUTIO, R._ - - _Mer._ Halloo, my gallant youth, is that the way - You with old Capulet’s costly marbles play? - - _Rom._ What wretch art thou that thus beseemst the night? - - _Mer._ Why, wretch yourself! it seems to me you’re tight. - - _Rom._ Are you Mercutio’s kinsman, Plaster Paris? - Or are you Villikins? - - _Mer._ Thank you, I am nary; - But I am Mercutio, who, upon my life, - Had nearly made that maid there be my wife - But for your coming. Now that you have come, - And I’m not wanted, I think I’ll go home. - - _Rom._ Stay, vile Mercutio, I see what you’re about: - With this ’ere maid you tried to cut me out; - But you shall find that I can cut as well. - A game of turn him out, we’ll have, my swell. - You are a sneak, so be a little bolder: - Let’s see you knock that chip from off my shoulder. - -(_Mercutio blows chip off._) - - _A blow._ We’ll try the manly art. - - _Mer._ The manly art?--oh, no! - We can’t do that: it’s not for us, you know. - Our legislators keep it for their public play: - ’Tis _More-easy_ taught in Washington to-day. - Talking of cutting you out here with this lass - I call an insult; but we’ll let that pass. - I’ll have a pass, and with a cutlass too, - -_Produces a pair of cutlasses from side._ - - Draw, villain, draw! I’ll have a bout with you,-- - The old stage combat, that’s the sort, - With an accompaniment on the piano forte. - -_Combat to the tune of, “Wood up.” MERCUTIO’S stuck._ - - Hold on! I’m stuck, as narrow as a church-pew, - And hardly deep enough: well, it will do. - Ask for me to-morrow, if you will; - And, if I’m not gone, I’ll be here still. - I’m _peppered_ sore, and nearly _mustered_ out. - Now, gentle Romeo, mind what you’re about! - You have a country house, and one in town: - A plague on both your houses! burn ’em down! - Have you a cigar? I think I’ve got a match. - -_ROMEO gives MERCUTIO a cigar, and holds up his foot, on which MERCUTIO -strikes a light, and then lights his cigar._ - - Thank you, you are a perfect hen to scratch. - From all the many ills of married life - I would have saved you, carried off your wife; - But that’s all over, wish you joy, I’ll swear. - Good-by! I’m going home to die--my hair. - -_Exit, L._ - - _Rom._ So young to die! Farewell, my gentle friend: - Now to my business I will straight attend. - Here lies my love so snugly covered up, - And near her sits the fatal poisoned cup. - Eyes, look your last; but do not look too long. - If ’twon’t disturb you, love, I’ll sing a song. - -_Song, “Romeo.” Air, “Captain Jinks.”_ - - My Juliet at last I’ve found, - Stretched out at full length on the ground: - She shows no signs of coming round, - Which causes me much trouble. - But I’ve a quietus, you see, - tus you see, - tus you see - And Winslow’s Soothing Syrup for me - Will soon end all my trouble. - It will be a story to tell the marines - That we were driven to such extremes, - And came to our end by poisonous means, - Through drinking too much of the balmy. - - _Rom._ Come, fatal syrup, soothe my aching breast; - Come, Mrs. Winslow, come and give me rest. - Here’s to my love, hip, hip, hip, hurray! - -_Tumbles on grave, L._ - - That’s given me a settler any way. - -_Enter CAPULET, L., ringing a bell._ - - _Cap._ Lost, lost, lost, strayed, stolen, or run away! - A daughter, anybody seen her, pray? - Robed in a muslin dress, a tender maid, - Of all male creatures very much afraid. - I cannot find her: I am tempest tossed, - And so I toss this bell--lost, lost, lost! - -_Trio: Air, “Dear Father come home.” JULIET, ROMEO, and CAPULET._ - - _Jul._ Father, dear father! go home, will you, now? - You’ll get a bad cold in your head: - I’ve put out the candle, and, covered up warm, - I’m resting so nicely in bed! - - _Rom._ You’d better clear out, old Capulet, now, - There hardly is room here for you; - Disturb not the rest of a poisoned young pair, - But clear out instanter, now, do! - - _Jul._ { Come do, now do, dear father, sweet father, go home! - _Rom._ { Will you, will you, old buffer, old buffer, go home? - - _Cap._ Now, do hear the words of this pair, - Which his fingers[2] repeat as they roam. - I’ll be blessed if such nonsense I’ll stand, any way, - No, looneys, I will not go home. - - _Jul._ { Come father, dear father, go home. - _Rom._ { Old buffer, old buffer, go home. - - _Cap._ Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish, I’ll swear. - Juliet Capulet, what are you doing there? - - _Jul._ (_Sitting up._) I’m poisoned, waiting here for Romeo. - - _Rom._ (_Sitting up._) Well, here I am: I guess we’d better go. - -_Song, “Romeo and Juliet.” Air, “Billy Taylor.”_ - - _Rom._ Now, Juliet, that we’re free from poison, - We will quickly wedded be. - The loveliest maid man ever set his eyes on - I’ll marry in style, quite gorgeously. - Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, li, do. - - _Jul._ Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, la. - - _Rom._ Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, li, do. - - _Tombs._ Tiddy, iddy, iddy, iddy, ol, lol, la. - - _Jul._ O Romeo! though you’re my deary, - Prithee, listen unto me. - When I go to get my wardrobe, I shall feel quite scary - If it’s under lock and key. - - _Chorus._--Tiddy, iddy, &c. - - _Cap._ Humbug! Do you two young ones ’spose - I’ll have this billing under my very nose? - Vile Montague, begone, or you shall sweat! - I’m on my native heath, my name is Capulet. - - _Jul._ Give me my Romeo, or I shall die: - I’ll cut him up in little stars-- - - _Rom._ Oh, my! - - _Cap._ No, no, my child, you’ll cut up no such capers: - Do you want to figure in the Boston papers? - Go home and sew, and so your morals mend: - This fool I’ll straight about his business send. - If you two marry--why, then, I’m a noodle, - Who dare dispute me-- - -_Song. Tomb opens, and MERCUTIO appears as Yankee Doodle. (Allegorical -dress of America.)_ - - _Mer._ Only Yankee Doodle! - Old man, within my home across the water, - I’ve had my eye upon your handsome daughter, - And sighed to think that two fond lovers here - Should find a home within a tomb so drear. - And so I’ve opened it to have it aired: - Really, old gent, you should have it repaired. - Being on a yacht race in “The Henrietta,” - To give you a passing call, I thought I’d better. - I’m of a race that likes to see fair play: - My fair one, can I serve you any way? - - _Rom._ Why, that’s Mercutio! - - _Mer._ Shut up, will you, now! - I’ve only doubled, don’t you make a row. - - _Rom._ But you were killed-- - - _Jul._ And now have come to life. - - _Mer._ Some one spoke, I think-- - - _Rom._ It was my wife. - - _Mer._ Don’t puzzle yourselves, I’ll straightway make it clear. - You know the Spiritualists hold meeting here; - You rapped me, and I went, is that not plain? - So with another _wrap_, I come again. - - _Cap._ Entranced youth, you are not wanted here, - So quickly you had better disappear. - I want my daughter-- - - _Mer._ So does Romeo too; - And he shall have her straight, in spite of you. - - _Cap._ Come, sir, you meddle! Mind what you’re about! - I’m a belligerent-- - - _Mer._ Oh! that’s played out. - It will not do all wrongs to redress: - You’ll find America in any mess. - So, Romeo, take your wife, and pack your bag; - We’ll give you shelter ’neath a starry flag. - - _Rom._ What say you, Juliet? shall we westward go? - Speak up, my darling, do not color so. - - _Jul._ I like those colors well, I do confess: - Those stripes are just the style of my new dress. - - _Rom._ To seek that blissful land, I think we’d orter. - - _Jul._ But I’m so horrid sick upon the water! - - _Mer._ Come, Capulet, your blessing I command; - Then pack up trunks, and off for Yankee land. - - _Cap._ What! end a tragedy without a death? - It’s horrible: you take away my breath! - - _Mer._ Then we shall have one sure, let’s move along: - We’ll end our tragedy with a yachting song. - -_Finale, “A Yankee Ship and a Yankee Crew.”_ - - A Yankee yacht and a Yankee crew, - Tally, hi, ho, you know, - Can beat the world on the waters blue. - Sing high, aloft and alow. - Her sails are spread to the fairy breeze, - The spray sparkling as thrown from her prow; - Her flag is the proudest that floats o’er the seas; - Her way homeward she’s steering now. - - _Chorus._--A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, &c. - -_Curtain._ - -[1] Half a cheese box covered with cotton cloth, on which is painted a -very jolly face, with the letters S. T. 1860 X. upon it, illuminated by a -candle placed behind, and drawn up by a pully and string, is the original -moon prepared for this piece. - -[2] The pianist or leader of the orchestra. - - - - -THE GREAT ELIXIR. - - -CHARACTERS. - - WALDIMER WIGGINS (the seventh son of a seventh son). - GUNNYBAG GREENBAX, } Wiggins’ patients. - NERVOUS ASPEN, } - MAJOR FINGERS (a discontented Bridegroom). - CHARLES FREEDLEY (a dissatisfied heir). - HARRY QUILLDRIVER (an author). - HERBERT EASEL (his friend). - DENNIS MCGRATH (the Doctor’s help). - BOB (the Doctor’s boy). - -COSTUMES. - - _Wiggins._--Eccentric gray wig, with cue, white necktie, crimson - vest, dressing-gown, and slippers. - _Greenbax._--Long brown coat, gray wig, broad brimmed hat. - _Aspen._--Brown wig, nankeen pants and vest, dark coat, hat and cane. - _Fingers._--(Very short man.) Undress uniform. - _Freedley, Quilldriver, and Easel._--Modern costume. - _Dennis._--Red wig, white jacket, yellow vest, dark pants. - - - SCENE.--_Wiggins’ Office. Table, C. Chairs, R. and L. of table. - Entrances, R. and L. Letters and bottles on table._ - -_Enter WIGGINS, L._ - -_Wiggins._ I am a lucky man! I should like to know how many times an -hour, by the most approved rules of computation, that sentence escapes -my lips; to how many mirrors have I uttered those memorable words; -how many sheets of paper have been devastated with that _multum in -parvo_ of sentences, I am a lucky man? Look at me, Waldimer Wiggins, -seventh son of Waldimer Wiggins, the blacksmith, who was the seventh -son of Wigglesworth Wiggins, the cooper. I, who have been knocked about -the world like a shuttlecock, buffeted by everybody and everything; -who never saw but one schoolhouse in all my life, and that from the -outside,--here am I puzzling all the learned doctors, creating a frenzy -among the apothecaries, and setting the whole town to taking medicine -by the pint, quart, and even demijohn, and hauling greenbacks into my -capacious pockets with an agility and velocity that would astonish the -father of greenbacks. I am the lucky possessor of the greatest remedy of -modern times,--a medicine that will cure anything and everything, anybody -and everybody; and where there is nothing to cure, will make something, -and then cure that. Men praise it, women dote on it, and children cry -for it. I am the lucky possessor of this treasure, and yet I never -received a diploma, or even amused myself with the graceful but rather -monotonous exercise of the pestle and mortar. As I before suggested, -it’s all luck. I’ll tell you all about it (_seats himself familiarly -before the audience_). Like Byron, that beautiful but dyspeptic poet, -“I had a dream.” It was one night after I had partaken of oysters. I -generally indulge in a light supper before retiring. Upon this occasion -it consisted of cold chicken, mince pie, pigs’ feet, and, as I before -remarked, oysters. I had retired to my downy couch, when the following -striking tableau was presented in a vision. I beheld the great Barnum, -surrounded by greenbacks. On his right were the Albino woman and Joyce -Heath, on his left, Tom Thumb and his Bride; while the “What is it?” a -little elevated, was crowning the great showman with a wreath of posies. -Of course my attention was first attracted to the free exhibition of -curiosities, but after a careful examination of them, my eyes were fixed -upon the great “Supporter of the Moral Drama,” by whom I was greeted -with this characteristic original remark, “How are you, Wiggins?” to -which I answered, as is customary in all polite circles, “How are _you_, -Barnum?” “Wiggins,” said he, “do you want to make a fortune?” to which I -responded, “I do.” “Then look in ‘The Daily Slungshot,’ outside, first -column, top line, and obey the injunction there given.” I thanked the -great man, signified to him that I thought him an immense individual, -but that he could not keep “The Aquarial Gardens.” He pronounced my -remark very of _fish_ ous; and with this scaly joke, vanished. I awoke, -purchased “The Slungshot,” sought the designated spot, and read this -cabalistic word, “Advertise.” It was enough. I remembered a recipe an -Indian woman had given me when a child. It was for curing corns. I -resolved to make a fortune from that. Now everybody is not afflicted with -corns; so, to have a striking effect on all diseases, I call my medicine -“The Great Elixir,” and warrant it to cure everything. I might easily -show you how all diseases are first taken into the system through the -medium of corns, but as it would take some time to convince you, I will -not make the attempt. Advertising has done the business for me, and now -everybody is taking The Great Elixir and blessing the name of Waldimer -Wiggins. (_Rises, takes a seat at table R., and opens letters, making -memorandums on each as read._) Now, here is a string of correspondents -that would puzzle a regular physician, but which I, with my superior -skill, can dispose of in a very few moments. (_Reads._) Hm! an old lady -has fits. (_Mem._) Take The Elixir three times a day. (_Reads._) An old -gentleman with a bald head wants his hair to grow. (_Mem._) Apply The -Elixir externally and internally three times a day. (_Enter DENNIS, L._) -Well, Dennis, what is it? - -_Dennis._ Faith, I don’t know; there’s the kitchen fire don’t burn at -tall, at tall, and there’s a gintleman wants to say the dochter. - -_Wiggins._ Show the gentleman in here, and put “The Great Elixir” on the -fire. If that wont make a blaze, then nothing will. (_Exit, R., with -letters._) - -_Dennis._ Faith it’s an illigant man is the dochter. It’s the--the -learning he has onyhow, and it’s the fine physic he makes. The Great -Elixir. Put it in the fire? by my sowl, I will do that same; and--and in -the blacking and in the soup. It’s meself that has a mind to take a wee -dhrap meself, for the sthrong wakness I have for Judy Ryan. Bless her -purty face! (_Enter CHARLES FREEDLEY, L._) - -_Charles._ Did you tell Dr. Wiggins I wished to speak with him? - -_Dennis._ Indade I did, sir, and he’ll say yez in a minute. (_Exit, L._) - -_Charles._ So this is the office of the Great Doctor. Great Fiddlesticks! -He’s no more a doctor than I am, and he shall own it, too, before I’ve -done with him. There’s my Aunt Hopkins, whose heir I expect to be, crazy -about this Dr. Wiggins. Calls his “Great Elixir” delightful, and vows she -will leave him a legacy. Now I have set my heart on possessing all the -property of Aunt Hopkins, and have no idea of parting with it to such a -humbug as this; and here I am on a voyage of discovery, which will, I -hope, end in the unmasking of this quack. (_Enter WIGGINS, R., slowly, -his eyes fastened on an open book in his hand._) - -_Wiggins._ Why is the privacy of the Seventh Son of the Seventh Son thus -intruded upon? - -_Charles._ Privacy? Why, aint you a regular physician? - -_Wiggins._ I am, very _regular_. My office hours are from 10 A. M. to 2 -P. M. The balance of my time is devoted to the study of the human system; -to poring over the open book of nature, or to gazing in quiet, tranquil -solitude upon the sublime spectacles performed by stars of the first -magnitude. - -_Charles._ Oh! you mean at the theatres. - -_Wiggins._ Theatres, sir! No, sir, the study of the heavens is enough for -my inquiring mind. What want you with me? - -_Charles._ I have a very painful malady. - -_Wiggins._ What is it? - -_Charles._ An itching sensation in my hand. (_Aside._) Itching to get -hold of you. - -_Wiggins._ Let me look at it (_offering to take it_). - -_Charles_ (_raising his arm quick, hits the doctor in the stomach_). It -hurts me when I raise it thus. - -_Wiggins_ (_jumping back_). Oh! confound you! Then why in the deuce do -you raise it thus? - -_Charles._ I want it cured. - -_Wiggins_ (_looking very wise_). Let me see. Mars in the seventh heaven, -and Jupiter in an eclipse, Venus in a brown study, and Mercury in the -blues. Young man, the stars tell me you can be cured. - -_Charles._ Much obliged to the stars. How? - -_Wiggins_ (_speaking very quick, as though repeating an old story_). By -a plentiful application of “The Great Elixir,” which will cure coughs, -colds, burns, bruises, consumption, fits, fevers, earache, heartache, -headache, toothache, corns, bunions, etc., etc. Whose virtues are known -and appreciated from one end of the continent to the other. Prepared -under the special directions of the stars, and sold by all respectable -druggists at the low price of one dollar a bottle. - -_Charles_ (_aside_). Just as I thought, an ignorant quack. (_Aloud._) I -will procure a bottle, and give it a fair trial. (_Aside._) I’d sooner -take poison than his infernal stuff. (_Exit, L._) - -_Wiggins._ It is thus that science blesses her devotees with the glow -of success. (_Looking at watch._) 10 o’clock! We must prepare for the -patients. Here, Dennis (_Enter DENNIS, L._), prepare the paraphernalia. - -_Dennis_ (_puzzled_). The what is it? - -_Wiggins._ Prepare the paraphernalia. - -_Dennis._ Yis, sir, directly (_going, L._). - -_Wiggins._ Where are you going? - -_Dennis._ For the razor, sir. - -_Wiggins._ Razor! What do you want of a razor? - -_Dennis._ To pare your nails ouv course. You wouldn’t expect me to bring -an axe. - -_Wiggins._ Oh, pshaw! Set out the table and put the instruments upon it; -it is time to receive patients. - -_Dennis._ Oh, yis, sir. (_Aside._) Why don’t he spake his mother tongue -in the first place (_sets table in C., takes from a drawer in the table -a long carving-knife, a saw, and other instruments, places them upon -the table. Wiggins seats himself at back of table pompously. Bell rings -outside_). - -_Wiggins._ Our first patient. Show him in, Dennis. - -_Dennis._ Yis, sir. (_Exit, L._) - -_Wiggins._ Talk about your colleges! What is the good of them while -there’s newspapers to advertise in, and people with throats large enough -to swallow anything. (_Enter DENNIS with GREENBAX, L._) Hallo, who’s this? - -_Dennis._ Here you are, sir; that’s the doctor; be quick, for he’s awful -busy. - -_Greenbax._ Dizzy! I should think so; it’s enough to make anybody dizzy -climbing so many stairs. Where’s the doctor? - -_Dennis._ There he is in his place! - -_Greenbax._ Wrong place! Why didn’t you tell me so before? - -_Dennis._ What a stupid ould man. - -_Wiggins_ (_coming forward_). Here’s a queer customer. What do you want? - -_Greenbax._ Hey? - -_Wiggins._ Do you want the doctor? - -_Greenbax._ Of course I do (_going_). - -_Wiggins._ Hold on, I am the doctor. - -_Greenbax._ Hey? - -_Wiggins._ I am the doctor. - -_Greenbax._ Yes, yes, I want the doctor. - -_Wiggins_ (_very loud_). I am the doctor. Stupid! - -_Greenbax._ No, no! Dr. Wiggins, not Dr. Stupid. - -_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). I am Dr. Wiggins. Who are you? - -_Greenbax_ (_holding out his hand_). Pretty well, I thank you; a little -deafness for you to cure, that’s all. - -_Wiggins._ How long have you been so? - -_Greenbax._ Yes, it does look like snow, but I think it will turn to rain. - -_Wiggins._ How long have you been in this condition? - -_Greenbax._ Awful bad condition. I went over shoes in mud getting here. - -_Wiggins._ Oh, pshaw! what’s to be done with him? (_Still louder._) Does -your deafness increase? - -_Greenbax._ Hey? - -_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). Do you keep getting worse? - -_Greenbax._ Oh, yes! I keep a horse,--fast one, too. - -_Wiggins._ I am speaking about your ear. - -_Greenbax._ Yes, I’ve had him about a year. He has the heaves a little. - -_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). I’m talking about you--you--you! - -_Greenbax._ Me! oh, no! I never had the heaves. - -_Wiggins._ Oh, dear, dear! what shall I do? (_Shouting._) Have you ever -tried The Elixir? - -_Greenbax._ No, sir, I never do. The hostler he licks her sometimes. - -_Wiggins_ (_desperately takes bottle from table_). Here, take this three -times a day. - -_Greenbax._ Certainly, with pleasure. I’ll take it to Mr. Day. Go right -by his house. - -_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). No, no; take it yourself. - -_Greenbax._ Oh, yes; for my ear. - -_Wiggins._ Apply it externally and internally. - -_Greenbax_ (_looking at bottle_). It does have an infernal look. Oh, I’ve -tried this, it wont do. Must have something stronger,--something to shake -me up. - -_Wiggins._ I must try something else. What shall it be? I’ll mix -something to warm him up. I will return in a moment. (_Exit, R._) - -_Dennis._ What an ould heathen! he’s as deaf as ould Mother Mullin’s cow, -that was so deaf she couldn’t say straight. What’s the matter wid his -ears? they’re long enough onyhow. (_To Greenbax._) Servant, sir! - -_Greenbax._ Hey? - -_Dennis._ It’s a fine day, sir. - -_Greenbax._ No. Nothing to give away. Go to the poorhouse. - -_Dennis._ Poorhouse, is it, you thaif! - -_Wiggins_ (_outside_). Dennis! - -_Dennis._ Coming, sir. Away wid yez, you deaf ould haddock. (_Exit, R._) - -_Greenbax._ So many beggars about. Strange the police will allow it. -(_Re-enter DENNIS, R., with a phial._) - -_Dennis._ I’m to give the deaf fellow, then, this bottle, and he’s to -follow the directions. What’s that? (_Reads label._) “To be well shaken -before taken.” Faith, my boy, I’ll do that same for yez. (_Seizing -Greenbax and shaking him._) Ye’d have me go to the poorhouse, would yez? - -_Greenbax._ Murder, murder! - -_Dennis_ (_shaking him_). Howl away, ye spalpeen. ’Twill help the -circulation. - -_Greenbax._ Murder, murder! - -_Dennis._ Once more, ould man, and then ye’ll do. - -_Greenbax._ Murder, help, murder! (_Enter WIGGINS, R._) - -_Wiggins._ What are you doing, you scamp? - -_Dennis._ Faith, obeying orders, to be sure. “To be well shaken before -taken.” - -_Wiggins._ You stupid blockhead! I meant the medicine, and not the -patient. - -_Dennis._ Oh, murder! I thought it was the ould man. - -_Wiggins_ (_shouting_). I’m sorry this happened; ’twas all a mistake. - -_Greenbax._ Yes. It was a pretty good shake. - -_Wiggins._ My man will be more careful in future. (_Gives him phial._) - -_Greenbax._ Shall I take this? - -_Wiggins._ Yes, morning and night. - -_Greenbax._ Oh, no! I wont get tight. I belong to the temperance society. -Good-by. (_Exit, L._) - -_Wiggins._ There’s one disposed of. Who’s the next, Dennis? - -_Dennis._ Mr. Aspen, the shaky gintleman. - -_Wiggins._ Oh, yes! Show him in, Dennis. (_Exit DENNIS, L._) My nervous -patient; we must shake _him_ up a little. (_Re-enter Dennis with Aspen, -who is very nervous; drops first his hat, in picking that up drops his -cane, and then his gloves (to be continued). Wiggins takes his seat at -back of table. Dennis sits R. of table, and during the scene with Aspen -flourishes the carving-knife, scrapes it on the table, etc., to frighten -Aspen._) - -_Wiggins._ Good-morning, Mr. Aspen. Take a seat. How do you feel this -morning? - -_Aspen_ (_sits L. of table_). Oh, I don’t know, I guess--I think--I -should say--I must be-er--kind-er--sort-er--I don’t know. - -_Dennis._ Faith! He’s getting no better very fast. - -_Wiggins._ A decided improvement. How much of the Elixir have you taken? - -_Aspen._ Two dozen bottles. - -_Wiggins._ Not enough. You must take a gross. - -_Dennis._ Not enough. You must take a gross (_flourishing knife_). - -_Aspen_ (_shaking_). A gross? Oh, dear! - -_Wiggins._ Perhaps a barrel. - -_Dennis._ A barrel (_flourishing knife_). - -_Wiggins._ Your nervous, bilious organization is completely prostrated by -sudden and repeated attacks of dorrammomphia, and an enlargement of the -ambigular excrescences in the influctions of the cornicopia. - -_Dennis._ D’ye mind that now? (_knife._) - -_Wiggins._ You must continue the Elixir night and day, and in six or -seven years you will be entirely cured. - -_Dennis._ Yes, skewered (_knife_). - -_Aspen._ But it makes me so horrid sick. - -_Wiggins._ What if it does? - -_Dennis._ What if it does? (_knife._) - -_Aspen_ (_rising_). Well, no matter, I’ll take it. Take a barrel of that -nasty stuff. Oh, dear! (_Exit with Dennis, L._) - -_Wiggins._ That is one of my best patients. With a little moral suasion, -I shall be able to make him swallow a hogshead of the Elixir. (_Enter -Dennis, L._) Well, Dennis, who now? - -_Dennis._ Major Fingers, sir. (_Exit Dennis, L._) - -_Wiggins._ Major Fingers! who the deuce is Major Fingers? It must be -a military man. I’m afraid of those chaps. I’ll tell Dennis I can’t -receive him. (_Starts for door, L., and nearly upsets Major Fingers, who -enters._) Excuse me, sir, I didn’t see you. - -_Major_ (_fiercely_). Didn’t see me, stupid, swords and bayonets! Is this -the way you receive patients? - -_Wiggins._ Excuse me, sir; but you are so diminutive. - -_Major._ Diminutive, sir! Look at my face! look at that moustache! Is -there anything diminutive about that? I’d have you know, sir, that I am -the equal of any man, in intellect, sir. - -_Wiggins._ I really beg your pardon. To what do I owe the honor of this -visit? - -_Major._ My name is Fingers. I called to see you about my wife. - -_Wiggins._ Your wife? You mean your mother. - -_Major._ Swords and bayonets! sir, what do you mean? My wife, I said. -Didn’t you know I was married? I thought everybody knew it. Married in -New York. Great _eclat_. Everybody turned out. Married in style, style. -Yes, sir, style. - -_Wiggins_ (_aside_). What a young bantam. - -_Major._ Now, sir, I have come to you on a very important matter. No -listeners about, hey? - -_Wiggins._ Not a soul. - -_Major._ Then listen. When I was married I took a beautiful young lady -of my own size. Perhaps you’d like to know the reason. I had been my -own master so long that I could not bear to have a woman rule over me, -so, although I have had many ladies at my feet, I waited until I met my -“Vene.” - -_Wiggins._ Your Vene? - -_Major._ Yes, my “Vene,”--short for Lavinia, my wife. - -_Wiggins._ Oh! I see. Short wife, short name. - -_Major_ (_fiercely_). Sir! - -_Wiggins._ Oh, no offence intended. - -_Major._ Well, sir, soon after my marriage, my “Vene” undertook to tell -_me_, her lord and master, that if I stopped out after ten o’clock, she -would turn the key on me. Think of that! - -_Wiggins._ It’s outrageous. - -_Major._ Now, sir, seeing the advertisement of your “Great Elixir,” I -have called to see if it will do what it pretends,--a miracle,--and make -a tall man of me. - -_Wiggins._ Make a tall man of you? (_Aside._) Here’s a job. What’s to be -done? I must get him for a customer; he’s rich. (_Aloud._) Yes, sir, the -Elixir will cause you to grow right out of your boots. You shall see a -specimen of its working. Dennis! (_Enter Dennis, L._) Where’s Bob? - -_Dennis._ Down-stairs, sir. - -_Wiggins._ Send him up. (_Dennis going._) And hark you, Dennis. -(_Whispers._) - -_Dennis._ All right. I understand. (_Exit, L._) - -_Wiggins._ Be seated, major, and you shall see a specimen of the -miraculous effects of the Elixir. (_Enter Bob, with a long cloak on his -shoulders and a fur cap on his head._) What are you doing in that rig? Do -you think it is winter? - -[Illustration: THE GREAT ELIXIR.] - -_Bob._ Please, sir, I can’t help it. I’ve got the influendways awful, and -I’m so cold. - -_Wiggins._ I’ll soon warm you. (_Takes bottle from the table._) Here, -show this gentleman its power as a growing medicine. (_Bob takes the -medicine and grows._)[3] - -_Bob._ Oh, dear! oh, dear! Stop me,--stop me! Give me air,--give me air! -(_Exit, L._) - -_Wiggins._ Well, major, what do you say to that? - -_Major._ It’s wonderful. But will it do the same for me? - -_Wiggins._ Certainly it will. - -_Major._ Then send a dozen bottles to my hotel, at once. Oh, “Vene,” -“Vene,” you shall find _I_ am the head of the family. (_Struts out, L._) - -_Wiggins._ That’s a queer case; first of the kind on my list. Hope it -will prove a success. (_Enter Dennis, L._) - -_Dennis._ There’s two snobs want to see the doctor. - -_Wiggins._ Snobs? Come, come, sir, a little more respect. - -_Dennis._ Well, then, gents. - -_Wiggins._ Bring them in, and I will see them in a moment. (_Exit, R._) - -_Dennis_ (_calling, L._). Hallo, you, this way. (_Enter Harry and -Herbert, L._) The doctor will see you in a jiffy. (_Exit, L._) - -_Herbert._ So, Harry, you have at last followed the fashion and been -caught by the advertisement of a quack? - -_Harry._ Not caught, as you imagine. The fact is, Herbert, I want -something novel for my new play, and hearing this fellow pretends to be -an astrologer, I want to know what he can tell me through the medium of -the stars. - -_Herbert._ Stars? I should think you were pretty well posted regarding -them. By the way, what is the plot of your new piece? - -_Harry._ About as usual. A man who possesses a secret, another who would -go through fire and water to find it out. - -_Herbert._ Blood and thunder school? - -_Harry._ Rather. But my villain,--he’s a character,--he does the murder -admirably. - -_Herbert._ Murder! (_Enter Wiggins, R._) - -_Wiggins._ Murder! (_Starts back and conceals himself, R._) - -_Harry._ Listen. (_In melodramatic style recites._) “He possesses the -secret by which I might obtain gold! gold! gold! He keeps me from that -secret. But I have him in my power. I am now beneath his roof. I know all -the secret windings of the various passages, and at the dread hour of -midnight I will steal to his apartment, and with my dagger over his head -will shout in his ear, Blood! Blood! Blood! and bury it in his heart. -Then the secret is mine and mine alone.” Sh! (_Enter Wiggins, R._) The -doctor. - -_Wiggins_ (_aside_). Oh, dear! I see it all. I’m a doomed man. It’s all -up with me. But I must appear calm. (_Trembles violently._) Wh-wh-wh-at -d-d-d-o you w-w-want? - -_Harry._ Are you the physician? - -_Wiggins._ Yes. That is--no--no--oh! Blood! Blood! Blood! - -_Harry._ Blood? I thought it was Wiggins. - -_Wiggins._ It is. It is Wh-Wh-Wh-ig-ig-ins. - -_Harry._ I have a nervous affection for which I wish to be doctored. A -spasmodic moving of the arm at times. - -_Wiggins._ Yes, I know. “At the dread hour of midnight.” - -_Harry._ What shall I do for it? - -_Wiggins_ (_fiercely_). Go home, put your head in a basin of -gruel--no--no; put a basin of gruel on your feet and--The dread hour of -midnight! Oh! oh! (_Sinks into a chair._) - -_Harry._ Why, what’s the matter? - -_Wiggins_ (_jumps up_). Matter? Murder, robbery, cold steel! That’s -what’s the matter. Go home; stay at home. Your disease is fatal if you -stir from home for the next fourteen years, especially (_aside_) at the -dread hour of midnight. (_Sinks into chair._) - -_Harry._ But the remedy, your great secret? - -_Wiggins_ (_aside_). There it is, my great secret (_jumping up_). Go -home, I say. Do as I tell you, or your life isn’t worth a lucifer match. - -_Harry._ This is a very queer doctor. Come, Herbert, let’s go. I will -call again, when you are more calm and quiet. (_Exit Harry and Herbert, -L._) - -_Wiggins._ Yes, I know, “at the dread hour of midnight.” What’s to be -done? This sanguinary ruffian who is bound to obtain the secret of -“The Great Elixir.” I always had an idea that I should be martyred for -the knowledge I possess. I wish I was rid of the Great Elixir. Oh, -Wigglesworth Wiggins, I wish you had been in the seventh heavens, ere you -had made me the seventh son of a seventh son! (_Enter Dennis, L., with -lunch on a waiter._) - -_Dennis._ Here’s your lunch, sir (_places it on table_). - -_Wiggins._ Lunch! A pretty time to think of lunch. (_Aside._) I must make -a confidant of Dennis. Perhaps he can assist me. Dennis! - -_Dennis._ Yes, sir. - -_Wiggins._ What would you do to get hold of such a secret as that of the -Great Elixir? - -_Dennis._ Faith! I’d go through fire and water to get a hould of it. - -_Wiggins_ (_aside_). Oh, murder! Suppose he should forestall the -ruffians! Would you shed blood, blood, blood? - -_Dennis._ No, no, no, divil a hape. - -_Wiggins_ (_aside_). He can be trusted. Dennis, my life is in danger. -Two ruffians are coming here at the dread hour of midnight, shout blood, -blood, blood in my ear, and then murder me. - -_Dennis._ Murder and Irish! An’ will they wake yez afterwards? - -_Wiggins._ What’s to be done? - -_Dennis._ Divil a bit do I know, onyhow. Fasthen the door. - -_Wiggins._ But they know a secret entrance. - -_Dennis._ Then fasthen the gate and throw the kay down the well. - -_Wiggins._ No, no! (_Fingers heard outside crying._) Who is that? - -_Dennis_ (_going to door, L._) It’s Major Fingers in trouble. (_Enter -Major Fingers, L., rubbing his eyes and bawling. Exit Dennis, L._) - -_Major._ Oh, dear! Doctor, what shall I do?--what shall I do? I went -home and took a dose of your Great Elixir, and then, oh, dear! I was a -goin’ to take another, when “Vene,” sh-sh-she took it away from me and -th-th-threw it out of the window, and then boxed my ears. What shall I -do?--what shall I do? - -_Wiggins._ Do? Why, get a divorce. - -_Major._ So I will, see if I don’t. I’ll never sleep, drink, eat-- -(_spies doctor’s lunch on table_). Hallo! what’s that? (_Seizes lunch._) -Cake, oh, my! (_Stuffs it into his mouth._) - -_Wiggins._ Come, come, sir, that’s my lunch. - -_Major._ Can’t you allow me a little comfort after I’ve been abused by -“Vene”? (_Continues eating. Enter Dennis, L., hurriedly._) - -_Dennis._ Oh, murder, murder! Here’s a row. Here’s a shindy. Doctor, -you’re a dead man. - -_Wiggins._ Oh, Lord! What’s the matter now? - -_Dennis._ Mr. Freedley, who took the prescription this morning, took the -Great Elixir, and then was took crazy intirely. He’s left his house, and -his friends have jist been here after him. - -_Wiggins._ Why here? - -_Dennis._ Because he’s raving about the doctor, and swearing he’ll have -his life. - -_Wiggins._ Oh, horror! What’s to be done? Oh, that infernal Elixir! - -_Charles_ (_outside, L._). Where is he? Where is the destroyer of my -peace? - -_Wiggins._ Here comes the madman. (_Gets R. Dennis runs behind the table, -seizing the carving-knife. Major Fingers crawls under the table with the -lunch. Enter Charles, L., in pantaloons and white shirt, with a sheet -draped about his body. A wreath of straw “à la King Lear” on his head, -his face whitened._) - -_Charles_ (_gesticulating wildly_). There he is! Grinning demon, why do -you defy me? (_makes a dash at Wiggins, who escapes to L._) - -_Wiggins._ Please, sir, I don’t know. I am an unfortunate man. - -_Charles._ Liar! You have robbed me of that which time can never restore. - -_Dennis._ Somebody’s stole his watch. - -_Charles._ Villain, destroyer of my peace, vile caitiff, thou must die! I -will have thy heart’s blood. (_Makes another dash at Wiggins, who escapes -to R._) - -_Wiggins._ Here’s another wants blood, blood, blood! - -_Charles._ Silence, demon! Where’s my wife? - -_Major._ Oh, dear, me! where’s mine? - -_Charles._ My wife, my wife, my wife! - -_Dennis._ That’s three wives. That fellar’s a Mormon. - -_Charles_ (_seizing Wiggins and dragging him to centre_). Now, demon, -I have thee in my grasp, and if ever you escape, it shall be with the -everlasting curses of Black Ralph. - -_Wiggins_ (_on his knees_). Murder! He will strangle me. - -_Dennis._ Watch! Watch! - -_Major._ Barnum! Barnum! - -_Charles._ Villain, confess your sins at once. - -_Wiggins._ Please, Mr. Black Ralph, I haven’t got any. - -_Charles._ ’Tis false! Confess yourself a vile impostor. - -_Wiggins._ Well, well, I am. - -_Charles._ Your Great Elixir is-- - -_Wiggins._ A humbug. (_Enter Greenbax and Aspen, L._) - -_Charles._ Repeat it before these gentlemen. - -_Wiggins._ I am a humbug. My Elixir is a humbug, and everything is a -humbug. Now let me go (_rises_). - -_Aspen._ Have I been deceived? Oh, you villain! - -_Greenbax._ What ails the doctor? - -_Dennis._ His nerves are a little shaken. - -_Greenbax._ No, no! I don’t want to be shaken. - -_Major._ What! sha’n’t I be a tall man? - -_Dennis._ Nary at all, at all. - -_Major._ Wont “Vene” make me pay for this? - -_Charles._ Now, Mr. Doctor, you can go (_removing wreath_). You see I -have recovered my senses. I have exposed your quackery. I’ll give you -three hours to leave town; if you are not gone then, I’ll hand you over -to the police. - -_Wiggins_ (_aside_). What a fool I’ve been! (_Enter Harry and Herbert, -L._) There are the ruffians. Seize them! I charge those two individuals -with a conspiracy to murder me at the dread hour of midnight. Blood! -blood! blood! - -_Harry._ Why, Charley, what does this mean? - -_Charles._ That I have exposed a quack, and saved my Aunt Hopkins from -making a fool of herself. - -_Wiggins._ But I charge these villains with an attempt to murder me. Did -you not a short time since, in this very room, concoct a vile plot to -murder me at the dread hour of midnight? - -_Herbert._ Ha, ha, ha! Harry, your new play has evidently made an -impression on the doctor. - -_Wiggins._ Play? - -_Harry._ Yes, play. Waiting for you, I entertained my friend, here, with -an extract from my new play. Would you like to hear it again? - -_Wiggins._ No, I thank you. Fooled again. Here’s a pretty kettle of fish. -The Great Elixir exploded and its great inventor obliged to leave town by -rail or on a rail. What shall I do? Mr. Greenbax,--you like my Elixir; -don’t you? - -_Greenbax._ Hey? - -_Wiggins._ You like my Elixir; don’t you? - -_Greenbax._ Oh, yes, I use it in my house. - -_Wiggins._ You hear that, gentlemen? - -_Charley._ What for, Mr. Greenbax? - -_Greenbax._ To kill rats. It’s a dead shot. - -_Wiggins._ But you like it, Mr. Aspen? - -_Aspen_ (_shaking_). No, no, it’s villanous. - -_Dennis._ Bedad, if it’s like you, it’s no great shakes. - -_Wiggins._ Major, I can still depend upon you for a customer? - -_Major._ Not much. “Vene” called you a quack. - -_Dennis._ Faith, “Vene” ought to know, for she’s a duck herself. - -_Wiggins._ All forsake me. “The Great Elixir” is doomed. No, it isn’t. -(_To audience._) Ladies and gentlemen, you have had a dose of it -to-night; may I hope that you will recommend it. It may not perform all -the wonderful cures it pretends. What medicine can? If it has pleased -you, and you are inclined to take another dose, my purpose here is -accomplished, and I shall still have great faith in the power of The -Great Elixir. - -R. Dennis, Fingers, Aspen, Wiggins, Herbert, Harry, Greenbax. L. - -[3] This feat of growing is performed by a well-known trick. Bob’s cap is -fastened to the cloak behind; he carries a long stick concealed beneath -the cloak, one end of which is placed in the cap; after drinking, he -turns his back, goes to the wall, and gradually raises the stick, of -course raising the cap and cloak. Commencing at R. and going towards the -L., raising and lowering the stick, bobbing here and there, it has the -appearance of a growing man; when he reaches the door, L., he suddenly -lowers it and exits. Should this be found too difficult to perform, -the piece is so arranged as to admit of “cutting” by leaving out the -characters of Major Fingers and Bob, of course, omitting all the “lines” -of Wiggins and Dennis referring to this scene. - - - - -THE MAN WITH THE DEMIJOHN. - -A TEMPERANCE SKETCH. - - -CHARACTERS. - - ZEKIEL SHORT (Corresponding Secretary of the Rocky-valley Teetotalers). - PHIL CARSON, } anti-teetotalers. - NED HUNTER, } - CHICK (an infantile darkey). - - -COSTUMES. - - _Zeke._--Long white overcoat, checked pants, light wig, white hat. - _Phil._ } Seedy clothes, red noses, and slouched hats. - _Ned._ } - _Chick._--Woolly wig, blackened face, overalls, and checked shirt. - - - SCENE.--_Back street in Boston. Should it not be convenient - to have scenery, a very good substitute can be obtained by - spreading upon the wall at the back of the stage a variety of - posters, show-bills, advertisements, &c._ - -_Enter PHIL, L._ - -_Phil._ Well, if this isn’t particularly pleasant! I’ve been roaming -round town ever since the break of day, longing and waiting for my -bitters. Dead broke, bank closed, and credit exhausted. Nobody asks me -to take a drop. The landlords won’t treat, and I can’t find a copper -in the gutter. I have begged of everybody I met; but it’s no use. One -man said he would give me a loaf of bread. Bread!--do I look like a man -that wants bread? No, I want something to drink: when I can’t get that, -I’ll begin to think about bread. Another man said he would give me a -breakfast if I would work for him an hour. Work! I never did work, and -I don’t think I shall begin now. I’m one of the aristocracy; they don’t -work; society takes care of them when they’re unfortunate: so let society -take care of me. I wish I could find a dollar, or a half a dollar, or a -quarter, or a ten-cent bit, or-- (_Enter NED, R._) Halloo, Ned! is that -you? - -_Ned._ Yes, all there is left of me! What are you doing down there? - -_Phil._ Looking for my diamond pin. But what’s the matter with you? You -look as though, like me, you hadn’t had your bitters this morning. - -_Ned._ No, I haven’t had my bitters; and that’s what’s the matter. This -is an ungrateful country! Why don’t it take care of its “bone and sinew” -better. There’s those chaps at the State House mighty civil to you just -before election. Plenty of liquor then,--enough to float us all. - -_Phil._ That’s why we are called the floating population,--hey, Ned? - -_Ned._ But no sooner is election over than they shut themselves up, won’t -treat themselves, and go to making laws against selling liquor, which -prevents their constituents from obtaining the necessities of life. -There’s gratitude for you. - -_Phil._ Put not your trust in princes, Ned. - -_Ned._ Trust! I wish I could find somebody to trust me. I wasted my -valuable time last night in Steve Foster’s bar-room, laying round to get -asked to drink; and I was asked. And Steve Foster made money by my being -there; and now this morning, when I ask him for a drop of gin, he says, -“Where’s your money?”--“Ain’t got any,” was my reply; and then, before -I had time to explain things, he gives me a lift, and sends me into the -gutter. I say this is an ungrateful country, where a hard-working man -like me is used in this way. - -_Phil._ Hard-working man you are! What do you work at? - -_Ned._ Yes, hard-working indeed. Don’t I inspect liquors that go into -Steve Foster’s cellar, to see that they are genuine? - -_Phil._ How, pray? - -_Ned._ By smelling round his cellar windows. Do you think I don’t _nose_ -good liquor? - -_Phil._ Well, I guess we don’t either of us “nose” much liquor this -morning. - -_Ned._ Look here, Phil: when I was in Steve Foster’s just now, a -greenhorn was buying some liquor. I don’t know what it was; but it was -put up in a demijohn. There he is now (_pointing, L._), coming this way. -If we can only manage to get possession of that demijohn, we’re safe for -one drink at least. - -_Phil._ Good! let’s try it on,--pass ourselves off for State constables, -give him a scare. - -_Ned._ All right, stand back, here he is! (_They retire back. Enter ZEKE, -L., with demijohn._) - -_Zeke._ I declare I feel about as mean as old Deacon Smithers did when -he split his bran-new, brass-button, Sunday-go-to-meeting coat clean up -the back while he was on his knees to Aunt Nabby’s darter Susan, popping -the question, and she wouldn’t have him neither? Here am I Zekiel Short, -Corresponding Secretary to the Rocky-valley Teetotalers, sneaking through -the streets of Boston with a demijohn in my hand. I daren’t look a decent -man in the face; and as for the gals--Christopher! the sight of one on -’em makes me blush way up to the roots of my hair. Catch me in such a -scrape again! Got all my groceries and fixin’s up to the cars fust-rate, -all ready for a start, when I happened to think that our apothecary -wanted me to bring up something for him to make matrimonial wine of--no, -that ain’t it; antimonial wine,--something for sick folks: and he wanted -to get the poorest and cheapest stuff that I could scare up; and I rather -think I have something that will suit him. I can smell turpentine way -through that demijohn; and I shouldn’t wonder if it eat its way out -afore I got home. I shouldn’t like to have any of our folks see me in -this pickle, they’d have me up for backslidin’ sure as preaching. (_Phil -and Ned have been prowling round Zeke during this speech eyeing him and -the demijohn._) Neow, what’s them are chaps eyeing me for? I wonder if -they’re State constables. How do you do, sir? - -_Phil._ Sha’n’t I assist you with that demijohn, Mr. Johnson? - -_Zeke._ No, I thank you; and my name ain’t Johnson, nor demi-Johnson -either. - -_Ned._ Sha’n’t I assist you, Mr. Eh---- Mr. Eh----? - -_Zeke._ Well, I guess not; and my name ain’t Mr. Eh----. - -_Phil._ Do let me take it for you, you look fatigued. - -_Zeke._ Do I? well, so do you. You look kinder peaked, as though you’d -slept on the top of the meeting-house steeple, and had to shin down the -lightning-rod afore breakfast, with nary a streak of lightning to grease -your way. - -_Ned._ You’d better let my friend carry it for you. He’s used to carrying -such things. - -_Zeke._ Well, I haven’t the least doubt of that. You both look as though -you could carry a great quantity of this article. I’ll carry it myself; -but I’m just as much obliged to you; and, to show my gratitude, won’t you -take something? - - _Ned._ } _eagerly_. Yes, yes! - _Phil._ } - -_Zeke._ Well, s’pose you take a walk. - -_Phil._ Look here, Mr. What’s-your-name. There’s just enough of this. -I’ll take that demijohn. I’m a State constable. - -_Zeke._ A what? - -_Ned._ A State constable. So am I. Our orders are to arrest all -suspicious persons with demijohns. - -_Zeke._ Sho, are you, though? State constables! well, I declare, I never -should have thought it! - -_Phil._ So I’ll thank you for that demijohn. - -_Zeke._ _State constables!_ Well, I declare! Want my demijohn too? Do -you know where I came from? - -_Phil._ Yes: from the Rural District. - -_Zeke._ Rural? where’s that? No, sir: I’m from Rocky-valley District; -and, when a constable asks us for a demijohn in that style, we say, -“Where’s your warrant?” - -_Phil._ Oh! you do, do you? Well, a warrant isn’t necessary here; so give -up your demijohn. - -_Ned._ Come, give it up, and save further trouble. - -_Zeke._ Look here, State constables, I’m a peaceable citizen. I’m also -a plain-spoken individual. You’re a couple of State constables? Where’s -your uniform? There’s nothing uniform about you, except your red noses, -which are pretty well matched. Look here! (_Takes off his coat._) That -demijohn is under my protection. I’m mighty ashamed of its company; but -I’m bound to take it home with me, if it don’t burn up on the way; and, -if you want it, come and take it. (_Backs up stage, squares off, and -shows fight._) - -_Phil_ (_coming forward_). We sha’n’t get it that way. - -_Ned._ No, sir. State constables won’t do. We can’t take it. Ah! a lucky -thought. There’s that little darkey Chick playing by the water. Go push -him in quick. - -_Phil._ What’s the joke? - -_Ned._ No matter, go and do it; and then come back yelling for help. - -_Phil._ Ah! I see it. (_Exit, L._) - -_Zeke_ (_resuming his coat_). Well, as there doesn’t seem to be any very -great danger of a raid, I’ll move along towards the cars. Them chaps want -my demijohn pretty bad. (_Phil cries outside, “Help! Help!”_) Halloo! -what’s that? (_Enter PHIL, L._) - -_Phil._ Ned, can you swim? - -_Ned._ Swim? not a stroke. What’s the matter? - -_Phil._ A little darkey has just fallen into the water there. I tried to -reach him with a pole, but failed; and I mustn’t go into the water: my -physician said it would be the death of me. - -_Zeke._ You cursed fools! is that the way you chatter when a -fellow-creature is drowning? Where is he? - -_Ned._ Can you swim? - -_Zeke_ (_throws off his coat_). Of course I can. Where is he, I say? - -_Phil._ Right off there: you can see his head just going under for the -last time. Do save him! - -_Zeke._ I’ll save him if the wool holds. (_Exit ZEKE, L._) - -_Phil._ And I’ll save your demijohn! (_Both Phil and Ned rush together to -the demijohn._) - -_Phil._ Let’s take it home at once. - -_Ned._ Hold on, I must have a drop. - -_Phil._ Be quick, then; he’ll be back. Let me have the first pull. - -_Ned._ No, no: that brilliant idea by which we obtained it was mine. - -_Phil._ But I executed it, and nearly executed the darkey at the same -time. - -_Ned._ Well, well, hurry, hurry! - -_Phil._ Then here goes (_drinks and spits out_). Oh! murder, what stuff! -Do you suppose it is poison? - -_Ned._ It came from Steve Foster’s. You ought to know the taste of every -thing in his place. - -_Phil._ But this is horrible. - -_Ned._ No matter, down with it! “Beggars shouldn’t be choosers,” you know. - -_Phil._ Here goes (_drinks, and hands the demijohn to Ned_). I’ve given -my stomach a surprise-party, I guess. - -_Ned._ Ah! “this is the nectar that Jupiter sips” (_drinks, and spits -out_). Phew! concentrated essence of all that is horrible! What stuff! - -_Phil._ Here comes the Yankee. - -_Ned._ Then here goes! (_Drinks, and then PHIL and NED separate and get -in R. and L. corners of the stage, leaving the demijohn in the centre. -Enter ZEKE, L. dragging Chick._) - -_Zeke._ There, you little specimen of ball-blacking, try and keep out of -the water! What sent you there? - -_Chick._ Donno, Massa: spec it was a conwulsion. - -_Zeke._ Where would you have gone to if I hadn’t pulled you out? - -_Chick._ Donno Massa: spec I’d gone to Dixie. - -_Zeke._ Well, go and lay down there and dry yourself. - -_Chick._ Spec I will, massa. - -(_Chick goes back, and, during the next dialogue, manages to get at the -demijohn, and take a drink._) - -_Zeke_ (_putting on his coat_). Halloo! where’s my demijohn? Ho, ho! I -didn’t leave it there. The “State constables” have been at it, have they? -(_Lifts it._) How light it is! Those chaps have helped themselves while -I was pulling out the darkey. If they don’t have a convulsion in their -insides, then I’m a Dutchman. Here’s a chance for a speculation. I’ll try -the effects of a little “moral suasion,” and see if I can’t add a couple -of names to the temperance pledge. (_To Phil._) Look here, you’ve been -at my demijohn? - -_Phil._ I, sir? Why, I am a member of the temperance society, twenty -years’ standing. - -_Zeke_ (_aside_). Are you? well, you’re a-lying now. (_To Ned._) Did you -trouble my demijohn? - -_Ned._ Me, sir? No. I’m a reformed drunkard. - -_Zeke_ (_aside_). All but the reformed. (_Aloud._) Well, I’m glad it -wasn’t you; for whoever did touch it is a dead man. Do you know what’s in -that demijohn? - -_Ned_ (_aside_). Oh, dear, how queer I feel! (_Aloud._) No. - -_Phil_ (_aside_). Good gracious! what’s the matter with me? (_Aloud._) No. - -_Zeke._ That demijohn contains-- (_Pause._) - -_Ned_ (_aside_). Oh, murder! my vitals! (_Aloud._) Well, well, what does -it contain? - -_Zeke._ That demijohn contains-- (_Pause._) - -_Phil_ (_aside_). Oh, my insides! (_Aloud._) Well, well, speak quick. - -_Zeke._ That demijohn contains-- - -_Ned_ (_aside_). I’m burning up. - -_Phil_ (_aside_). I shall howl, I know I shall. - -_Zeke._ That demijohn contains-- Did you ever hear of Butler’s -New-Orleans Syrup? - - _Ned._ } Oh, oh! - _Phil._ } - -_Chick._ Ow, ow, ow! - -_Zeke._ Well, it isn’t that. Did you ever hear of Sherman’s Rebel Rat -Exterminator? - - _Phil._ } Oh, oh! - _Ned._ } - -_Chick._ Ow, ow, ow! - -_Zeke._ Well, it ain’t that. Did you ever hear of-- - - _Phil._ } Oh, oh! - _Ned._ } - -_Chick._ Ow, ow, ow! - -_Zeke._ Well, it ain’t that. - -_Phil._ Oh, horror! What is it? - -_Ned._ Oh, murder! What is it? - -_Zeke._ The what-is-it? No: it isn’t that. That’s one of Barnum’s -curiosities. - -_Ned._ For mercy’s sake tell me what is gnawing at my vitals. I feel my -strength failing me. I’m sure I’m a dead man. (_Kneels, R. of ZEKE._) I -confess it was I who drank your filthy stuff. - -_Phil_ (_kneels, L. of ZEKE_). And I confess too. I did drink your -poison. What shall we do? Save us if you can. - -_Chick_ (_kneels in front of ZEKE_). O massa! I spec’s I’s a goner. - -_Zeke._ Halloo, little nig, what’s the matter with you? - -_Chick._ Dunno, massa, spec’s there’s a yearthquake inside me. - -_Zeke._ Did you drink from that demijohn? - -_Chick._ Yes, massa: spec I did. You tole me to lay down and get dry; -and, by golly! I got dry so fast, I couldn’t help drinking. Sartin sure, -hope I may die, massa. - -_Zeke._ Well, you are a handsome group, you are! Feel puty sick, don’t -ye? - - _Phil._ } Oh, oh! - _Ned._ } - -_Chick._ Ow, ow! want to go to de horsefiddle. - -_Zeke._ You want to know the remedy? - - _Phil._ } _eagerly._ Yes, yes! the remedy. - _Ned._ } - -_Chick._ Yes, massa, de remember me. - -_Zeke._ Well, here it is. (_Produces pledge._) Here’s the pledge of the -Rocky-valley Teetotalers, whereby the signers promise to indulge in no -spirituous liquors. Sign this, and I’ll save you. - -_Ned._ What, promise to drink no more liquor! I’ll die first. - -_Phil._ What, sign away my liberty! Death first. - -_Zeke._ All right, liberty or death. You have swallowed poison, deadly -poison: it’s slow, but sure. Good-by. I’ll send the coroner for you in an -hour. - - _Phil._ } Oh! give us the pledge. - _Ned._ } - -_Zeke._ All right; here you are. (_Turns PHIL round, and places paper -on his back while NED signs; then places paper on NED’S back while PHIL -signs; both groaning during the operation._) Now, then, the best thing -you can do is to make a bee-line for that apothecary’s, and get an -emetic. (_NED and PHIL start, R._) Hold on! The nature of the poison you -have swallowed is such, that, should you ever take a drop of liquor into -your stomach, the old symptoms will return. - - _Phil._ } Oh, oh! - _Ned._ } - -_Zeke._ So look out! beware of any thing in the shape of liquor. - -_Phil._ I’ll beware of Yankees, you be sure. Oh! - -(_Exit, R._) - -_Ned._ Yes, keep clear of the man with a demijohn. Oh! - -(_Exit, R._) - -_Zeke._ Well, Chick. - -_Chick._ Well, massa, ain’t you gwine to make a tea-kettle of me? - -_Zeke._ By and by, Chick; but for the present you shall be -demijohn-bearer to the corresponding secretary of the Rocky-valley -Teetotalers. You’ve had a little too much of water to-day, and I think a -little too much of spirits. - -_Chick._ Ow, ow, by golly, I feel him now! - -_Zeke._ Well, take up the demijohn and go with me. I’ve added two names -to the temperance pledge. I haven’t much hope of their sticking; but I -rather think they’ll have good cause to remember this day, and their -adventure with the man with the demijohn. - -(_Exit ZEKE and CHICK, R._) - -_Curtain._ - - - - -AN ORIGINAL IDEA. - -A DUOLOGUE FOR A LADY AND GENTLEMAN. - -IN TWO PARTS. - - -CHARACTERS. - - FESTUS, a rejected suitor. - STELLA, the cruel rejecter. - - - SCENE.--_A handsomely furnished apartment in the house - of STELLA. Table, C., with rich cover, books, flowers, - &c. Tête-à-tête, R. C., armchairs, R. and L. of table, C. - Entrances, R., L., and C. Enter FESTUS, L., in evening costume._ - -_Festus._ “Thus far into the bowels of the land have we marched on -without impediment.” Here am I once more in the place from which, but one -short week ago, I made an unceremonious exit as the rejected suitor of a -young, lovely, and talented lady. Rejected suitor!--those words slip very -smoothly from the lips, as pleasantly as though they were associated with -some high-sounding title of nobility. There is nothing in the sound of -them to conjure up the miserable, mean, contemptible, kicked-out feeling -which a man experiences who has received at the hands of lovely woman -that specimen of feminine handicraft,--the mitten. All my own fault too! -I’m a bashful man. Modesty, the virtue which is said to have been “the -ruination of Ireland,” is the rock against which my soaring ambition has -dashed itself. I have sat in this room, evening after evening, upon the -edge of a chair, twirling my thumbs, and saying--nothing. I couldn’t -help it. I have brought scores of compliments to the door, and left -them in the hall with my hat. I wanted to speak; I kept up “a deuse of -a thinking;” but somehow, when I had an agreeable speech ready to pop -out of my mouth, it seemed to be frightened at the sight of the fair -object against whom it was to be launched, and tumbled back again. It’s -no use: when a man is in love, the more he loves, the more silent he -becomes; at least it was so in my case. And when I did manage, after much -stammering and blushing, to “pop the question,” the first word from the -lady set me shivering; and the conclusion of her remarks set me running -from the house utterly demoralized,--“I shall always be happy to see you -as a _friend_, your conversation is so agreeable.” Here was a damper, -after six weeks of unremitting though _silent_ attention. But she likes -me, I’m sure of that. It is my silence which has frightened her. I only -need a little more variety in my style of conversation to make myself -agreeable to her. I have an original idea; and I advise all bashful men -to take warning from my past experience, and profit by my future. I -will _borrow_ language in which to speak my passion. There’s nothing -very original in borrowing, financially speaking; but to borrow another -man’s ideas by which to make love, I call original. And, as luck would -have it, I have an excellent opportunity to test my new idea. Lounging -in the sanctum of my friend Quill, the editor of “The Postscript,” a few -days ago, he called my attention to an advertisement which had just been -presented for insertion. It ran thus: “Wanted, a reader,--a gentleman who -has studied poetic and dramatic compositions with a view to delivery, who -has a good voice, and who would be willing to give one evening a week -to the entertaining of an invalid. Address, with references, ‘Stella,’ -Postscript Office.” I recognized the handwriting as that of the lady to -whom I had been paying attentions, the signature as the _nom de plume_ -under which she had written several poetic contributions for the press; -and I had no trouble in guessing the meaning of the advertisement, -knowing she has an invalid uncle. “There is a tide in the affairs of men, -which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune.” I felt that it was high -tide with me, and boldly launched my canoe; answered the advertisement -under the assumed name of “Festus,” and waited for a reply. It came: -“Stella is satisfied with the references of Festus, and will give him an -opportunity to test his ability as a reader Tuesday evening next,”[4] -&c. You will naturally conclude that my heart bounded with rapture on -receiving this favorable answer. It did nothing of the sort: on the -contrary, the _re_bound almost took away my breath. I began to shiver -and shake, and felt inclined to retreat. But “love conquers all things.” -I determined to persevere; and here I am, by appointment, to test the -practicability of my original idea. The lady is a fine reader. I am well -acquainted with her favorite authors; and, if I can but interest her -in this novel suit, may at least pass a pleasant evening if I am not -unspeakably happy. I was told to wait for Stella. (_Takes a book from -table, and sits L. of table, with his back to R._) Shakspeare, ah! Let me -draw a little courage from the perusal of this. (_Enter STELLA, R., in -evening costume, with flowers in her hair._) - -_Stella._ My maid said Festus was in this room. Ah! there he is, deep in -a book: that’s so like these literary gentry! No sooner are their roving -eyes fastened on a book than it is seized with the avidity with which a -starving man grasps a loaf of bread. He seems happy: I will not disturb -him. (_Sits on tête-à-tête._) What a strange idea! Here am I to pass the -evening listening to the voice of one whom I never saw before. This is -one of my uncle’s whims: he fears I am working too hard to entertain him -with readings from his favorite authors, and so determines to employ a -reader to relieve me. Dear uncle, with all his pain and suffering he has -a sharp eye: he notices my want of spirit, and thinks it is caused by -weariness. He little knows that the true cause is that stupid lover of -mine, who sat here evening after evening as dumb as an oyster, until, out -of spite, I started him off. What could have ailed the man? Nothing could -he say but “Yes, ma’am,” “No, ma’am,” “Fine evening,” “Good-night.” I -never was so plagued in all my life, for I should have liked the fellow -if he had only tried to make himself agreeable; but he was as silent and -stupid as--Festus here. (_FESTUS rises, gesticulating with his hand, his -eyes fastened on the book._) What can the man be about? - -_Festus._ (_Reading._) “Is this a dagger which I see before me? the -handle towards my hand? Come, let me clutch thee! I have thee not, and -yet I see”-- (_Turns and sees STELLA. Drops book, and runs behind chair -very confused._) - -_Stella._ Good gracious! you here again? - -_Festus._ I beg your pardon. You are--I am-- - -_Stella._ I thought, sir, I was to have no more of your agreeable society. - -_Festus._ I beg your pardon, madam: you seem to be in error. I am -Festus,--Festus. - -_Stella._ You Festus? - -_Festus._ Oh, yes: I’m Festus! I came here by appointment. - -_Stella._ What do you mean, sir? I expected a gentleman here to read. - -_Festus._ Exactly! Pray, are you the invalid? - -_Stella._ Sir, you are insulting! You will be kind enough to leave this -room at once. I thought the last time you were here-- - -_Festus._ Excuse me for interrupting; but you evidently mistake me for -some other person. I never was in this house before. - -_Stella._ Is the man crazy? Do you mean to say you did not make a -proposal of marriage to me in this very room a week ago? - -_Festus._ Madam, you surprise me. To the best of my knowledge and belief, -I never saw you before. - -_Stella._ Was there ever such assurance? Is not your name-- - -_Festus._ Festus; and yours Stella. Am I not right? - -_Stella._ Sir, this is very provoking; but, if you are Festus, what is -your object in calling here? - -_Festus._ To entertain you. - -_Stella._ To entertain me! With what, pray? Sitting on the edge of a -chair, and twirling your thumbs? - -_Festus._ (_Aside._) That’s a hard hit. (_Aloud._) With readings, if you -please. - -_Stella._ Readings! Pray, what do you read? Ovid’s “Art of Love”? - -_Festus._ Madam, I answered your advertisement, being desirous of -securing the situation of reader to an invalid. - -_Stella._ You won’t suit. - -_Festus._ You haven’t heard me. - -_Stella._ No, but I’ve seen you; and your silence cannot be excelled by -your reading. - -_Festus._ Will you hear me read? - -_Stella._ No: you will not suit. - -_Festus._ Very well: then I _claim_ the trial. Remember your -promise,--“Stella is satisfied with the references of ‘Festus,’ and will -give him an opportunity to test his ability as a reader Tuesday evening,” -&c., &c. - -_Stella._ Oh, very well! If you insist upon making yourself ridiculous, -proceed. (_Sits in chair, R. of table, and turns her back on FESTUS._) - -_Festus._ But will you not listen to me? I cannot read to you while you -sit in that position. - -_Stella._ I told you I did not wish to hear you read: you insist. -Proceed: I am not interested. - -_Festus._ Oh, very well! My first selection shall be from the writings of -one well known to fame,--a lady whose compositions have electrified the -world; whose poetic effusions have lulled to sleep the cross and peevish -infant, stilled the noisy nursery, and exerted an influence upon mankind -of great and lasting power; one whose works are memorable for their -antiquity,--the gift of genius to the budding greatness of the nineteenth -century. (_Producing a book from his pocket._) I will read from Mother -Goose. - -_Stella._ (_Starting up._) Mother Goose! - -_Festus._ Yes: are you acquainted with the lady? - -_Stella._ (_Sarcastically._) I have heard of her. - -_Festus._ (_Reads in very melodramatic style._) - - “‘We are three brethren out of Spain, - Come to court your daughter Jane.’ - ‘My daughter Jane she is too young: - She is not skilled in flattering tongue.’ - ‘Be she young, or be she old, - ’Tis for her gold she must be sold. - So fare you well, my lady gay: - We will return another day.’” - -How do you like that? - -_Stella._ (_Fiercely._) I don’t like it. - -_Festus._ No? Perhaps you prefer some other style of delivery. (_Reads -with a drawl._) - - “‘We awe thwe bwethwen aw-out of Spain, - Come to court-aw your dawtaw Jane-aw.’” - -_Stella._ Oh, do read some thing else! - -_Festus._ Certainly. - - “Hi diddel diddel! the cat and the fiddle! - The cow jumped over the moon”-- - -_Stella._ (_Jumps up._) Pray, sir, do you intend to read that nonsense -the whole evening? - -_Festus._ Oh, no! I think I can get through the book in about an hour. - -_Stella._ Sir, you have forced yourself here, an unwelcome visitor: you -insist upon my hearing such nonsense as Mother-Goose melodies for an -hour. Do you call that gentlemanly? - -_Festus._ Madam, you advertised for a reader. I have applied, with your -permission, for the situation. Under the circumstances, I naturally -expected to have your attention during the reading of such selections as -I should offer; instead of which, you turn your back upon me, and very -coolly bid me proceed. Do _you_ call that ladylike? - -_Stella._ Frankly, no. You have asked the trial: you shall have it. For -an hour I will hear you; and, though I strongly suspect the situation -of reader is not the object of your visit, you shall have no reason to -complain of my inattention. Is that satisfactory? - -_Festus._ Pray go a step farther. You are said to have fine elocutionary -powers. May I not hope to have the pleasure of hearing your voice? Grant -me your assistance, and my hour’s trial may perhaps be made agreeable to -both. - -_Stella._ Oh! not quite certain of your ability, Mr. Festus? - -_Festus._ Not in the presence of so fine a reader. - -_Stella._ A compliment! Well, I agree. - -_Festus._ Let me hear you read: that will give me courage to make the -attempt myself. - -_Stella._ Oh, very well! Remembering your partiality for juvenile -literature, you will pardon me if I read a very short but sweet poem. -(_Produces a printed handkerchief from her pocket._) - -_Festus._ Ah, a pocket edition! - -_Stella._ (_Reads from the handkerchief._) - - “Who sat and watched my infant head - When sleeping on my cradle-bed, - And tears of sweet affection shed? - My mother. - - When sleep forsook my open eye, - Who was it sang sweet lullaby, - And rocked me that I should not cry? - My mother. - - When pain and sickness made me cry, - Who gazed upon my heavy eye, - And wept for fear that I should die? - My mother.” - -There, sir! what do you say to that? - -_Festus._ It’s very sweet. But that child had too many mothers. Now, I -prefer Tom Hood’s parody. (_Reads “A Lay of Real Life,” by Thomas Hood._) - - A LAY OF REAL LIFE. - - Who ruined me ere I was born, - Sold every acre, grass or corn, - And left the next heir all forlorn? - My Grandfather. - - Who said my mother was no nurse, - And physicked me, and made me worse, - Till infancy became a curse? - My Grandmother. - - Who left me in my seventh year, - A comfort to my mother dear, - And Mr. Pope the overseer? - My Father. - - Who let me starve to buy her gin, - Till all my bones came through my skin, - Then called me “ugly little sin”? - My Mother. - - Who said my mother was a Turk, - And took me home, and made me work, - But managed half my meals to shirk? - My Aunt. - - Who “of all earthly things” would boast, - “He hated others’ brats the most,” - And therefore made me feel my post? - My Uncle. - - Who got in scrapes, an endless score, - And always laid them at my door, - Till many a bitter bang I bore? - My Cousin. - - Who took me home when mother died, - Again with father to reside, - Black shoes, clean knives, run far and wide? - My Stepmother. - - Who marred my stealthy urchin joys, - And, when I played, cried “What a noise!”-- - Girls always hector over boys-- - My Sister. - - Who used to share in what was mine, - Or took it all, did he incline, - ’Cause I was eight, and he was nine? - My Brother. - - Who stroked my head, and said, “Good lad,” - And gave me sixpence, “all he had;” - But at the stall the coin was bad? - My Godfather. - - Who, gratis, shared my social glass, - But, when misfortune came to pass, - Referred me to the pump? Alas! - My Friend. - - Through all this weary world, in brief, - Who ever sympathized with grief, - Or shared my joy, my sole relief? - Myself. - -_Stella._ That is very amusing; but, Mr. Festus, if this is the extent of -your elocutionary acquirements-- - -_Festus._ Oh, I beg your pardon! By no means! With your permission, I -will read something a little more sombre,--Edgar Poe’s “Raven.” - -_Stella._ That is certainly more sombre. Proceed. - -_Reading. “The Raven,” by Edgar A. Poe. FESTUS._ - -_Stella._ Excellent! Mr. Festus, you are certainly a good reader. But -this seems to affect you. - -_Festus._ It does, it does; for I, too, have lost one-- - -_Stella._ A raven? - -_Festus._ Pshaw! Come, madam, I believe you are to read now, and I to -listen. - -_Stella._ Certainly. I will read, with your permission, Whittier’s “Maud -Muller.” - -_Festus._ I should be delighted to hear it. - -_Reading. “Maud Muller.” STELLA._ - -_Festus._ Beautiful, beautiful! Madam, this, too, affects me. - -_Stella._ How? - -_Festus._ When I think “it might have been.” - -_Stella._ Then I wouldn’t think of it, if I were you. What shall we have -now? - -_Festus._ Suppose we read together. - -_Stella._ Together? - -_Festus._ Yes, a scene from some play. There’s “The Marble Heart.” - -_Stella._ Oh, there’s nothing in that but love-scenes! - -_Festus._ It’s a favorite play with me; and I have been thinking, while -you were reading, that the character of “Marco” is one in which you might -excel. - -_Stella._ Indeed! I have studied the character. - -_Festus._ (_Aside._) I should think so. (_Aloud._) Let us attempt a -scene. Come, you shall have your choice. - -_Stella._ Thank you. Then I will choose “the rejection scene.” - -_Festus._ (_Aside._) Of course you would! (_Aloud._) Very well. - -_Stella._ Do you know, Mr. Festus, I think there is something very odd in -your attempting a love-scene? - -_Festus._ Do you? I have attempted them, and with success too. - -_Stella._ Ah! I remember there was one attempted here. - -_Festus._ Indeed! - -_Stella._ Yes; but the gentleman’s name was not Festus. - -_Festus._ Shall we try the scene? - -_Stella._ You must prompt me if I fail. - -_Festus._ Fail! “In the bright lexicon of youth, there’s no such word as -fail.” - -_Stella._ Ah! but, in attempts at acting, there are many failures. - -_Festus._ True; but yours will not be one of them. - -_Stella._ (_Aside._) Another compliment! I begin to like the fellow. - -_Festus._ Now, then, the scene! (_STELLA takes a bouquet from the table, -sits on tête-à-tête, R._) - - SCENE FROM “THE MARBLE HEART.” - - (_Arranged for this piece._) - - _Marco_, STELLA. _Raphael_, FESTUS. - - _Raph._ I have endured the sarcasms of Monsieur de Veaudore, - the disavowal of your love, the reproaches and anger of my only - friend, who insulted me in my last adieu: for your sake, I have - become a coward, a crawling, abject wretch, without heart, - without mind, without shame. (_Throws himself into chair, L., - and covers his face with his hands. A pause. MARCO pulls the - bouquet to pieces. RAPHAEL raises his head, looks at her, and - endeavors to speak with firmness._) What did that man say to - you? I have a right to ask. - - _Marco._ (_Smiling in derision._) Right! - - _Raph._ Yes, Marco, the right of a man, who, knowing he is to - die, would learn the time and manner of his death. He told you - he loved you? - - _Marco._ (_Carelessly._) Perhaps he did: what then? - - _Raph._ (_Violently._) You accepted his love? - - _Marco._ I will not answer you. - - _Raph._ But you must, you shall! - - _Marco._ (_Disdainfully._) Shall! - - _Raph._ He offered you his hand? (_A pause._) Speak, Marco, - speak: in mercy let me know the worst. - - _Marco._ He did. - - _Raph._ And you accepted? - - _Marco._ (_Coldly._) Yes. - - _Raph._ (_Greatly agitated._) O Marco, Marco! (_Violently, - rising._) You shall not marry him! - - _Marco._ (_With contempt._) Who shall prevent me? - - _Raph._ (_With a burst of fury._) The man you have wronged! - (_Suddenly losing all command over himself, and throwing - himself at her feet in an agony of grief._) No, no! Pity, - pity for the wretched maniac who cannot live without - you--humanity--remorse-- - - _Marco._ (_Taking away her hand, and rising, with contempt - and rage._) Remorse! I am weary of this persecution, these - clamors, these maledictions. You think me a monster of - falsehood, inconstant as the wind, perfidious as the ocean, - the incarnation of caprice, selfishness, and cruelty? And why? - Because I am too wise to rush headlong to ruin, and too proud - to be pitied. - - _Raph._ Pitied, Marco! - - _Marco._ Yes (_vehemently_), pitied, insulted, and despised. - Look at me now, surrounded with every luxury that art can - invent and gold can purchase. Everybody bows to me. I am a - queen. Divest me of these gilded claims to the world’s respect, - and what am I? (_Bitterly._) The dust--the friends who now - follow my carriage, and fight for my smiles, will mock me, - spurn me, and trample upon me. - - _Raph._ Marco, Marco! in mercy-- - - _Marco._ I have known poverty, and have suffered such tortures - in its hideous grasp that my heart sickens and my soul shudders - at facing it again. You will perhaps laugh at my fear, and say - there is happiness in poverty. (_Laughing in scorn._) Yes, for - those who are born to it; but to have known better days, and - fall! Oh the misery, the heart-desolation, the despair! My - father was rich and proud, the descendant of a noble family. He - lived in splendor, and brought me up to despise every thing but - wealth. He showed me its power: it surrounded him with friends - and flatterers, and made life a perpetual summer. An evil day - arrived: he speculated, and was reduced to his last crown. - Where were his friends? (_Laughing in scorn, and speaking - in a hoarse voice._) They passed him in the street without - recognition, they maligned, they despised, they forgot him. - (_Sinks into a chair, sobbing, and wiping her eyes._) - - _Raph._ Forbear, Marco, forbear! - - _Marco._ Ten years (oh, how long the days and months!) we lived - in poverty,--abject, squalid, starving poverty. I saw my father - in the prime of his life grow old, decrepit, and insane. In his - ravings he had but one thought, “Money, money, money!” “Cling - to it, my child,” he would say to me with glaring eyes and - grinding teeth,--“cling to it, Marco, as you would to a raft - in shipwreck: it is the all in all of our existence. See what - the loss of it has brought to me. Let your heart be marble to - _every thing_ but gold, gold, gold!” - - _Raph._ O misery! - - _Marco._ My father died, and I was left dependent on the - charity of my relations. (_With savage scorn._) Charity! I wore - their cast clothes, waited on their will,--their servant, their - encumbrance, their hopeless slave. One happy day, Providence - came to my relief: I was left a small fortune. (_Rising._) - From that moment I became a statue. The recollection of my - days of misery extinguished the glowing impulses of my youth; - and I lived on the surface of the world, mixing in all its gay - pleasures, caressed and _fêted_, the idol of the hour, hating - and despising the smiling monster, and devising means to secure - my independence. A wealthy marriage was the only course; and - for that I have devoted myself, heart and mind; for that I - have been cruel, false, and pitiless; for that I am deaf to - reproaches, dead to remorse. (_Sits._) - - _Raph._ (_In amazement._) I hear you, Marco, and disbelieve - my ears: I see you, and doubt my eyes. Those fearful words, - those evil looks,--is it possible such hideousness can dwell - in such a heavenly shrine? (_Growing gradually frantic._) But - I am glad, very glad, you have at last been candid with me: it - relieves me from a world of sorrow, it rescues me from despair. - Yet I hoped you had some regard for me, some little regret - for--Ah, well! it was my accursed vanity. How could I ever - hope to?-- (_Laughing hysterically, and speaking in a hoarse - whisper._) I, too, am a deception: I have pretended to devote - to you my heart, my life, my soul--no such thing! I, too, wore - a mask--ha, ha, ha! When my eyes looked fondest, my heart was - plotting treachery; when I swore you were my happiness, I felt - you were my curse; when I vowed I could not live without you, - I was devising means to break with you--ha, ha, ha! We owe - each other nothing; we are both demons: but the comedy is over - now, and the actors have returned to their every-day costumes - and natures. I wish to be a gentleman, like Monsieur Veaudore. - Mademoiselle Marco, I ask pardon for having annoyed you so - long. I leave you to your pleasures. (_He endeavors to kiss her - hand; but she recoils, alarmed by the wildness of his tone and - looks._) What do you fear? (_With a burst of maniac laughter._) - There is no venom on my lips: it is in my heart! (_Kisses her - hand._) - - _Marco._ (_Alarmed, trying to pacify him._) Come, come, - Raphael, let us be friends. - - _Raph._ (_With a vacant stare._) Friends!--oh, yes! delighted! - (_Bowing with cold politeness, in the manner of his first - introduction._) Mademoiselle Marco, I believe--beautiful, very - beautiful, but (_shaking his head mournfully_) false, false, - fatally false. (_Sighing, and putting his hand to his head._) - Ah, yes! and now we are friends (_shaking both her hands, and - looking at her earnestly_),--yes, yes, real friends; for we no - longer love, no longer deceive each other. - - _Marco._ Raphael! - - _Raph._ We thought we were happy. (_Laughing._) Vain delusion! - we were breaking our hearts. (_With a sudden alteration of tone - and countenance conveying that the recollection of his home - had suddenly come to his mind._) Yes, yes (_with a tremulous - voice_), breaking our hearts; but we were not the only - sufferers. No, no: there were other hearts breaking, others - (_in an agony of suppressed grief_) I had forgotten. But my - absence is desired, and some older friends claim my politeness. - Adieu! (_Going._) - - _Marco._ You will call and see me sometimes in Paris? - - _Raph._ (_Gayly bowing with affected politeness._) You are very - kind; but I fear I shall not often be able to profit by your - politeness, for my work--you understand--it is necessary that - I should repair the time I have lost; and besides, when I and - the persons who reside with me have recovered our happiness, - it would be indiscreet to revive recollections that might - jeopardize it. - - _Marco._ (_Coldly._) Well, then, at least you’ll try? (_Sits on - sofa._) - - _Raph._ (_Suffocating with suppressed emotion._) Yes, yes: - I will try. (_Puts his hand hastily to his heart with an - exclamation of acute pain._) - - _Marco._ (_Alarmed._) Raphael! - - _Raph._ (_After a violent effort to calm himself._) ’Tis - nothing, ’tis nothing! (_Staggering to go off, L._) - - _Marco._ Are you going to Paris? - - _Raph._ Yes, yes, oh, yes! Don’t you know--they are waiting for - me. - - _Marco._ Take my carriage. - - _Raph._ (_With scorn._) No, no (_with a maniac smile_): I shall - walk, walk. (_Bitterly._) Poverty should walk: the weather - is superb (_endeavoring to be gay_)--and (_his forces nearly - abandoning him_)--my heart--is so light--I--I (_staggering to - table, and taking his hat_)--Adieu, Mademoiselle Marco, adieu - (_faintly_)--adieu, adieu! (_Staggers off, L._) - - _Marco._ (_Rising from sofa, and looking after him with deep - emotion._) O Raphael, Raphael! my heart is not quite marble; - no, no, not quite! (_Falls back on sofa, covers her face with - her handkerchief, and weeps._) - - _Re-enter RAPHAEL._ - - _Marco._ (_With a smile, holding out her hand._) Thank you for - returning; thank you for not taking my follies in earnest: this - goodness endears you to me more than ever. (_RAPHAEL stands - fixed, looking at her with a cold, immovable countenance._) - You love me still? (_Trying to draw him to her._) Yes, yes: I - see you do; and you will pardon me! (_She is about to put her - arm round his neck: he looks sternly at her, and repels her by - extending his arms with an action of disdain._) Oh! do not look - at me thus: you frighten me-- - - _Raph._ (_With terrible calmness._) Give me my portrait. - (_Pointing to it on her neck._) - - _Marco._ Nay, I am sure-- - - _Raph._ (_Sternly._) Give it me! (_MARCO gives it him._) Don’t - be alarmed, it is only the painting I reclaim. (_Taking it from - the frame._) I leave you the diamonds. (_Gives back the frame - and chain._) - - _Marco._ Raphael! - - _Raph._ Marco, shall I tell you why for a moment you have love - on your lips and in your eyes? ’Tis because you have learned - that in recalling me you could break another heart: the feeling - which guided you was not the happiness of Raphael, but the - despair of Marie. (_MARCO starts._) Now, adieu. But first give - me your wreath. - - _Marco._ My wreath? - - _Raph._ (_Approaching._) I would have it. - - _Marco._ (_Recoiling alarmed._) Are you mad? - - _Raph._ (_Wildly._) Take it off, take it off! White roses are - the symbols of purity; they make _you_ hideous: they are only - for the brows of innocence and truth. (_Tears the crown from - her head, and dashes it on the ground._) - -END OF PART I. - - -PART II. - - SCENE.--_Same as before. Enter FESTUS, C._ - -_Festus._ It is astonishing how much a little borrowed plumage becomes -a bashful man. The ice once broken by the inspiring thoughts and words -of the love-sick “Raphael,” I feel now almost equal to the composition -and delivery of an energetic and passionate appeal that shall carry the -heart of the lady by storm; but then, having once been refused, I dread -a second attempt. “A burnt child fears the fire;” and a singed lover -trembles before the blazing eyes of the object of his adoration. I have -yet a short time before the expiration of my hour of trial, and the -character of “Sir Thomas Clifford” from which to borrow courage. (_Enter -STELLA, C._) - -_Stella._ Well, mysterious “Festus,” what new fancy is agitating your -fertile brain? - -_Festus._ Madam, to tell you the truth, I was--thinking--of you. - -_Stella._ Of me, or of your future salary? - -_Festus._ Both. - -_Stella._ What of me? - -_Festus._ (_Very awkward and confused._) That I think--I think--that -you--you--are--are-- - -_Stella._ Well, what am I? - -_Festus._ (_Abruptly._) A very fine reader. - -_Stella._ Oh! is that all? - -_Festus._ All worth mentioning. - -_Stella._ Sir! - -_Festus._ That is all I am at liberty to mention. - -_Stella._ What if I should grant you liberty to say more? - -_Festus._ Oh! then--then I should say--I should say-- - -_Stella._ Well, what would you say? - -_Festus._ It’s your turn to read. - -_Stella._ (_Aside._) Stupid! (_Aloud._) Well, sir, what shall I read? - -_Festus._ Oh! oblige me by making your own selection. - -_Stella._ There’s “The Bells,” by Poe. Do you like that? - -_Festus._ Oh, exceedingly! - -_Stella._ But I don’t know how to read it: it’s very difficult. - -_Festus._ Perhaps I can assist you. (_Aside._) I’ll provoke her a bit; -see if she has a temper. - -_Stella._ Well, you are very kind. (_Aside._) I’ll see if I can make him -talk. - -_Festus._ Well, then, you take the book, and read. (_Hands her copy of -Poe._) When I think you need correcting, I will speak. - -_Stella._ Very well. (_They sit, C. STELLA reads in a very tragic tone, -emphasizing the words in italics._) - - “Hear the sledges with the _bells_, - Silver _bells_!” - -_Festus._ Oh, stop, stop, stop! Dear me! that’s not the way to read. -There’s no silver in _your_ bells. Listen:-- - - “Hear the sledges with the bells, - _Sil_-ver bells!” - -Very silvery, don’t you see? - -_Stella._ Oh, yes! excuse me. (_Reads in a very silly tone._) - - “Hear the sledges with the bells, - Sil----ver bells!” - -_Festus._ Oh, no, no! that’s too _sil_ly. - -_Stella._ Sir! - -_Festus._ I mean, there’s too much of the _sil_ in _silver_. (_Repeats -his reading. She imitates it._) - -_Festus._ Ah! that’s better. Thank you: you are charming. (_She looks at -him._) That is, a charming reader. Go on. - -_Stella._ (_Reads._) - - “What a world of merriment their melody foretells! - How they tinkle”-- - -_Festus._ (_Interrupting._) I beg your pardon: “twinkle.” - -_Stella._ No, sir: “tinkle.” - -_Festus._ But I am sure it is “twinkle.” - -_Stella._ Can’t I believe my own eyes? - -_Festus._ Not unless they “twinkle.” - -_Stella._ Look for yourself. (_Shows him the book._) - -_Festus._ My stars! it is “tinkle.” I beg your pardon. Go on. - -_Stella._ - - “How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, - In the icy air”-- - -_Festus._ No, no: frosty,--frosty air. - -_Stella._ No, sir: it’s icy air. - -_Festus._ You are mistaken: “frosty.” - -_Stella._ Am I? Look for yourself. - -_Festus._ Well, I declare! It is, _I see_, _icy_. I beg your pardon. Go -on. - -_Stella._ I see, I see. You are bent on interrupting me. What do you -mean, sir? - -_Festus._ What can you expect, if you don’t know how to read? - -_Stella._ Sir, this is provoking. I don’t know how to read? - -_Festus._ Not “The Bells,” I know. - -_Stella._ Oh! do you? Well, sir, I know you are no gentleman; and I know, -if you want “The Bells” read (_starts up, and throws book at him_), read -it yourself. - -_Festus._ Madam, what am I to understand by this? - -_Stella._ That your presence is no longer agreeable to me. - -_Festus._ Oh, very well, very well! I understand you wish me to go. -(_STELLA stands, R., with her back to him._) You wish me to go. I -will intrude no longer. (_Very loud._) Since you--wish--me--to--go-- -(_Aside._) Confound it, I believe she does! (_Aloud._) Very well, madam, -very well. Good-evening. (_Exit, L._) - -_Stella._ He’ll be back in three minutes. (_Enter FESTUS, L._) - -_Festus._ I forgot my hat. You’ll excuse me if I take my-- (_Aside._) -Confound it, she won’t speak! (_Stands irresolute a moment, then -approaches her._) Madam,--Stella,--I was wrong. You can read “The Bells” -divinely. I hear them ringing in my ears now. I beg your pardon. Read -“The Bells” in any manner you please: I shall be delighted to listen. - -_Stella._ Oh, very well! Since you have returned, I will read. - -_Reading. “The Bells,” Poe. STELLA._ - -_Festus._ Splendid, splendid! - -_Stella._ Now, sir, I shall be happy to listen to you once more. - -_Festus._ Your “Bells” have stirred the fires of patriotism within my -heart; and I will give you, as my selection, “Sheridan’s Ride.” - -_Reading. “Sheridan’s Ride,” Reid. FESTUS._ - -_Stella._ Excellent! Mr. Festus, you are a very spirited rider,--I mean -reader. Now, suppose, for variety, we have another scene. - -_Festus._ With all my heart. What shall it be? - -_Stella._ Oh! you select. Pray, Mr. Festus, did you have any design in -selecting the scene from “The Marble Heart”? - -_Festus._ Well, I like that. You selected it yourself. - -_Stella._ But the play was your selection; and you were very perfect in -the part of “Raphael.” - -_Festus._ Well, I selected what I thought I should most excel in. - -_Stella._ _You_ excel in love-making! That’s good. But I must say, you -act it well. - -_Festus._ Yes--that is--I think that circumstances--occurring--which -would make--circumstances--perfectly--that is, I mean to say -that--circumstances--indeed--what were you saying? - -_Stella._ Ha, ha, ha! O mighty Festus! you’ve lost your place; but, as -you have a partiality for love-scenes, what is your next? - -_Festus._ What say you to a scene from “The Hunchback”? “The secretary of -my lord”? You know the scene,--“Julia” and “Sir Thomas Clifford.” - -_Stella._ Oh, yes! I am familiar with it; but I think, as an applicant -for a situation, you are making me perform more than my share of work. - -_Festus._ Oh! if you object-- - -_Stella._ Oh! but I don’t object. Proceed. (_Sits, L. of table. FESTUS -exits, L._) - - -SCENE FROM “THE HUNCHBACK.” - -(_Arranged for this piece._) - -_Julia_, STELLA. _Sir Thomas Clifford_, FESTUS. - - _Jul._ (_Alone._) A wedded bride? - Is it a dream? - Oh, would it were a dream! - How would I bless the sun that waked me from it! - I am wrecked - By mine own act! What! no escape? no hope? - None! I must e’en abide these hated nuptials! - Hated!--ay, own it, and then curse thyself - That mad’st the bane thou loathest for the love - Thou bear’st to one who never can be thine! - Yes, love! Deceive thyself no longer. False - To say ’tis pity for his fall,--respect - Engendered by a hollow world’s disdain, - Which hoots whom fickle fortune cheers no more! - ’Tis none of these: ’tis love, and, if not love, - Why, then, idolatry! Ay, that’s the name - To speak the broadest, deepest, strongest passion - That ever woman’s heart was borne away by! - He comes! Thou’dst play the lady,--play it now! - -(_Enter CLIFFORD, L._) - - Speaks he not? - Or does he wait for orders to unfold - His business? Stopped his business till I spoke, - I’d hold my peace forever! - -(_CLIFFORD kneels, presenting a letter._) - - Does he kneel? - A lady am I to my heart’s content! - Could he unmake me that which claims his knee, - I’d kneel to him,--I would, I would! Your will? - - _Clif._ This letter from my lord. - - _Jul._ Oh, fate! who speaks? - - _Clif._ The secretary of my lord. - -(_Rises._) - - _Jul._ I breathe! - I could have sworn ’twas he! - -(_Makes an effort to look at him, but is unable._) - - So like the voice!-- - I dare not look lest there the form should stand. - How came he by that voice? ’Tis Clifford’s voice - If ever Clifford spoke! My fears come back. - Clifford, the secretary of my lord! - Fortune hath freaks, but none so mad as that. - It cannot be!--it should not be! A look, - And all were set at rest. - -(_Tries to look at him again, but cannot._) - - So strong my fears, - Dread to confirm them takes away the power - To try and end them. Come the worst, I’ll look. - -(_She tries again, and is again unequal to the task._) - - I’d sink before him if I met his eye! - - _Clif._ Wilt please your ladyship to take the letter? - - _Jul._ There, Clifford speaks again! Not Clifford’s breath - Could more make Clifford’s voice; not Clifford’s tongue - And lips more frame it into Clifford’s speech. - A question, and ’tis over! Know I you? - - _Clif._ Reverse of fortune, lady, changes friends: - It turns them into strangers. What I am - I have not always been. - - _Jul._ Could I not name you? - - _Clif._ If your disdain for one, perhaps too bold - When hollow fortune called him favorite, - Now by her fickleness perforce reduced - To take an humble tone, would suffer you-- - - _Jul._ I might? - - _Clif._ You might. - - _Jul._ O Clifford! is it you? - - _Clif._ Your answer to my lord. - -(_Gives the letter._) - - _Jul._ Your lord! - - _Clif._ Wilt write it? - Or, will it please you send a verbal one? - I’ll bear it faithfully. - - _Jul._ You’ll bear it? - - _Clif._ Madam, - Your pardon; but my haste is somewhat urgent. - My lord’s impatient, and to use despatch - Were his repeated orders. - - _Jul._ Orders? Well (_takes letter_), - I’ll read the letter, sir. ’Tis right you mind - His lordship’s orders. They are paramount. - Nothing should supersede them. Stand beside them! - They merit all your care, and have it! Fit, - Most fit, they should. Give me the letter, sir. - - _Clif._ You have it, madam. - - _Jul._ So! How poor a thing - I look! so lost while he is all himself! - Have I no pride? - If he can freeze, ’tis time that I grow cold. - I’ll read the letter. - -(_Opens it, and holds it as about to read it._) - - Mind his orders! So! - Quickly he fits his habits to his fortunes! - He serves my lord with all his will! His heart’s - In his vocation. So! Is this the letter? - ’Tis upside down, and here I’m poring on’t! - Most fit I let him see me play the fool! - Shame! Let me be myself! - -(_She sits awhile at table, vacantly gazing on the letter, then looks at -CLIFFORD._) - - How plainly shows his humble suit! - It fits not him that wears it. I have wronged him! - He can’t be happy--does not look it--is not! - That eye which reads the ground is argument - Enough. He loves me. There I let him stand, - And I am sitting! - -(_Rises, and points to a chair._) - - Pray you, take a chair. - -(_He bows as acknowledging and declining the honor. She looks at him -awhile._) - - Clifford, why don’t you speak to me! - -(_Weeps._) - - _Clif._ I trust - You’re happy. - - _Jul._ Happy? Very, very happy! - You see I weep I am so happy. Tears - Are signs, you know, of naught but happiness. - When first I saw you, little did I look - To be so happy. Clifford! - - _Clif._ Madam? - - _Jul._ Madam! - I call thee Clifford, and thou call’st me madam! - - _Clif._ Such the address my duty stints me to. - Thou art the wife elect of a proud earl - Whose humble secretary sole am I. - - _Jul._ Most right! I had forgot! I thank you, sir, - For so reminding me, and give you joy - That what, I see, had been a burthen to you - Is fairly off your hands. - - _Clif._ A burthen to me? - Mean you yourself? Are you that burthen, Julia? - Say that the sun’s a burthen to the earth! - Say that the blood’s a burthen to the heart! - Say health’s a burthen, peace, contentment, joy, - Fame, riches, honors, every thing that man - Desires, and gives the name of blessing to!-- - E’en such a burthen Julia were to me - Had fortune let me wear her. - - _Jul._ (_Aside._) On the brink - Of what a precipice I’m standing! Back, - Back! while the faculty remains to do’t! - A minute longer, not the whirlpool’s self - More sure to suck thee down! One effort! (_Sits._) There! - -(_Recovers her self-possession, takes up the letter, and reads._) - - To wed to-morrow night! Wed whom? A man - Whom I can never love! I should before - Have thought of that. To-morrow night! This hour - To-morrow,--how I tremble! - At what means - Will not the desperate snatch! What’s honor’s price? - Nor friends, nor lovers,--no, nor life itself! - Clifford, this moment leave me! - -(_CLIFFORD retires up the stage out of her sight._) - - Is he gone? - Oh, docile lover! Do his mistress’ wish - That went against his own! Do it so soon, - Ere well ’twas uttered! No good-by to her! - No word, no look! ’Twas best that so he went. - Alas the strait of her who owns that best - Which last she’d wish were done! What’s left me now? - To weep, to weep! - -(_Leans her head upon her arm, which rests upon the table, her other arm -hanging listless at her side. CLIFFORD comes down the stage, looks a -moment at her, approaches her, and, kneeling, takes her hand._) - - _Clif._ My Julia! - - _Jul._ Here again? - Up, up! By all thy hopes of heaven go hence! - To stay’s perdition to me! Look you, Clifford! - Were there a grave where thou art kneeling now, - I’d walk into’t and be inearthed alive - Ere taint should touch my name! Should some one come - And see thee kneeling thus! Let go my hand!-- - Remember, Clifford, I’m a promised bride-- - And take thy arm away! It has no right - To clasp my waist! Judge you so poorly of me - As think I’ll suffer this? My honor, sir! - -(_She breaks from him, quitting her seat._) - - I’m glad you’ve forced me to respect myself: - You’ll find that I can do so. - - _Clif._ There was a time I held your hand unchid; - There was a time I might have clasped your waist: - I had forgot that time was past and gone. - I pray you, pardon me. - - _Jul._ (_Softened._) I do so, Clifford. - - _Clif._ I shall no more offend. - - _Jul._ Make sure of that. - No longer is it fit thou keep’st thy post - In’s lordship’s household. Give it up! A day, - An hour, remain not in it. - - _Clif._ Wherefore? - - _Jul._ Live, - In the same house with me, and I another’s? - Put miles, put leagues, between us! The same land - Should not contain us. - O Clifford, Clifford! - Rash was the act, so light that gave me up, - That stung a woman’s pride, and drove her mad, - Till in her frenzy she destroyed her peace! - Oh, it was rashly done! Had you reproved, - Expostulated, had you reasoned with me, - Tried to find out what was indeed my heart, - I would have shown it, you’d have seen it, all - Had been as nought can ever be again. - - _Clif._ Lov’st thou me, Julia? - - _Jul._ Dost thou ask me, Clifford? - - _Clif._ These nuptials may be shunned-- - - _Jul._ With honor? - - _Clif._ Yes. - - _Jul._ Then take me! Hold!--hear me, and take me, then! - Let not thy passion be my counsellor; - Deal with me, Clifford, as my brother. Be - The jealous guardian of my spotless name. - Scan thou my cause as ’twere thy sister’s. Let - Thy scrutiny o’erlook no point of it, - And turn it o’er not once, but many a time, - That flaw, speck, yea, the shade of one,--a soil - So slight not one out of a thousand eyes - Could find it out,--may not escape thee; then - Say if these nuptials can be shunned with honor! - - _Clif._ They can. - - _Jul._ Then take me, Clifford-- - -_Festus._ Stop one moment. (_Looks at watch._) Time’s up. - -_Stella._ So soon? - -_Festus._ The tone of your voice expresses regret. What is your decision? - -_Stella._ My decision? - -_Festus._ Upon my application for the situation of reader. Shall I have -it? - -_Stella._ Perhaps the terms will not suit. - -_Festus._ Madam, I am willing to serve you on any terms. Allow me to -throw off the mask of “Festus,” which of course you have seen through, -and offer myself for a situation under the name of-- - -_Stella._ Stop: you are not going to pronounce that name before all these -good people? - -_Festus._ Of course not. But what shall I do? Stella, I feel that -“Raphael” and “Sir Thomas Clifford” have inspired me to attempt -love-making on my own account. Grant me the opportunity to make -application for the situation made vacant by my unceremonious exit the -other night. Let “Festus” apply once more. - -_Stella._ What shall I say? (_To audience._) Would you? He seems to -have found his tongue; and who knows but what he may make an agreeable -beau? I think he had better call again; for to have a lover who can make -love by borrowing, is, at least,--under the circumstances--under the -circumstances--what is it, Festus? - -_Festus._ Circumstances? Why, under the circumstances, I should say it -was “_An Original Idea_.” - -CURTAIN. - - NOTE. The “Readings” and “Scenes” may be varied to suit the - taste of the performers. “The Garden Scene” in “Romeo and - Juliet,” scenes from “Ingomar,” “The School for Scandal,” &c., - have been used with good effect. - -[4] Or the evening of the performance. - - - - -“MY UNCLE, THE CAPTAIN.” - - -CHARACTERS. - - MR. SOL HANSCOMB, JR. (landlord of “The Fatted Calf”). - CAPT. NAT SKILLINGS (skipper and owner of the “Jemima Matilda”). - SAM SKILLINGS (his nephew). - PETE WHITE (a colored waiter). - STEVE BLACK (a white waiter). - BOBBY SMALL (a boot-black). - - -COSTUMES. - - _Hanscomb._--Modern. - _Nat Skillings._--Sailor rig; blue pants and shirt, pea-jacket, - old fisherman’s hat, gray wig. - _Sam Skillings._--Dark mixed pants, blue coat with brass buttons, - white hat, shawl, red wig. - _Pete and Steve._--Waiters’ dress, white aprons, wigs to suit. - _Bobby Small._--Red shirt, black pants rolled up, glazed cap. - - - SCENE.--_Room No. 86,“Fatted Calf” Hotel. Table and two chairs, - C. Entrances, R. and L._ - -_Hanscomb_ (_outside, L._). Steve, Pete, come, come, hurry, hurry, wake -up! (_Enter, L._) This is really encouraging. The Fatted Calf, just -opened, is rapidly filling up, and such customers, too; real upper -crust,--nabobs, millionnaires, heiresses, generals, majors, captains, -colonels, and all sorts of stylish people! Now let’s look at the -situation. I have on my books already thirty permanent boarders at five -dollars a day. Pretty high for the times, but that draws the style. Of -these thirty, ten will pay up promptly, ten wont pay at all, and the -other ten will be obliged to leave their baggage to settle the bill. -Well, I think that will pay. We must give a wide margin for profit, and -in course of time may make a fortune, or manage to fail for seventy-five -or a hundred thousand, either of which will create a sensation. Where can -those waiters be? Ah, here’s Steve at last, as stiff and pompous as one -of the nabobs whom he delights to wait upon. (_Enter Steve, L._) - -_Steve._ Mr. Hanscomb, allow me to present for your inspection this -document just left at the bar, with the compliments of the landlord of -the Hotel Bullock. (_Gives Hanscomb printed handbill._) - -_Mr. H._ What is it? (_Reads._) “Stop, thief! Nab him! Strayed from the -Hotel Bullock an individual passing by the singular name of John Smith.” -John Smith? I think I’ve heard that name before. - -_Steve._ It has a very _distangue_ air. - -_Mr. H._ “Tall, red hair, pale, ferocious-looking countenance; wore, -when last seen, dark mixed pants, blue coat with brass buttons, white -hat, and a shawl. A reward of one cent will be given for the arrest of -the missing individual, and fifty dollars for the recovery of one dozen -silver spoons, which said individual, probably accidentally, took with -him.” So, so, a hotel thief. Mr. John Smith will no doubt pay me a visit; -so, Steve, just keep a sharp look-out for this spoony. (_Enter Pete, R., -muttering and shaking his head._) Well, what’s the matter with you? - -_Pete._ Mr. Hanscomb, I don’t wish to be _troubulous_,--I don’t wish to -be _troubulous_, Mr. Hanscomb, but dar are t’ings, Mr. Hanscomb, dat -stir de heart of man, as Deacon Foster eloquentially distresses himself, -and--and--and--well, what I mean--rile him--rile him. - -_Mr. H._ What’s the matter, stupid? - -_Pete._ Mr. Hanscomb, you’re my massa. - -_Mr. H._ Well, well? - -_Pete._ You’re my massa, Mr. Hanscomb, and I s’pose you can call me what -you please. - -_Mr. H._ Of course I can. - -_Pete._ Ob course, ob course, kase I look upon you as my equel. - -_Mr. H._ Well, I’m much obliged-- - -_Pete._ Don’t apologize; no matter ’bout nuffin; but dat ar hostler -down dar, he’s an ignoramus, down dar, he is, down dar; he’s low and -insultin’, he is. By golly! de imperance of dat feller is distressin’. -He says I’m bound to _asswociate_ wid him kase he’s a man and a brudder. -Guess not, Mr. Hanscomb,--guess not; don’t asswociate wid people dat -smell ob de stable. - -_Mr. H._ You attend to your business, and he shall not trouble you. - -_Pete._ Dat’s all I ask, Mr. Hanscomb,--dat’s all I ask. Jes’ you keep -hisself to hisself, and I wont say nuffin. I’s perfectly dissatisfied, -but if he jes’ trubble me, I’ll brush him off--brush him off. - -_Mr. H._ Well, well, you go about your business. - -_Steve_ (_at door, L., looking off_). Here’s a queer-looking customer, -and I’m not sure but what it is our friend, John Smith, of the spoon -adventure; just the dress, even to the shawl. - -_Mr. H._ Ah, so soon? Now, boys, look sharp and catch him in the act,--in -the act, mind. (_Exit, L. Pete about to follow._) - -_Steve._ Where are you going, Pete? - -_Pete._ Going? Going after de axe, ob course. - -_Steve._ After the axe! What do you want of the axe? - -_Pete._ Cotch dat ar spoon feller. Didn’t massa say be sure and cotch him -wid de axe? - -_Steve._ Well, you _are_ an ignoramus. - -_Sam_ (_outside, L., in Cockney dialect_). Up this way, eh? Oh! never -mind, Mister, I’ll find the way. First turn to the right, second to the -left, and then keep straight on, and here you are. (_Enter, L._) So this -is eighty-six, first floor from the roof. It’s airy, anyhow. (_Steve, -L., Pete, R., step up each side of Sam with the exclamation, “Take your -baggage!” One seizes umbrella, the other carpet-bag, and start for -entrances, R. and L._) Here, you African, bring back that umbrella, and -you, Mr. Upstart, bring back that valise. I choose to have them under my -own observation. - -_Pete._ Don’t you want your wardrobe aired? - -_Sam._ No, I don’t want it aired. What’s your name, African? - -_Pete._ My name, massa, am White; dey calls me Pete. - -_Sam._ And what’s your name, Upstart? - -_Steve._ My name is Black; I am called here Stephen. - -_Pete._ “Steben, Steben; don’t you bleeb ’im.” He’s called Steeb, short -Steeb. - -_Sam._ Well, you cut short, African, and cut off. Do you see that -entrance? Well, you both get outside that entrance instantly. (_Steve and -Pete go to entrance, L._) - -_Steve._ Pete, that is John Smith. - -_Pete._ No! De spoon feller? - -_Steve._ The same. Don’t you see the pants and the coat and the shawl? -’Tis the pettifogger. - -_Pete._ Petti who? I fought it was Smiff,--John Smiff. - -_Steve._ So it is; look out for spoons. Sh! (_Exit, L._) - -_Pete._ Look out for de spoons. Sh! (_Exit, L._) - -_Sam_ (_during this speech busies himself taking off his shawl, brushing -his clothes, smoothing his hair, etc._). What ails them objects? They -look at me awful hard; they are evidently not accustomed to the presence -of so elegant an individual in this hotel. So this is an hotel; this is -the first time that ever I was in one. I declare, it’s quite elegant. And -this is Boston, the hub of the universe, as Artemus Ward says. I wonder I -have ever lived to get here, after having been cooped up in that horrid -hole, Dismaltown. It is refreshing to get among civilized individuals. -I’ve passed my whole life in that place without ever seeing anybody or -anything, and I should be there now but for my uncle, the captain; and -somehow I do feel quite homesick when I think of my Annastasia; but -then my Annastasia is not there; she is nearer to me in Boston than in -Dismaltown, for my Annastasia is now on a visit to her aunt in Brighton. -I have received epistles often from the object of my heart’s adoration, -and the last one was particularly interesting. She invited me in the name -of her aunt to come and spend Christmas with her. I was particularly -overjoyed at first, but how was I to get there? The people of Dismaltown -never go anywhere, and I should never have got here but for my uncle, -the captain. My uncle has always been called captain, though he never -went to sea, but for years has been behind the counter of the little -grocery at Dismaltown, where he made some money. Well, my uncle took it -into his head to buy a sloop; so he bought a sloop; it was a very good -sloop for a second-hand one. The sloop was well sold, and so, they said, -was my uncle, the captain. My uncle bought her, and then was bent on -going a voyage in her as skipper, and so he invited me to go with him on -his first voyage to Boston. He never went to sea before, and don’t know -anything about a sloop, and he was awful sick all the way, but he had a -good mate, and he is a beautiful skipper; he talks such sea lingo, and -swears so beautifully, though people do say that he knows no more about -the sea than an owl; but that is all envy. Well, after I got aboard, I -happened to think of one sentence in Annastasia’s letter, which read, “Be -sure to learn how to carve before you come, as uncle is away, and aunt -will expect you to carve the Christmas goose.” What an idea! they might -as well ask me to carve an ox or an alligator. However, when I reached -Boston, I bought a little book on the art of carving, and came up to this -hotel to have a little practice. Look here, African. (_Pete and Steve -have been bobbing in and out of the door, L., during the speech, watching -Sam. Enter Pete, L._) Do you know what a goose is? - -_Pete._ Yes, massa; one ob dem two-legged fellers dat flops his wings -jes’ so--dis way--so. - -_Sam._ Well, I want one of them. - -_Pete._ One ob dem flappers? Live one? - -_Sam._ No, ignorance,--roasted. - -_Pete._ Yes, massa. (_Calls, L._) Roast goose for 86. - -_Sam._ No, no, stupid! Not for eighty-six; I only want it for one. - -_Pete._ It’s all right, massa; dat’s what I fought,--dat’s what -I fought. Dar wont but one goose come up here, so decompose -yourself,--decompose yourself. (_Exit, L._) - -_Sam._ What horrid grammar that African does indulge in! (_Capt. -Skillings outside--“Ship ahoy! ahoy!” through speaking-trumpet._) There’s -my uncle, the captain. (_Enter Captain, L._) - -_Capt._ Shiver my timbers, blast my eyes, and keel-haul _me_, if this -here craft ar’n’t the biggest seventy-four that ever I saw in all my -cruisings. Such a climbing up hatchways and over bulkheads is trying to -the narves of a tar with his sea-legs on. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). Now, isn’t that beautiful language? It sounds so briny! -(_Aloud._) But I say, uncle, where’s your tar? - -_Capt._ Blast my eyes! Shiver my timbers! Do you mean to insult me? Aint -I the skipper of the “Jemima Matilda,” as stanch a craft as ever sailed -out of harbor, with spanker jib-boom hauled taut, and foretop main-truck -flying at the mast-head? - -_Sam_ (_enthusiastically_). Oh, aint he a spanker? - -_Capt._ Now, look here, nevy, none of your jokes, or, shiver my timbers, -I’ll disinherit you. Aint I the skipper of the “Jemima”-- - -_Sam._ Oh, uncle, you said that before. - -_Capt._ Blast my eyes, I’ll say it again. (_Enter Steve, L._) Look here, -messmate, I’m a sailor; not one of your fresh-water sailors, but a -regular-built old sea-dog. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). Eight days old; hasn’t got his eyes open yet. - -_Capt._ I’ve climbed the rigging in the darkest night. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). So dark nobody could see him. - -_Capt._ I’ve seen the waves roll mountains high. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). That’s a great idea. - -_Capt._ I’ve been alone in the middle of the ocean in a jolly-boat. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). That’s a jolly lie. - -_Steve._ Well, captain, what can I do for you? - -_Capt._ I say, messmate, did you ever hear of the escape of the “Jemima -Matilda” on her trip from Dismaltown to Puddock? - -_Steve._ Never did. - -_Capt._ Then, blast my eyes, but you shall now, messmate. - -_Sam._ I say, uncle, don’t tell that horrid fiction again. - -_Capt._ Fiction! You young dog, I’ll have you court-martialed. (_Steve -takes out tobacco-box and takes a chew._) Well, you must know, -messmate--What you got there? - -_Steve._ Tobacco; will you have a chew? - -_Capt._ No, I thank you; I don’t chew. - -_Steve._ You don’t? Well you are the first sailor I ever saw who didn’t -chew. - -_Capt._ I say, messmate, give us a chew. (_Aside._) If sailors chew this, -I can. - -_Sam._ Don’t, uncle, don’t chew that horrid stuff; it’ll make you as sick -as a horse. - -_Capt._ Shiver my timbers, nevy, what’s the use in being a sailor, if -you don’t do as sailors do? Give us another chew, messmate. Thank ye. -You must know, messmate, that the “Jemima Matilda,” of which I am the -skipper, left the harbor of Dismaltown on the second of July for a trip -to Puddock. - -_Sam._ With a cargo of onions. - -_Capt._ We hauled off from the wharf wing and wing. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). It takes a pretty good sailor to put a sloop wing and -wing. - -_Capt._ As the wind freshened, we put more sail on the mizzenmast, and -took a reef in the capstan, and set a hen-coop on top of the caboose, -as a look-out. Then came on a perfect hurricane. We were within the -latitude of forty-two degrees below zero, when I went below to take an -observation. I hadn’t been gone long before there was a cry from the -look-out of “There she blows!” I rushed on deck, and sure enough it -did blow strong from the nor-nor-east, nor-east-by-nor, and the ship -was nearly on her bulkheads. The crew clung around me and entreated -me to save the ship. I alone was calm. I had all the heavy furniture -of my cabin, consisting of a pine table, a musquito netting, and a -looking-glass, brought up and consigned to the waves; but all in vain. -Desperation nerved my arm, and seizing a hatchet, I rushed abaft the -hen-coop, and with one terrific blow cut away-- - -_Steve._ The mast! - -_Capt._ No, three feet of the cook’s stove-pipe. But she righted, and we -were saved. Then a new danger arose on our weather bow. Three fathoms -to windward arose a rock with a shelving surface nearest us even with -the water, but the farthest part rising four feet. We were in danger of -striking, when I rushed to the helm, bore hard on the compass, doused the -binnacle lights, and steered straight for the rock. Fortune favored the -bold manœuvre, for a sudden squall from the sou-sou-west raised the ship -upon the rock. She slid swiftly over, and came down into the water with -such a shock that, blast my eyes, if all the salt junk in the caboose -didn’t turn of its own accord. Give us another chew, messmate. - -_Sam_ (_aside_). If my uncle aint a sailor, it isn’t for want of ability -to lie. - -_Steve._ Captain, is there anything I can do for you? - -_Capt._ Ay, ay, messmate; show me a room, and give me something -comfortable. - -_Steve._ Ay, ay, sir! A warm room and a good pipe. - -_Capt._ Pipe! Blast my eyes, I don’t smoke! - -_Steve._ You are the first sailor that ever I saw who didn’t smoke. - -_Capt._ Oh, shiver my timbers, let’s have the pipe! - -_Sam._ I say, uncle, don’t smoke a horrid pipe; you’ll be awful sick. - -_Capt._ Blast my eyes, nevy, do you take me for a land-lubber? You just -keep a sharp look-out here on the quarter-deck, while I turn in and take -a shot in the locker. Heave ahead, my hearty (_to Steve_), or, shiver my -timbers, I’ll rake you fore and aft. (_Exit Steve and Captain, L._) - -_Sam._ My uncle knows a thing or two, but I’m afraid that, with smoking -and chewing, he’ll get awful sick of this sailor business. Ah, here comes -my goose. (_Enter Steve and Pete, L., with table-cloth, dishes, and a -roast goose. They spread the cloth on table, C., and arrange dishes._) -What an elegant spread! - -_Pete._ Anything else, massa? - -_Sam._ Let me see: there’s no ale; bring me some ale; and--why, there’s -no spoons! - -_Steve._ Spoons? - -_Pete._ Spo-spo-spo-spoons? - -_Sam._ Yes, spoons. How do you suppose an individual is to eat without -spoons? - -_Steve._ I’ll bring them, sir. (_Exit, L._) - -_Sam._ Well, African, what are you grinning at? - -_Pete._ At de goose, massa,--at de goose. (_Enter Steve, L., with -spoons._) - -_Sam._ Now leave. Get out. (_Steve and Pete come down._) - -_Steve._ Keep your eye on the spoons. - -_Pete._ By golly, Steve, if he take de spoons, he must take African too. -(_Exit Pete, R., Steve, L._) - -_Sam._ It seems to me that those individuals have a great deal of anxiety -on my account. Well, now to business. Where’s my “Art of Carving”? -(_Pulls small book from his pocket._) Now let me see. No. 1 is the head, -this must be it. (_Points to tail._) No, this is the head. Now for it. -(_Reads._) “Grasp the knife firmly in the right hand,”--that’s so,--“take -the fork in the left;” but what shall I do with the “Art of Carving”? -It doesn’t say anything about that: I’ll fix it. (_Places book on the -table._) Now (_reads_), “stick the fork in No. 8.” That must be No. 8. -“Draw your knife across No. 11”-- (_Enter Pete, R._) - -_Pete._ Did you ring, sar? - -_Sam._ No, I didn’t ring, you outrageous ignorant-- - -_Pete._ Beg pardon, sar. Must have been 84. (_Aside._) Spoons are dar. -(_Exit, R._) - -_Sam._ Blast 84! What does he ring for just as I’ve got my knife across -No. 11? I must go all over it again. (_Reads._) Put your fork in No. 4, -draw your knife across No. 11-- (_Enter Steve, L._) - -_Steve._ Did you ring, sir? - -_Sam._ Ring, you blasted upstart? (_Aside._) With my fork in No. 4 and my -knife across No. 11! How was I to ring? (_Aloud._) Ring?--no. - -_Steve._ Beg pardon, sir; it must have been 82. (_Aside._) Spoons all -right. (_Exit, L._) - -_Sam._ 82 be blowed! This is a queer proceeding. I’ll try it again. Put -your fork in No. 4, draw your knife across No. 11, force yourself, and -off comes the (_pulls the goose on to the floor_) blasted animal. (_Enter -Pete, R., and Steve, L._) - - _Pete._ } Did you ring, sir? - _Steve._ } - -(_Sam stands by the table trying to hide the goose with the table-cloth, -looking first at Pete then at Steve._) - -_Sam._ Ring? Blast your ignorance, no! Where’s your bell? - -_Steve._ (_Pointing, R._) There it is, sir. - -_Sam._ When I want you, I’ll ring it loud, and open the door,--so get -out. (_Exit Pete, R., Steve, L._) After all my trouble, I must go back to -No. 4. (_Places goose on platter._) No, I wont; I’ll push ahead and trust -to luck. (_During the remainder of this speech tries in various places to -carve the goose._) This is the toughest old gander that ever I saw. I can -do nothing with it. O Annastasia! that leg wont come off. O Annastasia! -if you could only see me now,--I can’t start that wing. Why did you not -ask me to get a horn of the moon, or extinguish the Etna volcano. O -Annastasia!--there’s a piece of the breast; what a horrid looking object! -What shall I do with him? I can’t eat him, and I should get laughed at -if it should be seen. I’ll give him away to some poor individual. (_Looks -out of door, L._) Nobody about--yes, there’s an urchin. Sh! look here. - -_Bobby Small_ (_outside, L._) Shine your boots? (_Enter, with box and -brush, L._) Yes, sir, all right; put yer foot there, and I’ll give yer -true Union polish in about forty-five seconds. - -_Sam._ I don’t want my boots polished. - -_Bobby._ Oh, can’t stand the press? Look ahere, gent, stand on my head, -play yer a tune on my chin, and give yer the Union polish, all for five -cents. - -_Sam._ I don’t want your Union polish. I’m an Englishman. - -_Bobby._ Oh, yer an Englishman! Say, don’t yer want to go over to Bunker -Hill? Stand on my head, play yer a tune, and carry yer over to Bunker -Hill, for five cents. - -_Sam._ I don’t want to go to Bunker Hill. - -_Bobby._ Well, say what do you want? - -_Sam._ Sh! Do you want a goose? - -_Bobby._ Do I want--Say that again, gent. - -_Sam._ Do you want a goose? This one? - -_Bobby._ What’s the matter with the poor old gobbler? somebody’s been -mauling on him. - -_Sam._ Yes, all right, just cooked; here, take him and leave. (_Ties up -goose in a napkin, accidentally slipping in a gravy spoon._) - -_Bobby._ Thank yer. I’ll take him right down among the Union Polishers, -and if we don’t polish his bones, my name is not Bobby Small. - -_Sam_ (_giving goose_). Well, Bobby, here you are. - -_Bobby._ Thank yer, sir; may yer live forever! But I say, can’t I do -something for yer? Stand on my head? No! Play yer a tune on my chin? -No! Union polish yer? Oh! yer don’t like that. Well, when yer do want -a shine, just drop down into Brattle Square. You’ll find me there in -business hours, ready to stand on my head, give yer a tune on my chin, or -give yer the Union polish. (_Sings “Jordan:”_) - - “Take off yer coat, boys, roll up yer sleeves, - Spread well de blacking on de boots, - De people bound to shine, and no make believes, - And de Union am de polish dat suits.” - -(_Exit, L._) - -_Sam._ Well, I’ve got rid of that unfortunate animal, and now let’s see -if I can find my uncle, the captain. (_Enter Pete, L._) Here, African, -clear away this truck. (_Exit, L._) - -_Pete._ Clear away de truck? By golly! I t’ink it pretty well cleared -itself, bones and all. (_Enter Steve, L._) I say, Steve, de old gobbler -am clean gone. - -_Steve._ Is it possible? Look under the table. - -_Pete._ By golly! dere am no goose dar. Dat are feller is a what yer call -him, he is. - -_Steve._ What do you mean by a what yer call him? - -_Pete._ Why, one of dem fellers, connubial, connubial. - -_Steve._ Connubial? You mean a cannibal. - -_Pete._ Dat’s what I said, a connubial. - -_Steve._ Well, cannibal or connubial, our gravy spoon is missing. - -_Pete._ By golly! Steve, it’s Smiff,--John Smiff. Cotch him wid de axe! -cotch him wid de axe! - -_Steve._ Here, take these things right down, and tell Mr. Hanscomb. Be -quick, for the gong will sound for dinner in three minutes. (_Enter Sam, -L._) More spoons, monsieur. (_Exit, L._) - -_Pete._ More spoons, spoons, monster! (_Exit, R._) - -Sam. What does this mean? Oh, horror! a light dawns upon me. Spoons, -spoons! I must have given away one of the spoons with the goose. I -remember there was one in the dish. Oh, heavens! what’s to be done? -They’ll have me arrested. Where can my uncle, the captain, be? I can’t -find him anywhere, and he’s got all the money. Oh, Annastasia, why did -you ask me to learn the horrid art of carving? Oh, what will become -of me? Oh, agony, agony! I’ll ring the bell and disclose all. (_Rings -the bell, R. As the gong sounds outside, Sam stumbles back over the -carpet-bag, then over a chair, falls behind table, and crawls out in -front as the gong ceases._) Oh, what have I done, what have I done? Hear -the crockery go! I’ve pulled down a whole crockery shop. (_Enter Steve, -L._) - -_Steve_ (_fiercely_). Did you ring? - -_Sam._ No, I didn’t touch anything,--I say, much broke? - -_Steve._ Much broke! you’ll find out what’s broke. (_Exit, L._) - -_Sam._ What’s to be done? That upstart’s gone for an officer. It wont do -for me to stop here. I’ll make a run of it. (_Starts for door, L. Enter -Steve, with a broom._) - -_Steve._ You can’t pass here. - -_Sam._ Oh, excuse me; I’ll go the other way. (_Enter Pete, R., with a -paper._) This port blockaded? - -_Pete._ Yes, massa, by Burnside. (_Touches him in side with poker._) - -_Sam._ Oh, oh, you ignoramus! do you want to torture me? - -_Pete._ Only a little game of poker, massa. - -_Sam_ (_fiercely_). This is insulting! What do you mean by stopping an -Englishman in this way? - -_Steve._ Want to overhaul you, to see if there is anything contraband -aboard. - -_Pete._ ’Taint de fust time a British _mail_ has been stopped. - -_Sam._ I must submit. What would Annastasia say? It must be that -unfortunate goose. I can’t pay my bill till I find my uncle, the captain. -(_Enter Bobby, stealthily, L., with the goose. Makes frantic efforts to -attract Sam’s attention._) There’s that urchin again. What is he making -such awful faces for? - -_Bobby_ (_aside_). The gent gave me a spoon with the goose. It must have -been by mistake, so I brought it back. Perhaps the gent will stand a -dime. (_To Sam._) Sh, sh! I’ve got it. - -_Sam_ (_seizing him_). Got it! so have I. Audacious! (_Seizes goose._) -Here’s the goose (_takes out spoon_), and here’s the spoon. Hurrah! I’m -saved. (_Enter Mr. Hanscomb, L._) - -_Hanscomb._ Are you? That’s a very ingenious dodge, Mr. John Smith, but -it wont do. Steve, seize that man; and you, Pete, look after the boy. -(_Steve seizes Sam; Pete takes Bobby by the collar._) You’re a handsome -couple, you are! What have you to say for yourselves? - -_Bobby._ Look here, contraband, don’t soil my linen. I say, gent, what -kind of a scrape have you got me into? - -_Sam._ I am innocent, I am innocent, I am innocent! - -_Pete._ Dat’s a lie, dat’s a lie, dat’s a lie! Jest look at dat poor old -gobbler; somebody’s massacred him. - -_Hanscomb._ Take them to the station-house at once. - -_Sam._ Oh, dear! is there no escape? Oh, Annastasia, if thou couldst only -see the agony of thy unfortunate Samuel! Will nobody save me? - -_Capt._ (_outside, L._) O Sammy, Sammy! where are you, Sammy? - -_Sam._ My uncle, the captain, at last. (_Enter captain, L., his face very -pale, wrapped in a blanket, and shivering._) - -_Capt._ Oh, Sammy, oh, Sammy, I’m so sick! I want to go home, I want to -go home. I went down-stairs, and a chap there as was a sailor wanted me -to go over to Chelsea, and the horrid ferry-boat made me sick, and the -awful pipe made me sick, and I want to go home. (_Falls into Sam’s arms._) - -_Sam._ In the “Jemima”? - -_Capt._ No, never; don’t let me see the water again, or a ship, or a -sailor. I hate the sea, and I want to go home. (_Falls into Sam’s arms -again._) - -_Sam._ But I can’t go; I’m arrested for stealing. - -_Capt._ Arrested for stealing! Who accuses the nephew of Capt. Nat -Skillings of stealing? - -_Hanscomb._ Capt. Nat Skillings, of Dismaltown, Nova Scotia? - -_Capt._ Just so. - -_Hanscomb._ I used to know a Capt. Skillings, of Dismaltown, but he was -not a sea captain. - -_Capt._ Well, I guess it’s the same man. I sha’n’t be one after to-day. - -_Hanscomb._ Captain, don’t you remember your old friend, Sol Hanscomb? - -_Capt._ To be sure I do. - -_Hanscomb._ Well, I’m his son. - -_Capt._ Be you, though? Why, how you have grown! But what have you been -doing to my nephew? - -_Hanscomb._ That your nephew! I thought it was John Smith. - -_Capt._ Not a bit of it. That’s Sam Skillings. - -_Hanscomb._ Not John Smith! I’m confounded. - -_Steve._ Not Smith? I’m dumb. - -_Pete._ Not Smiff? I’m (_Bobby touches him with the poker, which he has -rescued_) scorched. - -_Sam._ Yes, Sam Skillings, who would scorn to do a mean action, but who -accidentally purloined one of this gentleman’s spoons, for which he is -willing to make all possible reparation. - -_Capt._ Oh, I see how it is; Sam has been practising the art of carving. - -_Hanscomb._ The art of carving? Why, I’ll teach him that in twenty -minutes. - -_Sam._ Will you, though? I’ll be greatly obliged to you; so will -Annastasia, and my uncle, the captain, skipper of the “Jemima”-- - -_Capt._ Sammy, sink the ship. I’ve concluded that the sea don’t agree -with my constitution. I’ll sell her. (_To audience._) Is there anybody -here wants her? She’s A1¾, stanch and well-built, copper-bottomed, and -tarred throughout, especially the cabin; Morgan stock, sound and kind in -harness; will stand all winds, especially nor-nor-east, nor-east by nor, -shiver my timbers-- - -_Steve_ (_offering tobacco-box_). Have a chew, captain? - -_Capt._ (_falls into Sam’s arms._) Oh, Sam, Sam, take me home! - -_Hanscomb._ Ladies and Gentlemen, “The Fatted Calf” has been opened under -rather unfavorable circumstances, but if you will give us another call, -you shall find a hospitable landlord-- - -_Steve._ Accommodating waiters-- - -_Pete._ Who--who--who will gib you ebery detention, wid--wid-- - -_Bobby._ De Union polish. - -_Sam._ And if a word from me would not be out of place, I would recommend -this house, as I expect to stop here with my Annastasia on our bridal -tour, on which occasion we expect to be accompanied by that extraordinary -seaman-- - -_Capt._ Oh, Sammy, don’t. - -_Sam._ My uncle, the captain. - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS. - -L. Steve, Hanscomb, Capt., Sam, Bobby, and Pete. R. - - NOTE.--The characters of Sam and Capt. Skillings were - originally performed as “Cockney Englishmen.” The performers - can use their own discretion,--make them Cockneys by placing - “h’s” before the vowels and dropping the “h’s” where they - belong, or they can be performed as Yankees from down East. - As Artemus Ward says, “You pay your money, and you has your - choice.” - - - - -NO CURE, NO PAY: A FARCE. - -FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS ONLY. - - -CHARACTERS. - - MRS. LANGUISH, a Lady who has lately acquired Wealth. - ALICE, her Daughter. - LUCY AIKEN, } - JENNY CARTER, } Friends of Alice. - SUSAN DEAN, } - BRIDGET, the Queen of the Kitchen. - AUNT MARIA MIDGET, a little hard of hearing. - - - SCENE.--_Parlor in MRS. LANGUISH’S house. Small table and - chair, L.; arm-chair, C.; rocking-chair, R._ - -_Enter BRIDGET, L., showing in LUCY AIKEN._ - -_Bridget._ Tak’ a sate, Miss Lucy, if ye plaze, while I spake to the -young misthress. It’s glad she’ll be to see yer, for it’s a hape of -throuble we have here ony how. - -_Lucy._ Trouble, Bridget! Why, what’s the matter? - -_Bridget._ Shure, mam, it’s all along of the misthress; she’s too sick -intirely, and is failin’, and failin’, and failin.’ - -_Lucy._ Mrs. Languish sick? I am sorry to hear that. - -_Bridget._ Oh! indade, and indade she is. Ivery breath she draws is -nearer and nearer her last. - -_Lucy._ What seems to be the matter? - -_Bridget._ An’ shure, ma’m, I dont know, except that she’s failin’, and -failin’, and failin’; an’ its sorry the day whin she fell ill; she’s the -kindest and bist misthress in the world. (_Crying._) Oh, musha, musha! -Oh, dear! Oh, dear! - -_Lucy._ Well, well, Bridget, be calm, and hope for the best. - -_Bridget._ Faith, and that’s what I’m doin’. Oh, here comes Miss Alice, -the poor disconsilite orphan. (_Exit, L._) - -(_Enter ALICE, R._) - -_Alice._ (_Running to LUCY and kissing her._) Why, Lucy Aiken! You dear, -good-for-nothing thing! Where have you been all this while? - -_Lucy._ It is an age since we met. I must congratulate you, and I assure -you I do, with all my heart, on your altered position. So, the rich and -crusty old uncle, who forgot his relations while living, has remembered -you in his will? - -_Alice._ Yes, Lucy; thanks to uncle Caleb, we are rich. And, I assure -you, we were glad to be remembered. - -_Lucy._ But, dear me, Alice, what a careless creature I am! How is your -mother? Bridget tells me she is very sick. - -_Alice._ Poor mother! this sudden turn in the wheel of fortune has been -too much for her; she is a confirmed invalid. I don’t know what to make -of her. Dr. Tincture can find no symptoms of disease. He says she is in -sound bodily health; her suddenly dropping her usual employments has -occasioned her seeming illness. - -[Illustration: NO CURE, NO PAY.] - -_Lucy._ Seeming! Why, Alice, you treat lightly what your Bridget seems to -consider a very serious illness. - -_Alice._ Well, I do; for I am convinced nothing ails mother. Her head -is turned with the idea that she is an invalid, because she thinks it -fashionable for rich ladies to be ailing, and she has the queerest -notions. I suppose you will laugh, but I am going to tell you her last -freak. She is highly incensed at Dr. Tincture, refuses to see him, -and declares her illness can only be cured by some mysterious agency. -Yesterday she bade me prepare this note to be inserted in the evening -papers. (_Reads._) “NO CURE, NO PAY.--A lady who is suffering from a -disease which baffles the skill of the medical profession, and who is -desirous of testifying her appreciation of the efforts now being made -to institute a school of female practitioners, offers the sum of five -hundred dollars to any female who will cure her. Address, with real name, -‘BEDRIDDEN,’ Station A, Boston Post Office; and remember, No cure, no -pay.” Did you ever hear of such a nonsensical whim? - -_Lucy._ What an odd idea! And do you propose to send it? - -_Alice._ No, indeed; that is, if I can possibly prevent it. But she -believes it has already gone. Dear me! I wish I could find a way to -frighten her into health again. - -_Lucy._ That’s just what you must do. If you will be guided by me, her -cure can be effected. You remember our “Private Theatricals” last winter, -and what fun we had. Let us turn our practice then to profit now. -There’s Jenny Carter and Susie Dean all ready for any harmless sport, I -know. You leave this to me, and I’ll send your mother a few samples of -the new school she so much admires. - -_Alice._ Oh, capital! capital! But are you quite sure you can carry out -this scheme? - -_Lucy._ Sure. Remember what Richelieu says about “the bright lexicon -of youth,” and leave all to me. Good-by; I must run and see the girls. -Set your heart at rest; we’ll have your mother well before she knows it -herself. Good-by. (_Exit, L._) - -_Alice._ Good-by. I have great faith in Lucy. And I do hope this scheme -of hers will be a success. Perhaps it is wrong to deceive poor mother; -but that advertisement once inserted in the papers, we should have no -peace day or night. Here she comes. Poor mother; she works very hard -to keep up her sickness. I can hardly refrain from laughing to see her -bright, rosy face, and the utter lassitude of her body. - -(_Enter MRS. LANGUISH, R., supported by AUNT MIDGET, very slowly._) - -_Aunt M._ Keerful, Angelina; keerful, my child. Remember you’re a drefful -sick woman; drefful sick. - -_Mrs. L._ (_Sinking into easy chair, C._) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I know--I -am. I know--I am weaker--and weaker--every--day. My camphor-bottle--aunt -Midget--fan me--my child. (_AUNT M. applies camphor, and ALICE fans MRS. -L._) - -_Alice._ Don’t you feel any better, mother? - -_Mrs. L._ No, child; your--poor--mother--is failing rapidly; a few short -days--and then-- - -_Aunt M._ (_Sneezes._) Massy sakes, child! who left that door open? Do -you want your marm to catch her death? (_ALICE shuts door, L._) - -_Alice._ Have you had your breakfast, mother? - -_Mrs. L._ Yes, child--all I wanted--but I have no appetite. - -_Aunt M._ Well, Angelina, how do you feel now? - -_Mrs. L._ Very feeble. - -_Aunt M._ What does she say? - -_Alice._ Very feeble. - -_Aunt M._ Hay? - -_Mrs. L._ Dear--dear! Aunt Midget, don’t speak so loud. - -_Aunt M._ Loud? Why, Angelina! you know how feeble my voice is. I -couldn’t speak loud. (_Sits in rocking-chair, R., and knits._) - -_Mrs. L._ Alice, do you--hear any thing from the advertisement? - -_Alice._ Oh, yes, mother; I hear from it. Several people are anxious to -see you. - -_Mrs. L._ I knew it--I knew it. My cure can only come from such a source. -Look in the paper--child--there may be some new discovery advertised. - -_Alice._ (_Sits, L., and takes up paper._) Yes, there are a number. -(_Reads._) “Dr. Kresote’s Extract of Lignumvitæ for the cure of Lumbago”-- - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear! I must try that. I know I’ve got the lunbago. - -_Aunt M._ Who’s that? Tom Bago! Is that a new doctor? - -_Alice._ (_Reads._) “Elias’s Great Cure-all”-- - -_Aunt M._ Who’s that’s got a new carry-all? - -_Mrs. L._ Aunt Midget--please, don’t. - -_Aunt M._ Law, Angelina, what’s the use of living, if you don’t know -what’s goin’ on? - -_Alice._ “The most Wonderful Discovery of the Age! A Speedy Cure for all -Diseases of the Spine”-- - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear! I know my spine is diseased-- - -_Alice._ “Heart Disease”-- - -_Mrs. L._ O--O--O--I know I’ve got that! I’ve got such a pain here and -here--and here. - -_Alice._ “General Debility”-- - -_Aunt M._ General who? What new military man is that? - -_Alice._ “Consumption”-- - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear! that’s my case! I feel it! I’m sure I’m a victim to -that-- - -_Aunt M._ Yes, Angelina, I told you this morning at the breakfast-table, -when you ate four hard-boiled eggs, six pertaters, a big piece of steak, -and so many flap-jacks! sartin’ sure it was a forerunner of consumption. - -_Alice._ “And all diseases which flesh is heir to”-- - -_Aunt M._ Diseases of the hair! Do tell! have they got something new for -that? I’m glad on it, for my hair is all a comin’ out. - -_Mrs. L._ We must try that. (_Bell rings, L._) Dear me, child! you must -have that bell muffled; and I think we had better have the street strewn -with tan, it’s so soothing. - -_Bridget._ (_Outside, L._) Doctor, is it? Away wid yer. We want no -doctors in petticoats here at all at all. - -_Alice._ (_Runs to door, L._) Bridget, show the lady up here. - -_Bridget._ (_Outside, L._) Will I? Oh, come in, Mrs. Doctor, come in. - -_Alice._ This must be one of the ladies whom I expected. - -(_Enter BRIDGET, showing in JENNY CARTER, who is disguised. Calico dress -without crinoline; short-waisted, if possible; a small, red shawl on her -shoulders, a large, old-fashioned bonnet, cap, and glasses; under her arm -an umbrella._) - -_Bridget._ Here’s the she-doctor, mam. (_Exit, L._) - -_Jenny._ Ahem--ahem! Who’s sick? Who wants the doctor? I am Dr. Higgins, -M.D., just graduated from the Female College. Would you like to see my -diploma? - -_Alice._ It’s not necessary. - -_Jenny._ Where is the patient? Stop! don’t speak! The eye of science is -quick to distinguish suffering. I see her!--that form tottering on the -verge of the grave. - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear! what did I tell you! (_Jenny passes MRS. L., rushes -up to AUNT MIDGET, seizes her hand._) - -_Jenny._ My poor woman, how are you? - -_Aunt M._ (_Shakes JENNY’S hand._) Why, how do you do? My eyesight’s -kinder failin’. It’s Jerusha Hoppin--ain’t it? What a handsome bunnet -you’ve got! - -_Jenny._ My dear woman, time is precious. Let me see your tongue. - -_Aunt M._ Well, I flatter myself I do look young for one who’s seen so -much triberlation. - -_Alice._ Miss--Mrs. Doctor, you’ve made a mistake. This is the patient. - -_Jenny._ Dear me, dear me! what a blunder! (_Comes back to table, L., -takes off her bonnet, then places chair, L. of MRS. L., and sits._) -What’s the trouble? - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear!--doctor--I don’t know. I’m failing rapidly. - -_Jenny._ Let me see your tongue (_MRS. L. shows it._) Ahem! Bad, bad! - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear, doctor, do tell me the worst! - -_Jenny._ Have you a cough? - -_Mrs. L._ (_Forcing a very slight cough._) Dreadful! - -_Aunt M._ Why, that must be a female woman doctor. - -_Jenny._ Sleep well nights? - -_Mrs. L._ Not a wink. - -_Jenny._ Not a wink? Bad, bad! Any appetite? - -_Mrs. L._ Not a bit. - -_Jenny._ Not a bit? Bad, bad! Madam, yours is a very bad case. - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, do, doctor, tell me the worst! - -_Jenny._ Madam, you are suffering from a terrible disease,--a disease -of which the profession know but little. Hum-buga; a disease caused by -a depression of the eliminating vesticubia of the scareophagus. Had -you fallen into the hands of the masculine butchers of the medical -profession, your fate would have been terrible; but we of the new school -are destined to lay bare new fountains of health. I propose to treat your -case by an entirely new method; one that is destined to make a great -revolution in medicine. The Lionian Method,--I will briefly explain. You, -madam, are suffering from prostration,--a superabundance of weakness. -In your case, madam, it is necessary to throw off this superabundance of -weakness; but how to supply the vacuum? What is needed? You see at once: -strength. But where shall we find strength?--in the mineral world? No. In -the vegetable world? No. Where shall we turn? To the animal world, and -there we find strength; and where greater strength than in the lion, the -king of beasts? There is our remedy. Madam, I prescribe for you a lion -diet. Lion steaks for breakfast, roast lion for dinner, cold lion for -supper; and lion broth, lion soup, and lion fricassees promiscuously. -Obey me, and you are saved; hesitate, and you are lost. - -_Mrs. L._ Dear me! but where shall I get the lions? - -_Jenny._ That’s none of my business. I prescribe the mode; you must find -the means. You are rich; send and catch them. I would recommend your -keeping a few live lions in your back garden, that you may have them -fresh at all times. - -_Mrs. L._ Lions in our back garden? Mercy! we should be eaten alive! - -_Aunt M._ Lions? What! turn our back garden into a howling wilderness? - -_Mrs. L._ Dear me, dear me! I can never find the means of cure. - -_Jenny._ Then I cannot help you. So, if you will just hand me a check for -five hundred dollars, I’ll go. (_Puts on bonnet._) - -_Mrs. L._ (_Starting up._) A check for what? - -_Jenny._ A check for five hundred dollars. - -_Mrs. L._ But you haven’t cured me. You forget, “No cure, no pay.” - -_Jenny._ Ah, but I’ve prescribed a method that will be sure to cure. If -you don’t choose to try it, that’s not my fault. - -_Mrs. L._ You just start yourself out of this house. Quick, or I’ll find -a way to send you. Quick, I say. - -_Jenny._ Very well, madam; very well. Remember the law. You’ll find you -must pay. Good-morning. - -(_Exit, L._) - -_Mrs. L._ Who ever heard of such impudence? - -_Aunt M._ Why, Angelina, what are you doing? You’ll kill yourself -standing so long. - -_Mrs. L._ (_Sinks back into chair._) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! My -camphor,--quick! Fan me, child, fan me! - -_Alice._ Well, mother, your first attempt with the new school is a -failure. You’d better give it up, and send for Dr. Tincture. - -_Mrs. L._ Child, don’t mention that horrid name again. (_Bell rings._) -Who can that be? Another one of those humbugs. - -_Alice._ We will not have any more come in here, if you say so. - -_Mrs. L._ Yes, let them come. Every means must be tried. - -_Enter BRIDGET, L._ - -_Bridget._ If you plase, mam, there’s another old woman. Says she’s a -doctor. - -_Alice._ Show her in, Bridget. - -(_Exit BRIDGET, L._) - -_Aunt M._ Seems to me, Angelina, you’re having lots of callers to-day. - -(_Enter SUSAN DEAN, L., disguised. An old-fashioned “pumpkin” hood upon -her head, an old, faded cloak upon her shoulders, a bundle of “roots and -herbs” in one hand, a heavy cane in the other._) - -_Susan._ How do you do, folks? Somebody sick here? I’m Dr. Hannah -Stebbins, a regular graduated physician. - -_Alice._ So we understand. - -_Susan._ Yes, my medical edication begun with docterin’ with roots and -yarbs. But, dear me! which is the sick woman? - -_Alice._ My mother. - -_Susan._ Oh, yes! the old lady in the specs. Well, she does look kinder -feeble. (_Crosses to AUNT MIDGET._) Heow do you do, mam? Kinder croning, -hay? - -_Aunt M._ Hay? - -_Susan._ They tell me you’re kinder complainin’. - -_Aunt M._ Rainin’, is it? Why, do tell! What lots of rain we do have! - -_Alice._ You’ve made a mistake. This is my mother. - -_Susan._ Why, yeou don’t say so. There’s nothing the matter with her--is -there? What’s the matter? Got the rheumatics? - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear! I don’t know what’s the matter. - -_Susan._ Kinder stericky--ain’t yer? Let’s see your tongue. It’s awful -red! Let me feel your pulse. Dear me! Why, what can be the matter? - -_Mrs. L._ I am very weak. - -_Susan._ Got a crick in your back? - -_Mrs. L._ I don’t know, but I think I have. - -_Susan._ Headache? - -_Mrs. L._ (_Putting her hand to her head._) Oh, terrible! - -_Susan._ Purty bad way, yeou are. Let me see. There’s catnip,--that ain’t -powerful enough; then there’s penny-_rial_ and wormwood, thoroughwort and -hy-sup; them won’t do yeou any good; we must try the new grassalogical -treatment. - -_Mrs. L._ The grassalogical treatment! What is that? - -_Aunt M._ Hay? - -_Susan._ A new discovery of our larned sister, Dr. Sally Wiggins. The -Scripters tell us, “All flesh is grass.” Therefore, when the flesh is -weak, what more nat’ral than that we should fly to its great counterpart -in nature, the grass? - -_Aunt M._ (_Aside._) Talking about counterpanes,--I’d like to show her my -new patch-work quilt. - -_Susan._ On this theory Dr. Sally has founded her new treatment; and I -think it will be the best thing yeou can try. Take for breakfast every -day grass tea; grass greens biled for dinner, with a leetle pork or -bacon; grass tea for supper--nothing else, and sleep on the grass nights. -If natur’ won’t work a cure in your case, then I’m much mistaken. - -_Mrs. L._ Sleep on the grass? Why, you’re crazy! - -_Aunt M._ Why, I do believe that woman wants to turn our Angelina out to -paster, jest like a cow. - -_Mrs. L._ I confess I do not see the logic of your new treatment. - -_Susan._ Yeou don’t? Well, it does look kinder strange, but it’s the new -school; and if woman is ever to find her speare, her speare must be in -some new school. - -_Mrs. L._ I shall decline following any such nonsensical prescription. - -_Susan._ Very well, mam. If you won’t, you wont; and that’s all there is -about it. So, when you’re ready to settle, I’m ready to start. - -_Mrs. L._ (_Starting up._) Ready to settle! What do you mean? - -_Susan._ Five hundred dollars. That was your offer. - -_Mrs. L._ No cure, no pay. What have you done? - -_Susan._ Given you an original mode of treatment. If you do not choose to -follow it, that’s not my fault. - -_Mrs. L._ You just take your roots and herbs and your new treatment, and -start out of this house, or you’ll get worse treatment. - -_Susan._ Well, well, if this isn’t an ungrateful world! You’re a pretty -sick woman, you are. - -_Mrs. L._ Alice, call Bridget. - -(_ALICE Exit, L._) - -_Susan._ Yeou needn’t call any of your hired folks; I’m going; but if -there is any law in the land, you shall hear from me. You’re a pretty -sick woman, you are. - -(_Exit, L._) - -_Aunt M._ Why, Angelina, there you are standin’ ag’in! You’ll ruin your -constitution jest as sure as can be. - -_Mrs L._ (_Sinks back._) Oh, dear, what a trial! - -_Enter BRIDGET, L._ - -_Bridget._ Did you ax for me, mam? - -_Mrs L._ Bridget, don’t you let any more of these people into the house; -they’ll be the death of me. Do you hear? - -_Bridget._ Faith, I do, mam; and sorry a one will I let in at all at all. - -(_Exit, L._) - -_Aunt M._ Trial and triberlation, child! that’s the lot of us weak -mortals. - -_Enter ALICE, L., disguised as an old lady; shawl, large bonnet, -spectacles, &c._ - -Massy sakes! who’s that? - -_Alice._ Somebody’s sick here--hain’t there? - -_Mrs. L._ Where did _you_ come from? - -_Alice._ Hay? - -_Mrs. L._ Where did you come from? - -_Alice._ I’m a leetle hard of hearing. You’ll have to speak louder. - -_Mrs. L._ Dear me! who sent you here? - -_Alice._ Thank you; I don’t care if I do take a cheer. (_Sits, L._) - -_Mrs. L._ Dear, dear! where can Alice be! Who sent you here? - -_Alice._ Oh, yes, I hear now, when yer speak loud. - -_Mrs. L._ Aunt Midget-- - -_Aunt M._ Well, child. - -_Mrs. L._ Do try and talk to this woman; she’s deaf as a post, I’m sure. - -_Aunt M._ Poor, is she? Wants cold victuals, I s’pose. - -_Mrs. L._ No, no; she’s a doctor. - -_Aunt M._ (_Pulling her chair close to MRS. L., and speaking across her -to ALICE._) What’s the matter? - -_Alice._ (_Moving her chair close to MRS. L., they both speak very -loud._) Hay? - -_Aunt M._ What’s--the--matter? - -_Alice._ I’m deaf. (_Pronounce_ deef.) - -_Aunt M._ Dear me! she want’s some beef. Well, if poor folks ain’t -gitting proud! I guess you’ll have to content yourself with good cold -bread. - -_Alice._ Yes; it is caused by colds in the head. - -_Mrs. L._ Dear me! set the blind to lead the blind. Aunt Midget, this old -lady is very deaf. - -_Aunt M._ You don’t say so. (_Very loud._) What do you want? - -_Alice._ To treat the lady. - -_Aunt M._ Hay? - -_Mrs. L._ Gracious! what a confusion! My good woman, aunt Midget, this -lady, is also very deaf. - -_Alice._ I want to know. (_Very loud to AUNT M._) I want to treat this -lady. - -_Aunt M._ Want to treat her? (_Very loud._) What with? - -_Alice._ (_Louder._) I’m a doctor. - -_Aunt M._ Doctor, hey! Medical or dedical? - -_Alice._ I’m a female physician. - -_Aunt M._ Musician too! What do you play on? - -_Mrs. L._ Stop, stop, stop! Do you want to craze me, you two? Bridget, -Bridget! My good woman, I do not require your services. - -_Enter BRIDGET, L._ - -Here, show this woman out of the house, quick! - -_Alice._ I’m a regular-- - -_Bridget._ Oh, no more of yer blarney! Start yourself quick! - -_Alice._ But, my dear lady, you advertised-- - -_Bridget._ (_Pushing her off, L._) Ah, away wid yer! Away wid yer! - -_Mrs. L._ (_Sinks into her chair._) Oh, dear! was ever a poor sick woman -so abused! My camphor, aunt Midget; my camphor! Where can Alice be? - -_Enter ALICE, L._ - -_Alice._ Here I am, mother; I was called down stairs to see a lady, a -healing medium. She is very desirous of seeing you. - -_Mrs. L._ I will not see her. Those we have had have nearly killed me. - -_Alice._ But, mother, this is an entirely different sort of person. You -must see her, for she is coming up stairs now. - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear, dear! Am I never to have any peace? - -(_Enter LUCY, disguised. A bloomer costume (a bathing-dress will answer -the purpose), an old-fashioned “front” of hair with side curls, a straw -hat and parasol._) - -_Lucy._ My dear child, which is your afflicted parent! - -_Alice._ This is her. - -_Lucy._ (_Seats herself, L. of MRS. L._) She does, indeed, seem -afflicted! That care-worn face, those weak and feeble limbs, are sure -signs of the presence of disease. - -_Mrs. L._ Here is one who understands me at last. - -_Lucy._ The power has been given me to heal the sick. (_Twitches her -right arm._) - -_Mrs. L._ Mercy! what’s the matter? - -_Aunt M._ That girl’s going into a fit. - -_Lucy._ It’s nothing; be as quiet as you can. (_Left arm twitches._) - -_Aunt M._ Gracious goodness! I tell you, Angelina, that gal’s in a fit! -(_LUCY’S head jerks, and she stares fixedly at AUNT M._) See her glare at -me! I tell you she’s crazy. Angelina, if you don’t have that woman taken -away, I’ll holler right eout! - -_Lucy._ Sh--! I behold a vision! I see a woman before a wash-tub--a -stout, rosy, healthy woman. She looks like you; and she rubs and sings, -rubs and sings. (_With imitation of rubbing._) - -_Mrs. L._ That’s me--that’s just like me! - -_Lucy._ I see her again! She’s ironing now; and she irons and sings, -irons and sings. (_Imitates._) - -_Mrs. L._ Just like me--just like me! - -_Lucy._ And now she sweeps (_imitates_), and now scrubs (_imitates_), -singing all the while. Hark! what is it she sings? - -_Mrs. L._ (_Singing._) - - “Let us sing merrily, lightly, and cheerily, - Let us be gay, - Let us be gay; - Throw away sorrow; why should we borrow - Tears from to-morrow - To darken to-day?” - - (_To be found in the “Excelsior Song-Book.”_) - -_Lucy._ Yes, yes! That’s it! But now it changes. I see her again: -she appears feeble and weak, and complains. Oh, how she complains! -(_Imitates._)--“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I’m so weak--I’m so weak! My -camphor, aunt Midget! Fan me, my child!” - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, dear! that’s me. - -_Lucy._ (_Gesticulating, as though shaking somebody._) What is this that -now urges me to seize this woman and shake her? - -_Aunt M._ Angelina, that gal’s going to fight somebody. Don’t yer come -a-near me. - -_Lucy._ (_Slowly approaching MRS. L._) All this woman needs is exercise, -and I must give her exercise. (_Imitating shaking._) - -_Aunt M._ (_Jumping into chair._) Massy sakes! this is a raving lunatic. - -_Mrs. L._ (_Starts up._) Come, come, young woman, this is quite enough. - -_Alice._ You musn’t touch my mother. - -_Aunt M._ That gal’s a Shaker; I know she is. - -_Lucy._ (_Still approaching her._) To shake this woman--to shake this -woman! - -_Mrs. L._ This woman declines being shaken. I’ll do all the shaking -myself. (_Seizes LUCY and shakes her._) What do you mean by such conduct? -Who are you? (_Shakes her again, which shakes off her “front” and hat._) -Lucy Aiken! Why, what does this mean? - -_Lucy._ That I have turned physician, owing to the extraordinary -inducements held out in an advertisement entitled “No Cure, no Pay.” - -_Mrs. L._ What? - -_Alice._ Yes, mother, I thought it a pity to waste money in advertising -when we had three such good female physicians in the neighborhood. - -_Enter JENNY CARTER and SUSAN DEAN, L., disguised as before._ - -Here are the other two. - -_Mrs. L._ And pray, who are they? (_JENNY and SUSAN throw off their -bonnets._) - -_Jenny._ A disciple of the lionian school! - -_Mrs. L._ Jenny Carter! - -_Susan._ And a student of the grassalogical treatment. - -_Mrs. L._ Susan Dean! Well, I am amazed. - -_Aunt M._ (_Getting down from chair._) If that gal’s got through her -tantrums, I’d like to get down! - -_Mrs. L._ But there was another--a deaf old lady. - -_Alice._ (_Imitating._) Hay? - -_Mrs. L._ Why, Alice! have you been concerned in this too? Do you know it -was very wrong to deceive your mother in this way? - -_Alice._ Perhaps it was, mother; but I think you are better for the very -singular treatment you have met with. - -_Aunt M._ Law, child, what are you thinking of? You have been standing -nearly five minutes. - -_Mrs. L._ And I propose to stand five minutes more, for the purpose of -thanking these young ladies for the very excellent manner in which they -have treated my complaint. Ah, Lucy, that little touch of the old life -you gave me has awakened my slumbering energies. I think I shall be able -to go about and do a portion of that duty which is given the rich to -perform--succor the needy and relieve the distressed. In such employment -I need fear no return of my complaint. But how can I reward you? - -_Alice._ Remember your promise; five hundred dollars-- - -_Lucy._ Which we gladly renounce, looking for reward in the approval of -our friends here. - -_Mrs. L._ But will they grant it? If, like me, in your practice they have -found a cure for idle complainings, they certainly will; if not, you must -all remember the conditions--NO CURE, NO PAY. - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS AT END: - -L. Susan, Jenny, Lucy, Mrs. Languish, Alice, Aunt Midget. R. - - - - -HUMORS OF THE STRIKE. A FARCE. - -FOR MALE CHARACTERS ONLY. - - -CHARACTERS. - - GREENBAX, President of the Broadaxe Horse Railroad. - HARTSHORN, a Director. - TRUMPS, Superintendent. - KNOCKDOWN, Conductor. - WHIPSTOCK, Driver. - HARDHEAD (a little deaf). - FINNEGAN, a Fenian. - DAN, a New-York Butcher’s Boy. - - -COSTUMES, MODERN. - - - SCENE.--_President’s Room. Chair, L. Table, C._ - -_Enter KNOCKDOWN, L. WHIPSTOCK, R._ - -_Knock._ Whipstock, my boy, how goes the strike? - -_Whip._ As well as could be expected. It’s evident we shall have to give -in. Old Greenbax is still determined not to pay the advance asked for. - -_Knock._ Won’t he? We’ll see about that. The strike has continued but -eight days, and they have used up all means in their power to get -conductors and drivers. I saw the seven o’clock car standing before the -station, waiting for somebody to put it through. We have taken good care -nobody shall be found; and I rather think this predicament will bring our -worthy president to terms. There’s nothing like a little pluck, my boy. - -_Whip._ Oh, yes; it’s all very well for you to talk, who have a chance -at the pickings; but as for me, I’m pretty well played out; and if old -Greenbax don’t come down soon, I shall, with a rush. - -_Knock._ Nonsense! Never say die, my boy. - -_Whip._ I don’t mean to; but if this thing continues much longer, Mrs. -Whipstock will say it for me, emphasized with a broomstick. Halloo! -here’s old Greenbax. Now for a breeze. - -_Enter GREENBAX, R._ - -_Green._ (_As he enters._) Trumps! Trumps! I say, where can that fellow -be? Trumps! (_Sees KNOCKDOWN and WHIPSTOCK._) Halloo! what are you doing -here? Ready to go to work, hey! - -_Knock._ Yes, sir, ready to go to work--at the advance prices. - -_Green._ Hum! (_To WHIPSTOCK._) And are you ready to drive? - -_Whip._ Certainly--at the advance prices. - -_Green._ (_C._) Hum! Will you both serve us faithfully? - -_Whip and Knock._ (_Advancing eagerly on each side of him, and speaking -quickly._) Oh, yes, sir; yes, indeed! - -_Green._ At the advance prices? I’ll see you farther, first, and then I -won’t. No, sir; we pay you too much now. Clear out, both of you. I don’t -want you around here. Quit! Exit! Vamose! - -_Whip._ Did you ever! The old curmudgeon! _Exit R._ - -_Knock._ No, I never! The skinflint! _Exit, R._ - -_Green._ (_Seating himself at desk._) Here’s a pretty condition for -the Broadaxe Horse Railroad to find itself placed in. A parcel of -whipsnappers dictating to Horatio Greenbax, president of the corporation. -Strike away, you scoundrels! You’ll find those who have the longest -pockets can strike the hardest and stick the closest. (_Enter TRUMPS, -R._) Well, Trumps, what’s up now? - -_Trumps._ We are, I should say. Here’s the seven o’clock car waiting for -both driver and conductor, and none to be had. - -_Green._ Then get new ones. - -_Trumps._ It’s very well to say get new ones; but where to get them, -is the question. Our discharged men have induced everybody in the -neighborhood to refuse. - -_Green._ They have, have they? (_Voices heard outside shouting, “Halloo!” -“Conductor!” “Time’s up!” “Halloo!” “Hurry up!” “Hurry up!”_) - -_Trumps._ There, you hear that; the passengers are impatient. - -_Green._ Well, well; drive it yourself. - -_Trumps._ I can’t do that; somebody must look after the company’s -property. (_Voices heard again impatiently shouting._) - -_Enter HARTSHORN, L._ - -_Harts._ Mr. Pwesident, what is the meaning of this wow, and wiot, and -wumpus? ’Pon my word, this is decidedly wulgaw; we shall be disgwaced -with such an outwageous disturbance in fwont of our door--we shall, -indeed. - -_Green._ The fact is, Mr. Hartshorn, the company finds itself destitute -of both drivers and conductors, in consequence of the strike. - -_Harts._ Stwike! what a wevolution! You alawm me--you do, indeed. - -_Green._ Well, don’t get frightened; you won’t be struck. - -_Harts._ What’s to be done? - -_Green._ Don’t know; unless you volunteer to drive that car down. - -_Harts._ I volunteaw to dwive a paiw of vulgaw howses down Bwoadway, -and one of these filthy caws too! I nevaw! The effluviaw fwom those -cadavewous cweatures is howible! ’pon my word, howible! (_Voices again._) -There’s the wow again! - -_Enter HARDHEAD, R._ - -_Hard._ Where’s the president of this confounded road? - -_Green._ I believe I have the honor to be its presiding officer. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Green._ I am he. - -_Hard._ Hey? Speak louder; what are you mumbling about? - -_Green._ (_Very loud._) I am the presiding officer. - -_Hard._ Coffee, sir? I didn’t say any thing about coffee. I’ve had my -breakfast, and, if it hadn’t been for that infernal car, should have been -down town before this. - -_Green._ This old gent is a little hard of hearing. - -_Trumps._ It hasn’t affected his vocal organs, anyhow. - -_Harts._ Yaas; he’s got an impediment in his eaw. - -_Hard._ What do you all stand there growling for? Why don’t you answer me? - -_Green._ I am the person you want. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Green._ (_Very loud._) I--am--the--President. (_Lower._) Confound your -picture! - -_Hard._ Oh, you are; then you ought to be ashamed of yourself. What’s -that car waiting for? - -_Green._ Somebody to drive. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Green._ (_Very loud and angrily._) Want somebody to drive. - -_Hard._ Somebody’s wife? What business have you to keep a car waiting for -somebody’s wife? I don’t ask you to wait for my wife--do I? Where’s your -conductor? - -_Green._ He’s on a strike. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Green._ (_Very loud and excitedly, and flourishing his arms._) I tell -you he’s indulging in a strike. - -_Hard._ (_Raising his cane._) Oh, that’s your little game, is it? You -want to indulge in a strike! Well, indulge, then. Come on, you scoundrel; -I’ll strike! - -_Green._ No, no! (_Dodging behind HARTSHORN._) I don’t mean any thing of -that kind. Keep off! - -_Harts._ Good gwacious! what a tewible monstaw! - -_Hard._ (_To HARTSHORN_,)--Oh, you’ll have it--will you, Whiskers? You -want a crusher--do you? - -_Harts._ No, no; I don’t want a cwusher! (_Dodges behind GREENBAX._) I -won’t have a cwusher! - -_Trumps._ (_Stepping before HARDHEAD, and speaking very loud._) Beg -pardon, sir; but you misunderstand. Our drivers have struck for higher -wages. - -_Hard._ Oh, that’s it. Why didn’t he say so? (_To GREENBAX._) Well, what -are you going to do about it? I must go down town at once. - -_Green._ (_Loud._) If you will be patient a few minutes, we will try to -accommodate you. - -_Hard._ Look here, Mr. ---- (_to TRUMPS_), what is that individual’s name? - -_Trumps._ Greenbax. - -_Hard._ Look here, Mr. Beeswax; if you don’t hurry up that car, I’ll have -you arrested as a swindler. (_Voices outside again._) - -_Trumps._ Come, Mr. Greenbax, something must be done at once. - -_Green._ What can I do? - -_Trumps._ Hire the men at the new prices. - -_Green._ Never! I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t, if no cars run to-day. - -_Trumps._ Very well, sir; I have done all I can do. (_Exit._) - -_Hard._ Are we going down to-day or not? - -_Green._ I wish you was down where you belong, with all my heart. -(_Louder._) Very warm to-day, sir. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Green._ It’s very warm to-day. - -_Hard._ Pay? I’ll pay you if you don’t start that car soon. (_Goes up to -table and sits._) - -_Green._ O, pshaw! it’s no use talking to him. Well, Hartshorn, what’s to -be done? - -_Harts._ ’Pon my word, I don’t know. S’pose you dwive down yourself. - -_Green._ Me? When I do, just inform me--will you? (_Noise again -outside._) Halloo! Who’s this? - -_Enter FINNEGAN, R._ - -_Fin._ Is the prisidint widin, I dunno? - -_Green._ Well, I do. He is; and I am he. - -_Fin._ Yer are--are yez? O, yer spalpeen! and it’s there ye are, thaif! - -_Green._ Come, come; be a little more respectful. - -_Fin._ Respictful, is it? By my sowl, and ain’t you the sarvant of the -public? and ain’t I the public, bedad? What do yer mean by kaping me -standing outside there squatting in a car, and waiting to be took to the -arms of Biddy and the childers, afther I’ve fit, bled, and died for ould -Ireland up in Can-a-dy, shure I’d like to know? - -_Hart._ Good gwacious! what a fewocious foweigner! - -_Fin._ And who the deuce are you, onyhow? You chatter like a monkey, and -you look like a baboon! By my sowl, I believe you’re Barnum’s What Is It! - -_Green._ Come, come; this won’t do. - -_Fin._ Won’t it? and who’s to hinder, I’d like to know? Faith, do ye mind -who I am? I’m a full-blooded Fenian; ready to sthrike for ould Ireland; -and if that car don’t start soon, I’ll strike you, ye blackguard. -(_Flourishing his shillalah._) - -_Green._ Come, come; be quiet. (_Dodging behind HARTSHORN._) Pacify him, -Hartshorn. - -_Harts._ Pacify him? Good gwacious! here’s another stwiker! Don’t -flouwish that club in that mannaw. Gweenbax will talk to you. (_Dodges -behind GREENBAX._) - -_Green._ Put up that stick. You shall have a conveyance in five minutes. - -_Fin._ Conveyance, is it? I want no conveyance. I want a car, and that -quick. - -_Hard._ (_Starting up and shouting._) Is that car going or not? - -_Fin._ Faith, here’s another belated gint. (_To GREENBAX._) Don’t yer -hear the gintleman? - -_Green._ Confound the gintleman, and the car too. Was ever a president in -such a fix? Here’s another! Well, come on all at once. - -(_Enter DAN, R._) - -_Dan._ Say! where’s the president of this here road? Say! - -_Hard._ Is that car going? - -_Fin._ Fetch on your conveyance, ould chap. - -_Green._ One at a time, if you please. (_To DAN._) I am the president. -What do you want? - -_Dan._ Well, say, old cove, what do yer mean by keepin’ folks waitin’ in -this style, say? - -_Fin._ Faith, ould gint, if yer don’t spake up, there’ll be “say” enough -to dhrown ye. - -_Green._ There’s a little delay on account of the strike. - -_Fin._ Sthrike, is it? A sthrike, bedad! I’m on hand like a picked-up -dinner. I sthruck a blow for ould Ireland in Can-a-dy, and then I sthruck -for home; and, bedad, I’ll sthrike for any thing at all, at all. - -_Dan._ I say, Pat, hush yer jaw; we’ll jest clean out this institution. - -_Fin._ Faith, that we will. It’s a dirthy place onyhow. - -_Hart._ Good gwacious! there’s going to be more stwiking! - -_Dan._ Look here, Smellin’ Bottle! (_Seizes HARTSHORN by the collar, and -brings him to the centre._) - -_Hart._ Good gwacious! Welease my coat! You awe too polite--you awe -indeed! - -_Dan._ Am I? Jest look a here, Smellin’ Bottle! and you too, prez--look -sharp! fur I’m a goin’ to talk to yer like a first-class sermon! I drives -fur old Swizel, I does; and I kills fur Swizel too; and I’m goin down -town in that car in five minutes! You understand? - -_Hard._ (_Shouting._) Is that car going, or is that car not going? - -_Dan._ Say, old gent, you jest subside. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Fin._ Faith, the ould gint’s as dafe as a haddock. (_Goes up to table -and talks to HARDHEAD in dumb show._) - -_Dan._ Now, prez, I want yer to understand I’m a goin’ down town; and I -want a driver and a conductor. - -_Green._ But I tell you there is a strike. - -_Dan._ Yes; and there’ll be another very soon. Here, Smellin’ Bottle, I -guess you can drive pretty well. - -_Harts._ Good gwacious! Me? O, nevaw. I should be exhausted at once! I -should indeed! - -_Dan._ Then we’ll exhaust you. Come, heave ahead, and take the ribbons. - -_Harts._ But, good gwacious! considaw; I should soil my dwess; I should -indeed! - -_Dan._ Well, we’ll fix that. Here, Pat. - -_Fin._ (_Coming down._) Here yer are, my darlint. - -_Dan._ Bring some old clo’s in here from that next room--the dirtiest yer -can find. - -_Harts._ Good gwacious! - -_Fin._ Faith, that I will. (_Exit, R._) - -_Green._ I protest against this proceeding. You are trespassing upon the -premises of the Broadaxe Railroad. - -_Dan._ Oh, simmer down, now; your turn will come soon. - -(_Enter FINNEGAN, R., with a couple of dirty old overcoats and a couple -of shocking bad hats._) - -_Fin._ Here you are. - -_Dan._ Now, Smellin’ Bottle, jump into this. (_Holding up the dirtiest -overcoat._) - -_Harts._ Good gwacious! what a howible coat! No, nevaw; twy the -pwesident. (_Dodges behind GREENBAX._) - -_Dan._ All right. (_Seizes GREENBAX._) Prez, jump in. - -_Green._ No; I will submit to no such outrage. I am the president of this -corporation. - -_Fin._ Thin we’ll invist you wid this robe of office. - -(_DAN and FINNEGAN seize GREENBAX, and thrust him into the coat._) - -_Green._ Oh, you shall suffer for this! - -_Fin._ We do, my darlint; now for your crown. (_Claps hat on his head._) -Ivery inch a king! - -_Dan._ Now, then, for Smellin’ Bottle. (_Seizes HARTSHORN._) - -_Harts._ Good gwacious! I’m innocent; I am indeed! I’m only a poor -diwector. - -_Fin._ Thin come here directly. (_Seizes him, puts on coat and hat, he -all the time protesting._) - -_Green._ Oh, if there is any law, you shall suffer for this! - -_Hard._ Is that car going? - -_Dan._ Directly. We’ve procured a driver and conductor, and now we’re -off. Come, Pat, lead off with the prez--I mean driver. - -_Fin._ Faith, that I will. - -_Dan._ And I’ll take Smellin’ Bottle. (_They take GREENBAX and HARTSHORN -by the arm, who struggle and protest._) - -_Green._ (_To HARDHEAD, who comes down._) This is an outrage. I call upon -you to protect me. - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Harts._ Yes, yes; pwotect me, pwotect me! - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Fin._ Bedad! that ould gint is like a horse; he’s full of hay! - -_Dan._ Now we’ll be down town in a jiffy. Come on. - -_Enter TRUMPS, R._ - -_Trumps._ What’s the meaning of this? - -_Dan._ We’ve procured a conductor and a driver for the seven o’clock car. - -_Trumps._ We don’t want them. - -_Dan._ Yes; but we do. - -_Trumps._ No; for the conductor and driver have come to terms; and if -you’ll jump aboard, we’ll be off in a jiffy. - -_Green._ Strike over? - -_Trumps._ Entirely. - -_Harts._ Good gwacious! that’s lucky! - -_Dan._ You can bless your lucky stars, prez. - -_Green._ I do; and if ever there’s another strike on this road, I’ll -resign at once. - -_Fin._ (_To HARDHEAD._) Strike’s over! - -_Hard._ Hey? - -_Fin._ (_Loud._) The strike’s over. - -_Hard._ Anybody knocked down? - -_Dan._ The conductors will attend to that part of the business. - -_Trumps._ Come, gentlemen, jump on; can’t wait any longer. - -_Green._ Jump on, gentlemen; the strike has concluded to our -satisfaction; let us hope it has to the satisfaction of all who have -taken this little trip with us on the Broadaxe Horse Railroad. - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS. - -R. Trumps, Finnegan, Greenbax, Hartshorn, Dan, Hardhead, L. - - - - -BREAD ON THE WATERS. - -A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS. - - -CHARACTERS. - - DR. HARLEM, Principal of Greenlake Seminary. - HARRY HARLEM, his son. - FRED HASTINGS, } Pupils. - SOB WINDERS, } - JONATHAN WILD BUTTS, the Town Constable. - LUCY HARLEM, the Doctor’s Daughter. - MRS. LORING, Housekeeper. - DILLY (picked from the streets). - - -COSTUMES. - -DR. HARLEM. Act 1, Black suit, white cravat, long white hair. Act 2, -Dressing-gown, &c. - -HARRY. Act 1, Lad of eighteen. Roundabout jacket, rolling collar, &c. Act -2 (disguised), Gray wig and beard, sailor’s blue shirt, white trousers. - -FRED. Act 1, Lad of eighteen. Roundabout jacket, rolling collar, &c. Act -2, Stylish modern costume. - -BOB. Act 1 (Very fat), Costume same as Harry and Fred. Act 2 (genteel -figure), Very fashionable. - -BUTTS. Act 1, Blue coat, brass buttons, short pants, iron-gray wig, -shabby hat. Act 2, same as in Act 1. - -MRS. LORING. Act 1, Old lady’s suit. Act 2, Same as in Act 1, with the -addition of cap and spectacles. - -DILLY (aged 13). Act 1, Short dress, curls, &c. Act 2, Young lady’s -modern dress. - -LUCY (aged 16). Act 1, Dress neat and pretty. Act 2, Young lady’s modern -dress. - - - ACT 1. SCENE.--_Parlor in the house of DR. HARLEM. Table, L., - with chair R. of it; arm-chair, L. C.; small table with chair, - R.; LUCY, R., sewing; MRS. LORING seated in arm-chair, reading._ - -_Mrs. L._ Lucy, my child, how very quiet you are! - -_Lucy._ Indeed, Aunt Loring, I cannot help it. You know to-day is the -very last of the term. School closed; all the pupils gone except Fred -Hastings and Bob Winders, and they leave us to-day: the thought of the -quiet humdrum life we are to lead for the next two months makes me feel -very sad. - -_Mrs. L._ The change will be a relief to all of us. Think of your father: -he needs the rest which the close of the term will bring. - -_Lucy._ I do think of him; and for his sake I am glad. But still we lose -many friends in the young gentlemen who have left us. I’m sure we shall -miss them. - -_Mrs. L._ Especially your particular friend, Fred Hastings; hey, Lucy? - -_Lucy._ Oh! of course. You know he is very agreeable, Aunt Loring, and -has been very kind to us. - -_Mrs. L._ He is no favorite of mine. He has been very agreeable, -especially to you; while to your brother Harry he has been altogether too -kind. - -_Lucy._ Why, Aunt Loring! Harry thinks there never was such a friend. - -_Mrs. L._ Harry is young; he has seen little of the world: and the gay, -dashing style of Fred Hastings has won his admiration. But Master Fred -Hastings has already led him into mischief. Their pranks in the village -have reached my ears, and, I fear, those of your father. Fred Hastings is -not a fit companion for our Harry; and it will be a relief to me when he -quits this place never to return. - -_Lucy._ Don’t talk so, Aunt Loring. You are mistaken in him. - -_Mrs. L._ I hope I am. But, during the ten years I have been housekeeper -for your father, I have seen a great many young men, and learned to read -their characters; and I say that Master Fred Hasting has too much money, -too much assurance, and too much love for what is called sport, ever to -make a good man. - -_Lucy._ I do hope you are mistaken. I’m sure you must be. - -_Mrs. L._ Well, well, child, we shall see. - -_Butts._ (_Outside, C._) Don’t tell me. How do you know? None of your -lying. I’ll find out for myself. (_Enter BUTTS, C._) How do you do, marm? -Hope you’re well, Miss Lucy. Where’s the doctor? - -_Mrs. L._ He’s out, Mr. Butts. What is the matter? - -_Butts._ Matter! What should be the matter, when a set of jackanapes are -allowed to roam through the village, pillaging, burning, and insulting? I -won’t have it: the law shall be respected. - -_Mrs. L._ Burning and pillaging! Why, Mr. Butts, have any of our young -gentlemen been engaged in such disreputable proceedings? - -_Butts._ Worse than that, marm. Worse than that. I’m disgusted with -seminaries. If I could have my way, there shouldn’t be any thing like a -school in the land. - -_Mrs. L._ Then I’m very glad you do not have your way. What is the cause -of complaint now? - -_Butts._ The majesty of the law has been outraged; and I, as the -representative of the law, have been insulted. Those rascals of yours -have been at their pranks. Going to my office this morning, I found a -crowd of the rag, tag, and bobtail of the village gathered about it, -hooting and yelling at some object in the window. Madam, imagine my -indignation when I found that object to be a stuffed figure wrapped in my -dressing-gown, with a foolscap on its head, and labelled “Jonathan Wild -Butts, Thief-taker,”--seated in my arm-chair too, at the open window. -Think of that, marm!--an outrage, a diabolical outrage, upon justice! - -_Mrs L._ Who could have done it? - -_Butts._ You ask that, marm?--you who have lived for ten years in this -den of iniquity, this nursery of roguery, this incubating machine of -vice? Who did it?--why, Dr. Harlem’s pupils, of course. - -_Lucy._ Why, Mr. Butts! They’re all gone except Fred Hastings and Bob -Winders. - -_Butts._ Except--Add your brother Harry, and you have the ringleaders -in every assault upon the peace and quiet of the place. I know them. -I’ve winked at many of their misdeeds; but, when they assault justice, I -tell you Jonathan Wild Butts has his eye on ’em. I say, respect the law, -respect the law. - -_Mrs. L._ I assure you, Mr. Butts, I have a great respect for the law and -its officers. Take a seat. The doctor will soon return. - -_Butts._ No, I thank you, marm. I’ll call again. It’s my duty to keep -an eye on rogues; and I flatter myself I know my duty. Let the wicked -tremble; for justice is on their track. (_About to exit, C., runs against -DILLY, who enters, C._) - -_Dilly._ Dear me, Mr. Butts. Don’t knock a body down. - -_Butts._ (_Taking her by the ear, and bringing her down stage._) Ah, ha, -you little baggage! I’ve got you at last. - -_Dilly._ Don’t, Mr. Butts: you hurt. I ain’t done nothing. - -_Butts._ Look me in the eye. - -_Dilly._ Which one, Mr. Butts? - -_Butts._ Silence! - -_Dilly._ Well, you needn’t holler so: I ain’t deaf. - -_Butts._ Silence! You took my horse and chaise yesterday while I was in -Mr. Bates’s house, drove through the town like mad; and, when I found -them, they were locked up in the pound, the horse in a perspiration, and -the chaise nearly stove to pieces. What have you to say to that? - -_Dilly._ Let my ear alone. I won’t tell you a word until you do. - -_Butts._ Speak out, quick! What did you take my chaise for? - -_Dilly._ La, Mr. Butts! I didn’t mean to hurt it. You posted a notice on -the church-door, warning people to beware of leaving horses in the street -over twenty minutes; for, if they did, their horses should be put in the -pound, and their owners fined. - -_Butts._ What’s that got to do with my horse? - -_Dilly._ Respect the law, Mr. Butts. I saw your horse stand at Mr. -Bates’s door over half an hour; and you know what’s sauce for the goose -is sauce for the gander: and so I drove him to the pound. Ain’t you much -obliged? - -_Butts._ Much obliged, you young jackanapes? If ever I find you meddling -with my horse again, I’ll have you locked up in a pound where you won’t -get out in a hurry. - -_Dilly._ La, Mr. Butts, don’t get angry! What’s the use of making laws, -if you break them yourself. - -_Butts._ Oh, bother! Precious little you know about law. Good-morning, -Mrs. Loring; good-morning, Miss Lucy (_going, C._). - -_Dilly._ Good-morning, Mr. Butts: going to have a ride? - -_Butts._ Oh, bother! - -_Dilly._ I say, Mr. Butts-- - -_Butts._ Well, what now? - -_Dilly._ Respect the law. - -_Butts._ Oh, pshaw! (_Runs off, C._) - -_Dilly._ Ha, ha, ha! What a queer old customer! - -_Lucy._ Why, Dilly! - -_Mrs. L._ Dilly, child, you mustn’t talk so. - -_Dilly._ That’s what Harry calls him. - -_Mrs. L._ That’s no reason why you should speak so. Mr. Butts is a very -worthy man, and tries to do his duty. - -_Dilly._ He’s a constable, and I do hate constables: they’re always round -poking their noses into every thing, and spoiling all the fun. - -_Mrs. L._ It is his duty, child, to look after mischief-makers. - -_Dilly._ But he makes such a fuss about it, and he always manages to -catch the wrong ones. - -_Lucy._ He didn’t catch the wrong one to-day. Why, Dilly, how could you -do such a thing? - -_Dilly._ Pooh! It is easy enough if you only know how to drive. - -_Mrs. L._ That poor horse! - -_Dilly._ Well, it’s Mr. Butts’s fault that he is poor. He ought to feed -him: I’m sure he’s rich enough! Harry says he’s an old-- - -_Mrs. L._ Stop, child! never mind what Harry says. - -_Dilly._ But I do mind what Harry says. Harry’s my father and mother and -brother all in one. I’m sure I shouldn’t know what to do without Harry. - -_Mrs. L._ You have great cause to love him, for to Harry you owe all you -have. - -_Dilly._ Yes: he found me a little bit of a girl in the streets, and -brought me home. Don’t I love him for it, though? He calls me such queer -names! Don’t you think, auntie, this morning, he called me “Little Bread -upon the Waters.” What a queer name! I’m sure I don’t know what it means. - -_Mrs. L._ I’ll tell you, Dilly. Nine years ago, the night before you -were brought here, Dr. Harlem, Harry, and myself were sitting in this -very room. The doctor, as usual, was reading from the Scriptures before -retiring for the night. During the reading, this sentence attracted -Harry’s attention, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find -it after many days.” Harry looked up with his bright eyes. “That’s -a queer sentence, father,” said he. “Ah, my boy!” said the doctor, -“there’s many sentences in this book to puzzle young heads like yours, -and many to puzzle older ones than mine. ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters’ -means, do all the good you can in this world, never looking for reward; -for it will always come, sooner or later. Do a good deed, be it to -benefit rich or poor, high or low; for your reward will surely come.” -The next morning, Harry drove his father to the village at a very early -hour, as the doctor was going a journey, and wanted to catch a train. On -his return, he saw a little bundle of rags by the way-side. He alighted, -and was surprised to find a little girl four or five years old, almost -dead,--a poor little sick, suffering thing, evidently left to die by some -inhuman mother. - -_Dilly._ That was me, wasn’t it, auntie? - -_Mrs. L._ That was you. Harry looked at you, and was about to turn away, -when he remembered the lesson of the previous night. “Father says, ‘Cast -thy bread upon the waters,’” said he; “so this little one shall go home -with me.” The doctor was very much surprised on his return, and very much -inclined to send you to the poorhouse; but Harry begged so hard to keep -you, that he relented, and here you have been ever since. - -_Dilly._ That’s why Harry called me, “Bread upon the Waters.” I wonder if -such a little crumb as I am can ever repay him. - -_Mrs. L._ No doubt, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ Perhaps I shall turn out to be some rich heiress, that some -cruel uncle wanted to get out of the way. If I do, won’t I make Harry -rich! - -_Mrs. L._ There’s not much chance of that. No clew could be found to your -parentage. - -_Dilly._ And I hope there never will be. I don’t want to leave Harry -and you, auntie, and Lucy, and the dear good doctor. If I’m a nobody, I -mean to be happy; and, if ever I can do any thing for Harry to repay him -for--for--for-- (_Bursts into tears._) - -_Mrs. L._ There, there, Dilly, don’t cry. We all love you dearly; and, -while you live, there is a warm home for you in Greenlake. Come with me. -I’ve got a new canary in my room. (_Exit, R._) - -_Dilly._ A canary? Oh, my! ain’t that splendid? (_Exit, R._) - -_Lucy._ Harry in danger! I do not believe it. Fred Hastings is a dear, -delightful fellow, and I am sure would lead nobody into danger. - -_Bob._ (_Without, C._) O Lord! O murder! oh, bring somebody here quick! -(_Enter, C., dragging a trap, in which his foot is caught._) - -_Lucy._ Why, Bob, what have you been doing? - -_Bob._ Practising your favorite song, “I’ve been roaming, I’ve been -roaming;” and this is the consequence. - -_Lucy._ Ah! too many sharps in that tune for you. - -_Bob._ Altogether. I don’t like the measure. Won’t you be kind enough to -release me? - -_Lucy._ Certainly. (_Releases his foot._) - -_Bob._ Thank you. Ah, Lucy, if I only had you to release me from all the -traps I get into! - -_Lucy._ Oh, pshaw! you should keep out of them. Now, I’ll warrant you’ve -been in somebody’s melon-patch. - -_Bob._ Lucy, you wrong me. But it’s just my luck. I never shall be -understood. I’m born to be unappreciated in this world. I haven’t been -in any melon-patch at all. I climbed Farmer Butts’s wall to gather a -bouquet for you, when I stuck my foot in it. It’s just my luck. I never -tried to gather a rose but what I stuck my hands full of thorns. - -_Lucy._ Ah, Bob, you went too near Farmer Butts’s melon-patch. - -_Bob._ Well, now you mention it, I did take a look at them there -bouncers, and they seemed to say, “Come and take us melons;” but this -trap said, “_Can’t elope_,” and fastened its cruel teeth in my tender -ankles. Just my luck. - -_Lucy._ O Bob! I’m ashamed of you. - -_Bob._ Now, don’t, Lucy! I’m an unfortunate chap. I was born to be -unlucky. I tell you, you should have had the most beautiful melon,--I -mean bouquet,--if it hadn’t been for this trap. Just my luck! Here I’ve -been sent to this school by my fond but mistaken parent to be fitted -for the bar or the pulpit. Fit subject I am for either. The only bar I -hanker for is a horizontal bar. I’d like to be a gymnast, join a circus, -or something of that kind; but there, you see, I’m too fat. It’s just my -luck. If I go out with the boys on a frolic, I’m sure to get caught. If -I race on the water, my weight either capsizes the boat, or leaves me a -mile behind. I tell you, Lucy, I’m born to ill luck. - -_Lucy._ Oh, no, Bob! Have more confidence in yourself. - -_Bob._ Confidence! Well, I like that. Confidence in what? I’m always at -the foot of the class, always the last one up in the morning, and always -the last in every thing. Oh, dear! I wonder what will become of me. If it -wasn’t for Harry, I should drown myself. No, I couldn’t do that. I’m too -fat: I couldn’t sink. Just my luck. - -_Harry._ (_Outside, C._) Halloo! halloo! house! house! house! - -_Fred._ (_Outside, C._) Fish! fish! fish! - -_Lucy._ There’s Fred and Harry. - -_Dilly._ (_Runs in, R._) Oh, here’s Harry! Harry, here we are. (_Enter -FRED and HARRY, C., with poles and fish-baskets._) - -_Harry._ Halloo, Dilly! such a mess of trout for dinner! - -_Fred._ Such capital sport! Halloo, Bob! where have you been? We are -looking for you! - -_Bob._ Oh, I’ve been fishing too. - -_Harry._ No! Have you? What luck? - -_Bob._ Oh! I caught some. - -_Lucy._ Yes: brought them home in a trap too. - -_Harry._ Oh, ho! - -_Fred._ Ha, ha! - -_Harry._ Been in that melon-patch again? - -_Fred._ O you rascal! - -_Harry._ You promised to wait till dark. - -_Bob._ Sh--Confound it! - -_Fred._ Selfish chap! Wanted them all for himself. - -_Bob._ Oh, bother! I was only reconnoitering. - -_Harry._ And got snatched by the sharpshooters. - -_Bob._ Sharpshooters! you may well say that. Such sharp, shooting pains -as I’ve had in my ankles! - -_Harry._ Served you right. - -_Bob._ Just my luck! - -_Harry._ Never go into anybody’s melon-patch without your friends. - -_Fred._ No, sir! Greedy boys always get punished. - -_Dilly._ O Harry! what splendid trout! what bouncers! - -_Harry._ Well, you bounce into the kitchen with them, quick; we must have -them for dinner. - -_Dilly._ That I will. (_Singing._) - - “Fishy, fishy, come bite my hook; - You may go captain, and I’ll go cook.” - -(_Exit, R._) - -_Fred._ Well, Lucy, our happy school-days are drawing to a close. -To-night I must leave for home. - -_Bob._ And so must I. Ah, Lucy, - - “Those happy days are over; - There’s naught but grief and pain”-- - -_Harry._ - - “When in a trap you set your foot: - So, don’t do it again.” - -Oh, pshaw! Boys, don’t be sentimental: let’s end the term with a frolic. - -_Fred._ I’m agreed. What shall it be? - -_Harry._ What say you to a race on the lake? Our wherries are at the -landing. We sha’n’t have another chance. - -_Fred._ I think we owe some attention to the ladies, as this is our last -day. - -_Lucy._ If I may speak for the _ladies_, I think nothing would please -them better than a race. - -_Harry._ There’s a jolly little sister for you. Come, boys, I challenge -you to a race across the lake and back; the prize to be--what? - -_Fred._ What do you say, Bob? - -_Lucy._ If Bob says _what_, it will be _water-melons_. - - _Fred._ } Ha, ha! Caught again, Bob. - _Harry._ } - -_Bob._ Now, Lucy, that was too bad. - -_Lucy._ So it was Bob; and, to show my repentance, you shall be my -champion in the race. Here, sir! you shall wear my colors. Kneel, and -receive from the hands of your sovereign this white ribbon. (_Pins white -ribbon on his breast._) Keep it pure and unsullied, and bring it back to -me as a trophy of victory. - -_Bob._ Lucy, I’ll do my best; but you know what it will be: I shall be -last. Just my luck! - -_Harry._ Oh, pshaw! Bob. Remember the fable of the hare and the turtle. - -_Bob._ Confound it! do you mean to call me a turtle? - -_Fred._ Well, well, whose champion am I? (_Aside._) That Bob Winders -has got ahead of me already. (_Enter MRS. LORING and DILLY, R._) Ah! -here’s Mrs. Loring. Madam, we are to have a race on the lake. Miss Lucy -has accepted Bob here as her champion: he is already decorated with her -ribbon. May I not hope that you may be induced to look with favor on your -humble servant? - -_Mrs. L._ Well, I’m sure, Master Fred, if my favor can help you to -victory, here is my ribbon. (_He kneels, she pins red ribbon on his -coat._) - -_Lucy._ All hail the champion of the Red! - -_Dilly._ Going to have a race? Oh! ain’t that jolly? Whose champion are -you, Harry? - -_Harry._ They’ve left me out in the cold. No, Dilly! Whose champion? -Yours, little lady, if you will accept me. - -_Dilly._ Oh, my! Will you, though? Oh, that is real jolly; but you want -a ribbon: wait a minute till I let down my hair. There, now! wear that -(_pins blue ribbon on him_); and, if you don’t bring it as a trophy of -victory, I’ll never speak to you again. - -_Fred._ All hail the champion of the Blue! - -_Dilly._ Red, White, and Blue,--hurrah for the race of the Red, White, -and Blue! - -_Mrs. L._ The victor should be rewarded with an ensign. Suppose, Lucy, we -go and make one while the young men are preparing for the race. (_Exit, -L._) - -_Lucy._ That’s a capital idea! (_Exit, L._) - -_Dilly._ Oh, let me help! - -_Harry._ What can you do, little girl? - -_Dilly._ Little girl?--I want you to understand, Mr. Harry, that I’m a -young lady. I can cut out the stars if I can’t do any thing else. (_Exit, -R._) - -_Bob._ If I’m not much mistaken, you’ll cut out a great many stars when -you grow older. - -_Harry._ Good for you, Bob. Well, lads, when shall we start? - -_Fred._ It’s just ten o’clock. Let’s start in half an hour: ’twill give -the ladies a chance to make their flag. - - _Harry._ } (_Agreed. Enter BUTTS, C._) - _Bob._ } - -_Butts._ I’ve caught you, have I?--you rascals, you rapscallions! - -_Harry._ Come, come, Mr. Butts, hard words! - -_Fred._ What in the world is the matter now? - -_Bob._ Old Hookey looks wrathy. - -_Butts._ Old Hookey!--young man, respect the law. - -_Harry._ What’s the matter, Mr. Butts? Whose eggs are missing now? - -_Bob._ Whose chimney stopped up? - -_Fred._ Whose water-melons sloped? - -_Butts._ Eggs, chimneys, water-melons,--Oh! I shall choke. - -_Bob._ Do: ’twill save the sheriff a job. - -_Harry._ Come, come, speak out man. What burglary has been committed? - -_Fred._ Whose cow stolen? - -_Bob._ Whose cat drowned? - -_Butts._ Stop, stop, stop! In the name of the law, I command you! I’ve -been outraged, my office broken into; and I charge you three with the -perpetration of this foul outrage. - -_Bob._ Oh, ho! a hen-coop plundered? - -_Harry._ Hold on, Mr. Butts: this is a serious charge. We acknowledge we -have sometimes overstepped the strict boundaries of the law; but to break -into a man’s office is something not even the mischief-loving pupils of -Greenlake Seminary would be guilty of. Explain yourself! - -_Butts._ My office was broken into between the hours of seven, P.M., last -night and seven, A.M., this morning; my window thrown open; a stuffed -figure placed in my arm-chair with a scurrilous label attached to it: now -who did it? - -_Harry._ Not I, Mr. Butts, I assure you! - -_Fred._ I never thought of doing such a thing. - -_Bob._ Nor I. - -_Butts._ ’Tis false: all three were concerned in it. - -_Harry._ Do you charge us with falsehood? - -_Fred._ Mind what you’re about: I won’t be called a liar. - -_Bob._ No, sir! If you say we lie, you’ll find yourself lying on the -floor. - -_Butts._ There’s a lie somewhere. - -_Harry._ Oh, come! I can’t stand that. Let’s throw him into the lake! - -_Fred._ Good! I’m with you. - -_Bob._ Yes: let’s cool him off. - -_Butts._ Would you offer violence? Young men, respect the law. - -_Harry._ Here, boys, grab his legs. I’ll take his head. - -_Bob._ No: let me have the lightest part. - -_Butts._ Keep off,--I say, keep off! - -_Harry._ It’s no use, Butts; in you go. - -_Fred._ The lake is waiting to receive you. - -_Bob._ We’ll make a water-butt of you, Butts. - -_Butts._ Help, help, murder! (_They seize him in their arms, and carry -him to the door. Enter DR. HARLEM. They drop BUTTS, and go, R. and L. -Enter DILLY, L._) - -_Doctor._ Well, well, young gentlemen, you seem to be amusing yourselves -in an unwonted manner. May I inquire the cause of this assault? - -_Butts._ That’s it, doctor,--assault with intent to drown. It’s a -diabolical conspiracy against the law. - -_Doctor._ Harry, Master Hastings, Master Winders, I am waiting for an -explanation. - -_Harry._ Father, that man charged three of your pupils with falsehood: we -couldn’t stand that. He was hot and angry. - -_Bob._ And so we thought we’d just cool him off, that’s all. - -_Butts._ But they’re a pack of jackanapes, violating the law, and then -denying it. - -_Doctor._ Gently, Mr. Butts. My boys, however mischievous they may be, -are ready to own their faults without resorting to falsehood. What is -your complaint? - -_Butts._ They broke into my office, insulted me by placing a stuffed -figure in my window, with my name upon it, and this confounded ridiculous -thing on its head (_pulls foolscap from his pocket, and places it on his -head_). Behold the insulted majesty of the law! - -_Doctor._ Allow me to look at that cap, Mr. Butts. This is made of one -of my papers; and, as it bears my name upon it, it certainly came from -this place. Now, who is the culprit? Harry, I have heard of your pranks -in town, though you fancied I was ignorant of them. You will answer me -truly. Is this your work? - -_Harry._ No, sir. I have not been near Mr. Butts’s office for three days. - -_Doctor._ Master Hastings? - -_Fred._ I assure you, doctor, I had nothing to do with it. - -_Doctor._ Master Winders, can you throw any light on this proceeding? - -_Bob._ What! I dress old Butts in a foolscap? No, sir. I couldn’t see any -joke in that; that’s what I call twitting on facts. - -_Doctor._ Then who is the culprit? - -_Dilly._ If you please, doctor, it was me. - -_All._ You, Dilly! - -_Dilly._ Yes: it was me. - -_Butts._ Why, you little scarecrow, do you mean to say that you did this? -I don’t believe it. - -_Dilly._ La, Mr. Butts, you’re never satisfied. You’ve been growling -because nobody would confess; and now, when I’m ready to own it, you -won’t believe me. - -_Doctor._ Dilly, if this was your doings, you will please explain it. - -_Dilly._ Well, then, I went to Mr. Butts’s office this morning to let him -know his horse was in the pound. - -_Doctor._ His horse in the pound? - -_Dilly._ Yes: I’ll tell you about it. - -_Butts._ There, there! no matter about that. - -_Dilly._ Well, I thought you wouldn’t care to hear about it. Well, I went -to Mr. Butts’s office, and Mr. Butts wasn’t there: the door was locked; -so I tried the window. It was unfastened. I jumped in, saw Mr. Butts’s -dressing-gown and boots, dressed up something to look like him, and -opened the window. - -_Butts._ What did you do it for? - -_Dilly._ To scare the rogues, Mr. Butts. They would think it was you. It -was just as good as though you were there. - -_Butts._ You little, confounded, saucy!--I’ll dress you! I’ll make an -example of you, now I’ve caught you! - -_Dilly._ La, Mr. Butts, didn’t you never catch a rogue before? - -_Butts._ Silence! - -_Doctor._ Leave her to me, Mr. Butts. Dilly, I’m astonished that a young -lady of your age should be guilty of such a proceeding. - -_Dilly._ Dear me, doctor, I didn’t mean any harm: I only wanted a frolic, -and it was such a good chance! - -_Butts._ Frolic?--an insult to an officer of the law, you call a frolic? -I’ve been insulted. You let me catch you in my office again, that’s all! -Frolic!--shades of the chief justices, ghosts of departed judges! Oh, I -shall choke! (_Exit, C._) - -_Doctor._ If I hear of such a frolic again, Dilly, I shall be very angry -with you. Don’t do it again. (_Exit, R._) - -_Dilly._ There, now! the doctor’s angry. I didn’t mean any harm. It’s -such fun to plague Mr. Butts! - -_Bob._ Served him right, the old scamp! - -_Harry._ Stop, Bob! don’t encourage her: she’s wild enough already. -Dilly, come here. - -_Dilly._ What for, Harry? You going to scold me? - -_Harry._ Yes, Dilly. This frolic of yours has grieved me very much. You -are too old now to indulge in such pranks. - -_Dilly._ Why, Harry, you and Fred and Bob hoisted Mr. Butts’s horse up -into the steeple; and I’m sure you are all older than I. - -_Harry._ That’s a different matter altogether. We are young men, and you -are a young lady. - -_Dilly._ Well, don’t you think young men ought to behave themselves, -Harry? - -_Harry._ Yes, of course; that is--sometimes. Oh, pshaw! What I mean is, -Dilly, I don’t want you to do such a thing again. It will grieve me very -much. - -_Dilly._ Then I’ll never do it again. I’m sure, Harry, if you want me to -be a good girl, I shall try ever so hard; for I love you dearly, Harry: -and if ever I should grieve you, I--I--I-- (_Weeps._) - -_Harry._ There, there! Run off, and finish cutting out your stars: that’s -much better than cutting up pranks. - -_Dilly._ Oh, the stars! I forgot all about them. - -_Harry._ Confound it! I must turn over a new leaf. - -_Bob._ Yes, practice before you preach. Well, Dilly, how comes on the -flag? - -_Dilly._ Nearly ready. Will you come and hold a skein of silk for Lucy? -(_Exit, L._) - -_Bob._ For Lucy? Will I? Won’t I? (_Exit, L._) - -_Fred._ It strikes me that Bob Winders is mighty attentive to Lucy. - -_Harry._ Of course, he is. Why, Fred, you’re not jealous? - -_Fred._ That sister of yours is an angel, Harry. - -_Harry._ That she is, Fred. - -_Fred._ Do you know, Harry, that the saddest of our parting is the -thought that I shall meet her no more? You and I are such good friends, -Harry, that you will not laugh when I tell you I love her dearly, truly. - -_Harry._ Ah! a boy’s love, Fred. We know how that will end. New scenes -and new faces will blot out all remembrance of her. - -_Fred._ I tell you, no, Harry. If I am a boy, I have lived a man’s life -for the last five years. Hers is not the first fair face which has -attracted me; but all fade before hers. Harry, I tell you I shall leave -this place with the firm resolve to one day return, and ask her to be my -wife. - -_Harry._ Your wife, Fred? - -_Fred._ Yes, my wife. You would not object to that? - -_Harry._ I should, most decidedly. - -_Fred._ How? - -_Harry._ Yes, Fred Hastings: I’d rather see my sister laid in her grave -than marry you. - -_Fred._ Harry, you’re crazy! - -_Harry._ Not a bit of it. Look you, Fred. You’re a gay fellow, and with -you time flies lightly and merrily. But you’re a rich man’s son. Your -purse is always full. You know too much of life. Boy as you are, you can -drink as deep as the oldest; you can shake a dice-box as glibly as the -most expert, shuffle a pack of cards with the boldest, and bet your money -with the fastest. I can very easily tell your future life,--a gay life -and a merry one; and, with such a companion, a pure, loving girl like -Lucy would be miserable. I know all this; for you have led me into it. -So, Fred, say no more about it. Lucy is too good for you ever to dream of. - -_Fred._ Why, Harry, what’s the matter? You have engaged with me in all -these sports that you speak of. Do you turn upon me now? Harry, you are -not yourself. - -_Harry._ No, I am not. When you came to this school, I was a happy lad -who had never heard of this gay life; content to stay at home with my -dear sister and Dilly, with but one desire,--to please a father who was -very proud of me. You came. New life, new enjoyments, were before me; -and, like a thoughtless boy, I plunged into them. Well, I suppose it is -one of the phases of life which tempt all; but I wish I had never, never, -seen it. - -_Fred._ But, Harry, what has caused this sudden change? - -_Harry._ I’ll tell you, Fred. You introduced me to Capt. Pitman’s house, -to look on at the game. I was content, at first, to look on; but one -night you tempted me to play. I lost seventy-five dollars to Capt. -Pitman, and I had not the means to pay it. The captain was very kind: he -said the money was of no consequence: I should give him my I. O. U. for -the amount, and, when convenient, pay it. I gave him a note. - -_Fred._ That was all right. He doesn’t want the money. - -_Harry._ Ah! but he does. He met me this morning; said he was very sorry, -but he must have it at once. I declared my inability to pay it. He -persisted, and warned me, that, if the money was not in his hands to-day, -he should be compelled to call upon my father for an explanation. - -_Fred._ He cannot collect it. You are a minor. - -_Harry._ Collect it! Do you suppose my father would hesitate to pay, -when he knows, that, on his refusal, the whole story would be made -public? Fred Hastings, rather than look upon my father’s face--his honest -face--when he should feel his son was a gambler, I’d throw myself into -the lake. - -_Fred._ Oh, come, Harry! he shall not know it. I got you into the scrape, -and I’ll see you out. The doctor holds money belonging to me, from which -I draw for my convenience. I’ll go to him, get the money: you shall pay -Capt. Pitman, and nobody be the wiser. - -_Harry._ Will you, though? That’s kind of you, Fred; and I’ll repay you -with the first money I have. - -_Fred._ I’ll go at once. - -_Harry._ And I’ll look after the boats. But don’t think any more of Lucy, -Fred; for I tell you, you can’t have her. She’s too good for you. (_Exit, -C._) - -_Fred._ Too good for me! A saint at last! What a rascal I must be! -Too good for me! Ah, Harry Harlem, you don’t know me yet with all -your keenness. Too good for me!--we’ll see. Oh! I’ll help you out of -the scrape, I’ll help you out. I can shake a dice-box, can I? I can -bet my money, can I? You’ve seen all this? But there’s one little -sleight-of-hand trick that you haven’t seen yet, Master Harry Harlem. -I’ll help you out of this scrape with a vengeance. (_Exit, R. Enter BOB._) - -_Bob._ Just my luck! I’ve tangled all their silk, cut their cloth in the -wrong place, and upset every thing in the room. Just my luck! The idea -of a chap of my temperament sitting down before Lucy Harlem to hold a -skein of silk, while her bright eyes were burning holes in my susceptible -bosom! Oh, it’s horrible! I’m over head and ears in love with her. When -she touches me, the blood rushes to my head, and I rush off. I think she -likes me. I’d like to go down on my knees before her, and say, “Lucy, I -am yours.” But there, I’m too fat. She might say, “There’s too much of -you.” Here she comes. I’ve a great mind to say something. (_Enter LUCY, -R._) - -_Lucy._ Why, Bob! what did you run away for? You tangled my silk all up, -and left me to unravel it. - -_Bob._ O Lucy! you’ve tangled me all up, and I don’t believe I shall ever -be unravelled. - -_Lucy._ Why, what’s the matter? - -_Bob._ Lucy, I’m going away to-day. - -_Lucy._ I’m so sorry you’re going just at this time! - -_Bob._ You are? You don’t know how happy you make me. Why at this time? - -_Lucy._ Because the water-melons are just ripe. - -_Bob._ Oh, pshaw! What’s water-melons to me? - -_Lucy._ A great deal, I should think. Don’t you like them? - -_Bob._ Yes; but I like you just as well. - -_Lucy._ Why, Bob! - -_Bob._ No, no! I mean-- (_Aside._) I’ve a great mind to speak. (_Pops -down on his knees._) Lucy-- (_Enter FRED, R., with a portfolio in his -hand._) - -_Lucy._ Oh! there’s Fred. - -_Bob._ Just my luck! (_Jumps up._) - -_Fred._ Why, Bob, what’s the matter? Have you hurt you? - -_Bob._ No, I ain’t hurt me. (_Exit, C. Enter DILLY, L._) - -_Fred._ I’m glad you are here, Lucy. I leave you to-day, and, that -you may not entirely forget me, may I beg your acceptance of this. -(_Presenting a watch._) - -_Lucy._ Oh, what a splendid little watch! Thank you a thousand thousand -times for your kindness. - -_Dilly._ Oh, what a beauty! Dear me, Fred, ain’t you going to give me -something to remember you by? - -_Lucy._ Hush, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ I’m sure I shall forget you if you don’t. - -_Fred._ Oh! I haven’t forgotten you, Dilly. Here, take this. I’ve often -heard you say you wanted a portfolio. You shall have this. Should I ever -become a great man, you can boast that you own something which no one but -I have ever used. - -_Dilly._ Oh, thank you, Fred! That’s just what I wanted! Isn’t it nice? -I’ll go show it to auntie at once. (_Exit, L._) - -_Fred._ Lucy, may I not hope that the many happy hours we have spent -together here may sometimes recall me to your remembrance? - -_Lucy._ Don’t talk so, Fred! I hope we shall meet again often. There is -no one whom I shall miss more than you. - -_Fred._ Do you mean that, Lucy? May I hope sometime to return, and-- -(_Enter HARRY, C., in boating costume, blue. Aside._) Pshaw! he back -again? - -_Harry._ Well, Lucy, are you all ready for the race? - -_Lucy._ When you are, Harry. Look at my beautiful present. From Fred too: -isn’t he kind? - -_Harry._ Very. - -_Lucy._ Well, I declare: is that all you can say? - -_Harry._ I’m busy now: don’t talk. Get Aunt Loring and Dilly. We must be -off. - -_Lucy._ We’ll all be ready in a minute. (_Exit, L._) - -_Fred._ Here, Harry, here’s your father’s check for seventy-five dollars: -settle with Capt. Pitman at once. - -_Harry._ Thank you, Fred! I’ll run down and pay him. - -_Fred._ And I’ll get ready for the race. Look out for yourself; for I -shall beat you. (_Exit, R._) - -_Harry._ Don’t be too sure of that. I’ll get this debt off my mind. -(_Turns to door, meets BUTTS._) - -_Butts._ Oh, here you are, here you are! I’ve been looking for you. - -_Harry._ You’re always looking for somebody. What’s to pay now? Who do -you want? - -_Butts._ You, Harry Harlem: I’ve got a little business with you. The law -has its eye on you. - -_Harry._ Well, I’ve no objection, as long as it’s the eye, and not the -hand. - -_Butts._ But the hand follows the eye. - -_Harry._ O pshaw! I’m in a hurry: if you have any business with me, speak -out. - -_Butts._ I’ve a little note against you, placed in my hands for -collection by Capt. Pitman. - -_Harry._ Capt. Pitman! In your hands? - -_Butts._ Which, of course, you can’t pay; so my next business is with -your father. - -_Harry._ Not just yet. Where is the note? - -_Butts._ Here it is; seventy-five dollars,--a large sum for a son of Dr. -Harlem to lose by gambling. - -_Harry._ Sh!--Don’t speak so loud. - -_Butts._ Here it is; seventy-five dollars. - -_Harry._ And here is a check for the amount. - -_Butts._ A check! - -_Harry._ My father’s check: it’s good, I believe. - -_Butts._ Good as gold. Here’s your note. (_Aside._) There’s another job -slipped through my hands. - -_Harry._ So you see, old Butts, it isn’t necessary to see my father. -There’s your money. Good-day! - -_Butts._ Will you take a little bit of advice from me? - -_Harry._ No, sir. I won’t take any thing from you. You’d like to catch me -tripping; but you haven’t got me yet, Mr. Butts. - -_Butts._ No, not just yet; but, if your acquaintance with Capt. Pitman -continues, it won’t be long. Good-day! (_Exit, C._) - -_Harry._ I’ll take good care to cut the acquaintance of Capt. Pitman. -I’ve had a narrow escape; and I’ll keep out of his den. (_Enter LUCY, -MRS. LORING, and DILLY, with flag, L._) - -_Dilly._ Here’s the flag, Harry: isn’t it a beauty? - -_Harry._ It is, indeed; and I’ll do my best to win it for you, Dilly. -Where’s Fred? (_Enter FRED, R., in boating costume, red._) - -_Fred._ Here’s Fred, ready and “eager for the fray.” - -_Harry._ Good! Run for Bob, and we’ll be off. - -_Dilly._ Oh! he’s always last. (_Enter, BOB, R., in boating costume, -white._) - -_Bob._ Of course, I am; just my luck! I tell you it’s no joke to robe -myself in these uncomfortable clothes. I’ve ripped two shirts and three -pairs of-- - -_Harry._ Hold on, Bob. - -_Bob._ What’s the use in my attempting to race? Anyhow, I shall be the -last in. It’s just my luck! - -_Harry._ Don’t growl, Bob. It’s just your luck to be the best fellow in -the world. What could we do without you? All the small boys swear by you. -If they’re in trouble, who so quick to help as Bob Winders? If there’s -an old lady within ten miles wants an armful of firewood, who so quick -to bring it as Bob Winders? If I was in trouble, and wanted the help of -a friend, a real friend, there’s no one I would call on sooner than Bob -Winders. - -_Bob._ Bully for you, Harry. I’d go through fire and water for you; for -you’ve helped me through many tight places: but it’s no use: I shall lose -the race. It’s just my luck! - -_Harry._ Do your best, Bob. Come, lads, let’s be off. - -_Dilly._ Yes: the race, the race,--hurrah for the race of the Red, White, -and Blue! - -(_Exit DILLY and HARRY, LUCY and BOB; MRS. LORING and FRED about to -follow. Enter DR. HARLEM, R._) - -_Doctor._ Mrs. Loring, one moment; that is, if you have no important -business. - -_Mrs. L._ Will you excuse me, Mr. Hastings, one moment? (_FRED bows and -exits, C._) I was merely going to see the race on the lake. The young -people desired it; and, really, I felt myself almost a girl again. - -_Doctor._ I will detain you but a moment. I have just received an -anonymous epistle, which annoys me very much. It is not the first I have -received. It refers to Harry. - -_Mrs. L._ To Harry, doctor? - -_Doctor._ Yes. I am advised by an unknown friend to keep my eye on him, -as he is in the habit of keeping bad company. Mrs. Loring, have you seen -any thing wild about him for the last two months? - -_Mrs. L._ No, nothing more than usual. Since school commenced, he has -taken part in many of the frolics to which boys are accustomed. I think -he will behave more soberly when they are all gone. - -_Doctor._ I am exceedingly anxious. I have heard of his pranks in the -village: I have also heard he is somewhat in debt. - -_Mrs. L._ I think very likely. - -_Doctor._ You take it very coolly, Mrs. Loring. - -_Mrs. L._ Because I have full faith in Harry. Certain friendships he has -formed must, of necessity, be broken to-day; and when he is once more -with us, believe me doctor, he will be our own Harry again. - -_Doctor._ I hope you are right, Mrs. Loring. Should harm come to that -boy, it would kill me. I have set my heart on making a noble man of him; -and, should he fail me-- (_Enter DILLY, C._) - -_Dilly._ O auntie, quick! they’re just going to start. Come, doctor, come -and see the race. Why, how slow you are! Come, auntie, come right along. -(_Pulls MRS. LORING off, C._) - -_Doctor._ Mrs. Loring must be right. She has had my children under her -eye so long, that she is better able to judge their characters than I -with my numerous duties constantly occupying my attention. Some meddling -person has sent these notes to annoy me. (_Enter BUTTS, C., hurriedly._) - -_Butts._ O doctor, doctor! such a crime! such a high-handed outrage, a -diabolical crime! Oh the villain, the villain! - -_Doctor._ What’s the matter now, Mr. Butts? - -_Butts._ Keep cool, doctor, keep cool! It’s a terrible blow, but keep -cool: take example from me. Oh the reprobate, the villain! - -_Doctor._ Well, well! what is it? - -_Butts._ Are we alone? I would have no ear listen to the tale of horror; -no voice but mine break the silence! - -(_DILLY dances in, C., flapping the flag in BUTTS’S face._) - -_Dilly._ They’re off, they’re off! Such a splendid start! Come quick, -you’ll lose all the fun. (_Dashes out, C._) - -_Butts._ Confound that little imp! she’s always in the way. - -_Doctor._ Never mind her! what is this crime? - -_Butts._ O Dr. Harlem. Dr. Harlem! - -_Doctor._ Mr. Butts, will you be kind enough to explain yourself in as -few words as possible? These ejaculations of yours may be pleasing to -you, but I do not enjoy them. - -_Butts._ Dr. Harlem, I am an officer of the law. It is my proud boast, -that I am one of the supporters of the scale of justice,--that scale -which-- - -_Doctor._ Stop, Mr. Butts. If you have come here to deliver an oration on -justice, you’ll excuse me, as I have far more important matters to occupy -my attention. - -_Butts._ Dr. Harlem, I have a tender heart, and the sight of misery is -terrible to me. - -_Doctor._ What’s that to do with me? - -_Butts._ Doctor, compose yourself, imitate my stoicalness. You are a -father-- (_DILLY rushes in, C._) - -_Dilly._ Oh, such a race! they’re half-way across the lake, and Harry’s -ahead, Harry’s ahead! (_Rushes out, C._) - -_Butts._ Plague take that girl! - -_Doctor._ Never mind her, but speak. - -_Butts._ Dr. Harlem, I have had occasion to call upon you in regard to -the conduct of your pupils many times. To-day, I called upon one of your -young men to collect a note placed in my hands by Capt. Pitman. The note -was paid by giving me this check. - -_Doctor._ My check! How is this? - -_Butts._ Is it your check? - -_Doctor._ No, it is not: it is a forgery. - -_Butts._ Yes, I knew it. Ha, ha, ha! You cannot blind the eyes of -justice. Good, good: I’ve got him! - -_Doctor._ Who--who did this? (_Enter DILLY, C._) - -_Dilly._ They’ve reached the other side. Harry turned first: he’s ahead, -he’s ahead! (_Exit, C._) - -_Butts._ Drat that girl! she’s a nuisance. - -_Doctor._ Mr. Butts, who was the author of this forgery? - -_Butts._ One of your pupils. - -_Doctor._ His name. - -_Butts._ Well, well, don’t be in a hurry. - -_Doctor._ His name, I say. (_Enter DILLY, C._) - -_Dilly._ They’re coming back. Bob Winders has upset, and Harry’s ahead. - -_Doctor._ Dilly! - -_Dilly._ Oh, come and see the race! You’ll lose the best of it. - -_Doctor._ Dilly, you see I am very much engaged. Don’t enter this room -again, or I shall be very angry. - -_Dilly._ La! I thought you wanted to know about the race. (_Exit, C._) - -_Doctor._ Now, Mr. Butts, the name of this offender. - -_Butts._ His name is--Harry Harlem. - -_Doctor._ Harry Harlem! Butts, you lie! - -_Butts._ What! this to me, an officer of the law? Dr. Harlem, recollect -yourself. Respect the law. - -_Doctor._ Pardon me, Butts. I was hasty. But you are mistaken. My son -Harry-- - -_Butts._ Gave me that check in this very room. - -_Doctor._ This is terrible! My son Harry forge the name of his father? I -tell you you are mistaken. - -(_Outside_: “_Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for HARRY HARLEM!_”) - -_Butts._ Here he is: ask him. (_Enter HARRY, FRED, LUCY, MRS. LORING, and -DILLY, C._) - -_Dilly._ Harry’s won the race! Harry’s won the race! - -_Harry._ ’Tis true: I’ve won the colors. - -_Fred._ I’ve been handsomely defeated. (_Enter BOB, C._) - -_Bob._ And I’ve got gloriously ducked. Just my luck! - -_Harry._ Congratulate me, father! I’ve beaten the best sculler in the -school. - -_Doctor._ Stop! Before you secure my congratulations look me in the face, -Harry Harlem, and answer me this: Have you seen Mr. Butts before to-day? - -_Harry._ Oh, several times. - -_Doctor._ Have you paid him any money? - -_Harry._ Why--I--yes, I have. (_Aside._) Butts has turned traitor. - -_Butts._ Didn’t I tell you so? Didn’t I tell you so? He gave me the -check. I’ll swear it. - -_Doctor._ Harry, you hear. What have you to say? - -_Harry._ I did give him that check. - -_Doctor._ So, sir, not content with making yourself the terror of the -village, not content with disturbing the quiet of our once happy home -with your wild courses, to crown your evil life you commit a forgery. - -_All._ A forgery? - -_Doctor._ Yes, a forgery. This son of mine--hear it, all of you--this -son, of whom I was so proud, has forged the name of his father to pay a -gambling debt. - -_Harry._ ’Tis false! - -_Doctor._ False, boy! Can you deny this?--this check, which you confess -you gave to Butts? - -_Harry._ I did give him the check; but it was given me by another, one -who can explain every thing. You could not think me so base as to forge -the name of the kindest and best of fathers? That check was given me by -Fred Hastings. - -_All._ Fred Hastings? - -_Fred._ Let me see it. ’Tis false! That check has never been in my -possession. - -_Harry._ Fred Hastings, do you deny it? - -_Fred._ Most certainly. Harry, I would willingly lend you my name to help -you out of a scrape; but this is a crime I look upon with abhorrence. You -must bear the blame yourself: I cannot help you. - -_Harry._ Am I awake? - -_Doctor._ A lie to cover a crime! O Harry, Harry! Is this the reward for -all my love, my pride in you? - -_Harry._ Father, what can I say? One whom I thought a friend has bitterly -betrayed me. I do not know, I cannot imagine, a reason for this; but, as -true as there is a heaven above, I am innocent of crime. - -_Doctor._ Have you not frequented the gambling-house of Capt. Pitman? - -_Harry._ I have. To my shame, I confess it. - -_Doctor._ Then you are no longer son of mine. You have bitterly betrayed -the trust reposed in you, and you cannot hold up your head in honesty. -Go! The world is wide: find where you can a resting-place. My house shall -no longer harbor a gambler and a forger. - -_Mrs. L._ Doctor, doctor, calm yourself! - -_Lucy._ O father! don’t speak so! (_They lead him to chair, R._) - -_Doctor._ The cool, heartless villain! - -_Harry._ Dr. Harlem (I will no longer call you father, since you yourself -cut me off), I have indeed deceived and disgraced you by thoughtless -folly; but of this crime I am innocent. You are right. Your house is no -longer a fit place for a gambler. I can claim no friends here now. - -_Mrs. L._ Oh, don’t say that, Harry! - -_Doctor._ Silence! Who bandies words with that villain is no longer an -inmate of my home. - -_Dilly._ Then you can set my bandbox outside the door at once. Dr. -Harlem, you’re a mean old doctor, so you are! O Harry, Harry! I don’t -know what it’s all about; but I know there isn’t a better Harry in this -world than you. (_Rushes into his arms._) - -_Harry._ Hush, hush, Dilly! ’Twill all come right some day. - -_Bob._ Harry, there’s my hand. The case looks hard against you, and I -suppose I should be on the other side; but I believe in you, and I stand -by you. If you’re a villain, as they say you are, I can’t see it. It’s -just my luck! - -_Harry._ Bob, you’re a trump! - -_Dilly._ You won’t go, will you, Harry? - -_Harry._ Dilly, I must. You cannot understand it. I am accused of a -crime, with no power to prove myself innocent. The time will come when I -can prove it. Till then, I shall go from here. - -_Dilly._ Oh, take me with you, Harry! take me with you! You are the one I -love best in the world. I should die without you! - -_Harry._ No, Dilly: you must stay here. Be good and gentle with father, -and watch, Dilly, watch; for the time will come when even a little maid -like you can serve me. - -_Doctor._ Oh the villain, the villain! to seek to plunder his old father! -The villain, the villain! Has he gone? - -_Harry._ In one moment, doctor: my presence is hateful to you. I have -disobeyed you, and must bide the consequences. Farewell! Where’er I go, I -shall always remember you as the kindest and best of fathers. Farewell! - -_Butts._ Stop! You are my prisoner. - -_All._ Prisoner? - -_Doctor._ No, no, Butts! Let him go. I make no charge. - -_Butts._ But the bank does. I have a warrant for his arrest. - -_Dilly._ You mean old Butts! You’re always sticking your nose into other -people’s business. - -_Doctor._ But, Butts, listen to me. (_Takes BUTTS, R., and they talk -together earnestly._) - -_Harry._ (_L._) Oh, this is too much! Must I be arraigned as a criminal? - -_Dilly._ Why don’t you run away? I would. - -_Harry._ Thank you for the hint, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ Your boat’s down at the foot of the garden. - -_Harry._ And, if I strike across, I can reach the road. Ah, Dilly! yours -is a wise little head. Bob, here. (_BOB crosses R._) Can I depend upon -you? Will you stick by me? - -_Bob._ Like a poor man’s plaster. It’s just my luck! - -_Harry._ Then meet me in half an hour at the big oak by Jones’s lot. - -_Bob._ I’ll be there. - -_Harry._ Now keep old Butts here, and I’ll be off. Dilly, good-by. Heaven -bless you! Be a good girl, and have faith in Harry. - -_Dilly._ That I will! (_HARRY kisses her, and creeps out, C.; the DOCTOR -is with BUTTS, R.; FRED and LUCY, with MRS. LORING, back R., talking -together._) Oh, if he can only get away! (_Follows him to door, C., and -stumbles over the trap, which was placed by BOB, L. C._) Dear me! I’ve -nearly broke my ankle! Why, what an ugly-looking trap! I must take care -of that. - -_Butts._ I tell you it’s no use, doctor. Law is law, and your son must go -to jail. - -_Doctor._ But, Butts, I am the only loser by this. The bank has lost -nothing. - -_Dilly._ (_Coming down R. of BUTTS._) Mr. Butts, what will you do with -Harry? - -_Butts._ Lock him up in jail, where you ought to be. - -_Bob._ (_Coming down L. of BUTTS._) But look here, Mr. Butts, I’m ready -to bail him, or my father is. Don’t take him away, that’s a good fellow. -I’ll help you to take all the rogues there are in the village, only let -him off. - -_Dilly._ (_At door, C._) He’s reached the boat, and he’s off. (_Drags -trap down behind BUTTS, and sets it._) - -_Butts._ Look here, young man! I know my business. Harry Harlem must go -to jail. - -_Dilly._ Oh! don’t take him to jail, that’s a good Mr. Butts! I won’t -dress up any more figures, and I won’t steal your horse and chaise again, -if you’ll only let him go. - -_Bob._ Now, do, old Butts! You’re a kind-hearted old fellow, I know you -are! - -_Butts._ Silence! The law must be respected. (_DILLY and BOB pull him R. -and L. to attract his attention during the previous lines. At this part, -they have him in front of the trap._) - -_Fred._ (_Back, C._) Gracious! there’s Harry half-way across the lake! -There’s innocence for you! - -_Doctor._ Escaped? Thank heavens! - -_Dilly._ (_Dancing, and clapping her hands._) Good, good, good! - -_Butts._ The prisoner escaped! (_BOB pushes him back into the trap._) O -murder, murder! What have I done? - -_Bob._ Put your foot in it, old Butts. - -_Dilly._ Good, good, good! - -_Butts._ (_Rushing round and dragging the trap._) Lost my prisoner! -Murder, help! O Bob Winders, you’ve ruined me. - -_Bob._ Have I? That’s just my luck! - -(_Quick curtain._) - - -ACT II. - -FIVE YEARS SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE. - - _SCENE same as Act. 1.--Table, R. C.; arm-chair, L. C.; small - table, R. C.; with chair R., in which is seated MRS. LORING, - knitting._ - -_Mrs. L._ Dear me, how time does fly. It’s five years this very day since -our Harry disappeared. Five long years, and no word, no sign, from him. -Perhaps he’s dead. Poor boy, innocent or guilty, his loss has been a -sad blow to his father. Since that day, he has never been the same man. -Prostrated by a long illness, the result of that terrible excitement, -feeble in body, wandering in mind, he is but the wreck of the grand old -doctor of former days. The school has been given up, the house mortgaged, -and what the end will be, Heaven alone can tell. But for Dilly, this -would be a sad house. Dear child, she is the ruling spirit. When the blow -fell, forsaking all her roguish pranks, she proved herself a woman. The -doctor cannot stir without her, and we have all come to depend upon her -quick and ready judgment. To-morrow the interest on the mortgage is due. -I know we have no money to meet it, no friends to assist. Ah, me, I fear -the house must go, and that I am convinced would kill the doctor. (_Enter -LUCY, R._) - -_Lucy._ Aunt Loring, I have come to you for advice. Mr. Hastings sent me -a note this morning, in which he declares his love for me, and asks me -to become his wife. - -_Mrs. L._ I have long suspected this would be the result of his stay -here. Does it surprise you, Lucy? - -_Lucy._ You know how persistently he has visited us for the last three -months, and how attentive he has been to me. He is very agreeable, -and--and-- - -_Mrs. L._ You love him. Is that it, Lucy? - -_Lucy._ No, no! I do not, and I sometimes wonder at myself: I like to be -with him, he is so gay and so attentive; but, when he begins to speak of -love, I don’t know why--but a face comes between his and mine, the face -of my dear brother Harry, and then I almost detest him. - -_Mrs. L._ You do not believe him guilty of the charge made by Harry? - -_Lucy._ I do not know what to believe: I only know I wish he would never -speak of love to me; but still-- - -_Mrs. L._ Well, Lucy? - -_Lucy._ We are poor, very poor: this life we now lead cannot last much -longer. Some day this place must be given up; then what will become of -father, you--all of us? Dilly works hard to keep the wolf from our door, -and I am but a poor drone in the hive. Mr. Hastings is rich: were I his -wife, this place might be secured, father made comfortable, and you and -Dilly happy. - -_Mrs. L._ And yet you do not love him? - -_Lucy._ No, no: I cannot while this uncertainty exists about Harry. - -_Mrs. L._ Then do not marry him. A marriage without love is a blasphemy; -and a marriage with Fred Hastings could not be a happy one. Give him his -answer, plainly and fairly, and leave our fate to be adjusted by a higher -and wiser power. Hark! here’s Dilly: do not speak of this before her; it -would make her unhappy. - -_Dilly._ (_Outside, C._) Ha! Ha! Ha! what a queer old doctor! you make me -laugh so, my sides ache, you’re so funny. (_Enter C., supporting DOCTOR. -LUCY runs and places arm-chair C., in which they seat him._) There, I’ve -given you a good long walk; now be a good boy, be quiet, and entertain -me. (_Sits on stool at L. of DOCTOR. LUCY kneels, R._) - -_Doctor._ Ah, Dilly, you’re a funny girl--a little rogue--you want to -keep me all to yourself. - -_Dilly._ Of course I do: ain’t you my cavalier, my true and faithful -knight, ready to break lances and fight for me? - -_Doctor._ Yes, yes! ah, dear me, dear me!-- - -_Lucy._ What’s the matter, father? - -_Doctor._ Ah, Lucy, my child, your father’s getting old. I can’t tramp so -far as I could once. Mrs. Loring? - -_Mrs. L._ Well, doctor. - -_Doctor._ Isn’t it most school-time? - -_Dilly._ (_Aside._) Dear me, the school again! - -_Doctor._ You know we must be very prompt, or we shall set a bad example. - -_Mrs. L._ You know it’s vacation now, doctor. - -_Doctor._ Dear me! so it is, so it is! strange I should forget it. But -isn’t it a very long vacation, Mrs. Loring? - -_Mrs. L._ About the usual time. - -_Doctor._ The pupils will be coming back soon, won’t they? We must -have every thing neat and tidy. Greenlake Seminary must keep up its -reputation. I shall be glad to see the lads,--Hastings, Winders, and all -the rest of them. What rogues they are: I hope they’ll behave better this -term, and keep our Harry--no, Harry’s dead. - -_Dilly._ O doctor! don’t talk about the school: let that take care of -itself. Talk to me. - -_Doctor._ Harry’s dead. What day is this, Dilly? - -_Dilly._ The 1st of August. - -_Doctor._ Harry’s dead. Five years ago; it was a beautiful day when we -buried him. Don’t you recollect it Dilly: we placed a marble slab over -him--we took it from the village bank. I don’t understand why we did -that. Do you, Dilly? - -_Dilly._ No matter, doctor. Let’s talk of something else: you know you -promised me a sail on the lake this afternoon. - -_Doctor._ (_Looking at his watch._) Nine o’clock: come, boys, to your -places,--to your places. Master Root, you were very imperfect in your -history yesterday: be careful sir--be careful. Master Hastings, why must -I speak to you so often about your grammar. Master Winders, you were in -Farmer Bates’s orchard last night. Harry, Harry,--dear, dear, I forgot! -Harry’s dead. - -_Lucy._ Dear father, don’t talk any more about Harry. - -_Doctor._ Why, Lucy, child, where have you been all day? Where have you -been? - -_Lucy._ I’ve been here, father, waiting for you. - -_Doctor._ Waiting for me? Why, I haven’t been away. Yes, yes, I have: -Harry drove me to the cars early this morning. I found something by the -way,--this little girl (_patting Dilly’s head_): her name’s “Bread on the -Waters.” That’s what Harry calls her. She’s going to live with us,--ain’t -you, little girl? - -_Dilly._ Indeed, indeed, I am, doctor. - -_Doctor._ Harry says, “Keep her, father, keep her;” and Harry’s a good -boy,--a good boy. Where is he this morning? Why don’t you speak? Somebody -run and call him. - -_Dilly._ Why, doctor, you know he’s gone a long journey. - -_Doctor._ Dear me! so he has, so he has,--a long journey to the bank. -He’s a good boy--a good boy--he’ll be back soon. - -_Dilly._ Oh! why don’t he come? why don’t he come? - -_Mrs. L._ Dilly, Dilly, be calm. - -_Doctor._ Don’t be in a hurry, little girl. Don’t be in a hurry (_FRED -appears, C._): all in good time--all in good time. - -_Fred._ May I come in? - -_Lucy._ Mr. Hastings? - -_Dilly._ He here again. - -_Mrs. L._ Certainly, walk in. - -_Fred._ Ah! thank you, delightful morning, ain’t it. You grow young, Mrs. -Loring. Ah, Lucy! I hope I find you well, and Dilly too. How’s my old -friend the doctor, this morning? - -_Doctor._ Ah, Butts, how are you? - -_Lucy._ You are mistaken father: it’s Mr. Hastings. - -_Doctor._ Ah! Master Fred, I’m glad to see you. Back to school again, -hey? Well, well, lad, be more careful of your grammar this time. Study, -boy, study. - -_Fred._ Of course I will. With so renowned a master, as Dr. Harlem, I -mean to study hard, and then I shall be sure to succeed. - -_Doctor._ Come, Mrs. Loring, you see the boys are coming back: let’s -go and see if every thing is in order. (_MRS. LORING takes his arm._) -Greenlake Seminary has a reputation to sustain. Come: good-by, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ Good-by, doctor. Now, don’t tire yourself, for you must take me -out for a sail this afternoon. - -_Doctor._ Yes, yes, when Harry gets back: you know we can’t do any thing -without Harry. (_Exit DOCTOR and MRS. L., R._) - -_Fred._ The doctor appears feeble this morning, Lucy. - -_Lucy._ Yes: poor father fails very fast. At times his reason wanders, -and for whole days he is as you have seen him to-day. - -_Fred._ Poor doctor: is there no help for him? - -_Lucy._ None, I fear. - -_Dilly._ You are mistaken, Lucy. There is one thing that would set him -right. - -_Fred._ And pray what is that? - -_Dilly._ The return of Harry, with his innocence clearly established. - -_Fred._ Ah, indeed! you know that can never be. - -_Dilly._ You think so? - -_Fred._ I know it. It’s no use now to mince matters. Harry forged that -check to get himself out of a scrape. He will never return. - -_Dilly._ I think he will. - -_Fred._ You have great faith, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ In Harry? Yes. I believe him innocent; and I am sure the day -will come when he will stand beneath his father’s roof in the calm, proud -consciousness of vindicated innocence. - -_Fred._ You are a brave girl thus to stand by him,--a convicted felon. - -_Dilly._ ’Tis false. He is no felon. - -_Fred._ His flight-- - -_Dilly._ Was my act. Would I had never counselled him to it! Had he -remained, all would have been made clear. - -_Fred._ Ah, you suspect-- - -_Dilly._ Yes; but I do not accuse. - -_Fred._ Dilly, you are an enigma. Do you know that doubting Harry’s guilt -places me under suspicion? - -_Dilly._ Does it? - -_Fred._ Dilly, you surely do not suspect me? - -_Dilly._ Mr. Hastings, we will speak no more of this. - -_Fred._ But, Dilly-- - -_Dilly._ I repeat, I accuse no one. The time will come when all this will -be made clear. We must wait. - -_Fred._ (_Aside._) That girl _does_ suspect me. (_Aloud._) You’re quite -right, Dilly. It’s a disagreeable subject, and unworthy our attention -this bright, beautiful morning. Come, Lucy, it’s too pleasant to be -cooped up indoors. What say you to a sail? - -_Lucy._ I shall be delighted to go. Dilly, will you go with us? - -_Dilly._ Thank you; but I have something very particular to attend to -this morning. You must entertain Mr. Hastings. - -_Lucy._ I’ll do my best, Dilly; and I won’t be gone long. - -_Fred._ There’s a beautiful breeze on the lake. - -_Lucy._ I’m all ready. Good-by, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ Lucy, one moment. - -_Lucy._ Certainly. (_To FRED._) Will you excuse me? - -_Fred._ Oh, don’t mind me! I’ll stroll down the path and wait. (_Exit, -C._) - -_Dilly._ Lucy, that man loves you. - -_Lucy._ I know it. - -_Dilly._ You know it? He has spoken then. - -_Lucy._ No. He has written, and now awaits my answer. - -_Dilly._ And you, Lucy; do you love him? - -_Lucy._ Why do you ask, Dilly? - -_Dilly._ Because it would break my heart to know you did. O Lucy! think -of Harry, your dear brother, falsely accused. Think of his words five -years ago regarding this man. - -_Lucy._ I do think of them, Dilly, often, very often; and, remembering -them, I can say to you, No, I do not love him. - -_Dilly._ Oh! bless you for those words: they lift a weary load from my -heart. While Harry is away-- - -_Lucy._ I am heart whole. I know your suspicions, Dilly; and, till they -are proven true or false, Fred Hastings can have no claim upon me. -Good-by! he’s waiting. - -_Dilly._ Good-by, Lucy! (_Exit LUCY, C._) The time will surely come, but -when--when that old man tottering on the brink of madness shall be in -his grave, when this loved home shall have passed from us, when old age -and gray hairs shall be upon us. Faith,--yes, I have faith; but this -watching and waiting is weary and wearing. No clew by which to work, -nothing but bare suspicion; and yet I have faith. This man Hastings, -after nearly five years’ absence, appears again among us. He knows I -suspect him; and yet he dares to woo the sister of his betrayed friend. -Oh! why _don’t_ Harry come? If he would only write; but no, no word, no -sign. Pride keeps him silent; but I know he will one day return. Heaven -grant it be not too late to save his father! (_Enter BUTTS, C._) - -_Butts._ O Dilly, Dilly! such a crime! such an outrage, a high-handed, -diabolical assault on law and justice! - -_Dilly._ Why, Mr. Butts, what’s the matter now? - -_Butts._ Sh--! don’t speak so loud. We must be cautious: my reputation -depends upon it. I haven’t breathed a word of this to a single person; -but you know since the time you managed to help Harry give me the slip, -I’ve had a great respect for you, and always come to you for advice. - -_Dilly._ What is this new outrage? - -_Butts._ A forgery, a stupendous forgery. - -_Dilly._ Here in our village? - -_Butts._ No: in California. - -_Dilly._ California! What’s that to do with us? - -_Butts._ A great deal to do with _me_, Dilly; for I am the humble -individual destined to bring the perpetrator to justice. - -_Dilly._ You, Mr. Butts? - -_Butts._ Listen, Dilly. Three months ago, the Malone Bank of Sacramento -lost twelve thousand dollars by the payment of a check purporting to be -signed by the firm of Dunshaw & Co., wine-merchants, presented by one -John Robinson a noted gambler and stock-speculator. Three days after, the -check was found to be a forgery. In the mean time, the said John Robinson -had embarked in a steamer bound for New York. The firm of Dunshaw & Co. -immediately offered a reward of five thousand dollars for the arrest of -the said John Robinson. I have just received a note from some unknown -party, giving me the intelligence of the forgery, and acquainting me with -the fact that the said John Robinson is in this vicinity. Five thousand -dollars! Why, Dilly, I shall be a rich man. - -_Dilly._ When you get the forger. - -_Butts._ Precisely. That won’t be long. I’ve got my eye on him. - -_Dilly._ You suspect. - -_Butts._ Do I! I tell you, Dilly, when Butts gets his eye on a culprit, -there’s no escape. - -_Dilly._ Mr. Butts, didn’t Mr. Hastings come here from California? - -_Butts._ He did. By the by, he might give me information,--valuable -information. - -_Dilly._ Suppose he should be John Robinson? - -_Butts._ Oh, pooh, pooh, Dilly. It isn’t possible. Suspect him? why -you’re not so sharp as I gave you credit for. He’s here openly. Do -you suppose John Robinson would travel about in his original hair and -whiskers? No, John Robinson is disguised. I’ve got my eye on him. There’s -been a very suspicious character prowling about the village for the last -two days. It’s him, John Robinson. But he won’t prowl much longer. Oh, -no! Butts has his eye on him, Butts has his eye on him. Good-by, Dilly! -Don’t speak of this,--not a word, not a syllable. Five thousand dollars! -He’s trapped, he’s trapped. (_Exit C._) - -_Dilly._ This is very strange. Why should this John Robinson come here? -I wish this matter was in any other hands than those of Mr. _Butts._ -Zealous as he appears, he was never known to ferret out any crime of more -importance than that of robbing an orchard. He’ll be sure to make some -mistake. (_Enter MRS. LORING, R._) - -_Mrs. L._ I have persuaded the doctor to lie down, Dilly. Can I be of any -assistance to you? - -_Dilly._ No, thank you. - -_Mrs. L._ The interest on the mortgage is due to-morrow. - -_Dilly._ O auntie, I know it is; and we have not the money to pay it. I -know not where to go to procure it. We must ask Mr. Hartshorn for further -time. - -_Mrs. L._ I fear that will be useless. Mr. Hartshorn is the principal of -a rival seminary: he has long desired to possess this place; and, I fear, -will not let the opportunity pass when he can procure it at a very low -price. - -_Dilly._ Oh, do not say that, auntie! If he refuses, who will aid us? - -_Bob._ (_Outside C._) Just my luck! (_Enter, C. with carpet-bag._) -Halloo, here you are, here you are! - -_Dilly._ (_Rushing up, and seizing his hand._) Why, Bob Winders, you dear -old fellow! where _did_ you come from? I declare I must hug you. (_Throws -her arms round his neck._) - -_Bob._ That’s right, Dilly. Hug away. I like it: it’s just my luck. -(_Gives his hand to Mrs. L._) Mrs. Loring, I’m glad to see you looking so -well. - -_Mrs. L._ Robert, welcome, a thousand times welcome. - -_Bob._ Well, now, that’s hearty. Dilly, how you’ve grown! My eyes, what a -bouncer! - -_Dilly._ Why, Bob, how _you_ have altered! - -_Bob._ Altered. I suppose you refer to my weight. “How are the mighty -fallen!” Well, I flatter myself I have altered, and for the better. -It’s a deused sight more comfortable; and there’s no end to the money -saved. Provisions have sensibly lowered in price, and the tailors look -decidedly gloomy, since I’ve donned this slender habit. I’ll tell you -how it came about. When I presented myself to my respected parent on -my return from school, his first exclamation was, “Good gracious! how -fat that boy grows!” followed by a lengthy survey of my by no means -diminutive person. “This will never do, boy: you must travel.” Being of -an obedient disposition, and being plentifully supplied with funds, I did -travel. I first attempted to cross the ocean, was shipwrecked, and for -twenty days skimmed the cold ocean in an open boat, my daily food being -one biscuit. It would naturally be supposed that a loss of superabundant -flesh would follow. It didn’t. I increased in weight. Finally, after -much tribulation, I reached England. I was blown up on the Thames: not -an ounce of my flesh forsook me. I was smashed up on a railroad. Flesh -still immovable. Paraded Paris, rushed into Russia, sighed in Siberia, -peeked into Pekin, leaned against the Leaning Tower at Pisa, roamed in -Rome, swam in Greece, picked a bone in Turkey, and finally brought up -in California, weighing twenty pounds more than when I left home. Just -my luck! But here Providence befriended me. I started for the mines. -Domesticated myself in a little place called Leankin, was persuaded to -run for office, and, by the time the campaign was over, I was run with a -vengeance,--run out of pocket, run off the track by my opponent, and run -down to my present slender proportions. - -_Dilly._ O Bob! you’ve been unfortunate. I’m so sorry! - -_Bob._ Unfortunate!--not a bit of it. When I’d lost all my money, I fell -in with my partner,--a glorious fellow my partner. We worked in the -mines together till we had amassed a snug little capital, then started -business in San Francisco; and to-day there is no more successful firm in -California than that of Winders & Co. - -_Dilly._ I’m so glad! But, Bob, have you no tidings of our Harry? - -_Bob._ Harry! Why, Harry’s here, isn’t he? - -_Dilly._ Have you forgotten the events of five years ago? - -_Bob._ Oh, I remember! Harry ran away to escape being jugged by old Butts. - -_Dilly._ And you know nothing of him? - -_Bob._ Me! Why, bless you! how should I know any thing about him? Hasn’t -he been heard of? - -_Dilly._ Since that day we have never heard of or from him. His poor -father has been very ill, and now is almost bereft of reason. - -_Bob._ You don’t mean it! This will be news for Har--I mean my partner. - -_Dilly._ Your partner? What is this to him? - -_Bob._ Oh, nothing! only he is naturally interested in any thing that -interests me; that’s all. - -_Mrs. L._ Yes, Robert, your old master has seen sad times since you left. -This house is mortgaged, and must now pass from him. - -_Bob._ No! You don’t mean it? - -_Dilly._ The interest is due to-morrow, and we’ve no money to pay it. Oh, -if Harry were only here! - -_Bob._ As he isn’t, let me be your banker. Here’s my wallet: it’s in the -condition in which I was five years ago,--it’s overburdened, and wants -tapping. - -_Dilly._ No, no, Bob! You are very kind; but we have no claim upon you, -and I could not think of taking your money. - -_Bob._ Claim! confound it! Isn’t this the home of my old master? and do -you suppose I am going to stand by and see it pass from his hands when I -have plenty? No, Dilly. Harry and I were brothers here at school; and, -when his father is in trouble, I’m bound to aid him for the good he has -done me, lickings and all. - -_Dilly._ Oh, no, no, Bob! do not ask me to take it. - -_Bob._ Well, then, I won’t. Mrs. Loring, who holds this mortgage? - -_Mrs. L._ Mr. Hartshorn. - -_Bob._ Then I shall do myself the honor to call upon Mr. Hartshorn, and -put him in good spirits by paying the interest. - -_Mrs. L._ O Robert! you have a kind heart. - -_Bob._ Have I? Well, I’ve got a full purse too, and it’s pretty heavy; -and, as I’ve got rid of heavy weights, if this doesn’t lighten soon, I -shall throw it into the lake. - -_Mrs. L._ Well, well, have your own way. - -_Bob._ I always did. It’s just my luck. I’m very dusty. Shall I go to the -old room? - -_Mrs. L._ Yes; and I’ll show you the way. O Robert, Heaven will surely -bless you. (_Exit, R._) - -_Bob._ Bless her dear old face! Dilly, it does seem good to be in this -house once more. - -_Dilly._ O Bob, we’re so glad to see you! You have comforted sorrowing -hearts to-day. - -_Bob._ Have I? Well, that’s pleasant. But, Dilly, where’s Lucy? - -_Dilly._ She’s on the lake with Fred Hastings. - -_Bob._ Fred Hastings! He here? Just my luck! - -_Dilly._ Lucy will be glad to see you, Bob. - -_Bob._ I hope she will, Dilly; for I’ve come a great ways to see her. -Good-by! (_Exit, R._) - -_Dilly._ Good-by! Dear old fellow! how fond Harry was of him! Ah, me! if -Harry would only come now! (_Turns, and meets HARRY, who has entered, -C., disguised as an old man, gray wig, beard, red shirt, and sailor -trousers._) - -_Harry._ A morsel of food, I beg. I have travelled far, and I am very -hungry. - -_Dilly._ Hungry! Poor old man, sit down. I will bring you some food. No -one is ever refused in this house. (_Exit, R._) - -_Harry._ Thanks, thanks! Heaven bless you! Home again at last, after -five long years; once more I stand within the dear old house. How -familiar every thing looks! There’s the arm-chair in which father sat, -the little stool on which I nestled at his side, there’s Aunt Loring’s -knitting-work, and Lucy’s book,--every thing just as it was in the old -times; and that was Dilly, my little Dilly, grown to woman’s estate. Oh! -how I long to clasp her in my arms! They told me I must not come in here; -but I could not help it. I _must_ know if I am remembered here, or if -the bitter accusation made against me has driven me from these hearts. -(_Enter DILLY, with meat and bread, which she places on table, R. C._) - -_Dilly._ There, that’s the best I can do. You are heartily welcome. Sit -down, and make yourself comfortable. - -_Harry._ Thanks, thanks! (_Sits R. of table._) I’m so hungry! You have a -kind heart, a kind heart, young lady! Heaven will surely bless you for -your kindness to a poor old wanderer. - -_Dilly._ Now, don’t stop to be complimentary. - -_Harry._ (_Pretending to eat, but watching DILLY attentively._) May I ask -whose house this is? - -_Dilly._ This is Dr. Harlem’s house. - -_Harry._ Dr. Harlem, Dr. Harlem? Oh! I remember,--the master of the -seminary. - -_Dilly._ Are you acquainted here? - -_Harry._ Long ago, long ago! In better days I knew this place. - -_Dilly._ But you don’t eat. - -_Harry._ Oh, yes! I do. I’m very hungry. Dr. Harlem,--he was a kind, good -gentleman. - -_Dilly._ Ay, that he was and is. But times have sadly changed. Illness -has almost unsettled his reason. - -_Harry._ (_Starting up._) Gracious heavens! - -_Dilly._ How you startle me! What ails you? - -_Harry._ (_Recovering himself._) Nothing, nothing. I’m very old, and the -fear of losing _my_ reason haunts me. When you spoke of that old man, you -startled _me_. I beg your pardon. - -_Dilly._ Well, sit down. If you don’t eat, I shall fear you are not -pleased with what I have prepared. - -_Harry._ But I do eat (_eating ravenously_); don’t you see I do? I’m very -hungry. (_After a pause._) Dr. Harlem,--are you his daughter? - -_Dilly._ Oh, no! His daughter Lucy is on the lake. - -_Harry._ But didn’t he have a son? - -_Dilly._ Yes, he has a son. - -_Harry._ Yes, yes, I remember!--a wild, reckless lad. He was sent to -prison. He was a forger. - -_Dilly._ ’Tis false! He was noble, generous, and good; and those who dare -accuse him of crime are base slanderers. - -_Harry._ (_Aside._) She’s true, she’s true! (_Aloud._) I beg your pardon; -I was told-- - -_Dilly._ Told?--how dare you, beneath his father’s roof, partaking of his -charity, repeat this falsehood? Oh, shame, shame, upon you! - -_Harry._ I beg your pardon once more. It was ungrateful in me, I spoke -without thought. Forgive me, I will go. - -_Dilly._ No, no, sit down! Forgive _me_; for it was wrong in me to speak -thus to one who never knew Harry. - -_Harry._ Ah! Harry has a warm friend in you. - -_Dilly._ I hope he has; for his kindness to me can never be repaid. For -five years, every thought of mine has been to find some way to clear him, -some way to prove his innocence. But, alas! his father’s illness has -required all my attention; has kept me at his side: and I have found no -way to serve him. - -_Harry._ If he is innocent, wait: the time will come when the truth will -triumph. Have faith, my child, have faith. - -_Dilly._ I have, I have! But you’re not eating. - -_Harry._ Oh, yes, I am; for I am very hungry. Heaven bless you for your -kindness to an old man (_placing his hand on her head_), and bless you -for your trust in one who wanders through the earth with a blasted name. - -_Doctor._ (_Outside, R._) Dilly, Dilly, here, quick! - -_Dilly._ The doctor calls me; I must go. Now make yourself comfortable; -I’ll soon return. (_Exit, R._) - -_Harry._ My father’s voice!--sick, almost bereft of reason; and I cannot -go to him. The sight of me might kill him. O false friend! the time will -come, the time will come! Heaven send it soon, or my heart will break. -(_Sinks into chair R. of table, and buries his face in his hands. Enter -BUTTS, C., very stealthily._) - -_Butts._ Five thousand dollars! Now, who would imagine that mass of hair -and old clothes was worth five thousand dollars? And yet it is. Once -within the clutches of this limb of the law, I’m a rich man. Oh, ho, -Butts, you’re a sharp one, you are! (_Strikes his hand on table._) Wake -up, you’re wanted. (_HARRY raises his head._) At last we meet. - -_Harry._ Meet! Who are you? - -_Butts._ Oh, you don’t know me! Well, that’s not singular; but I know -you; I’ve had my eye on you: you’re a deep one, you are! But I’ve got -you! California too hot, hey? Well, we’ll give you a warm corner here, -John Robinson. Oh! I know you: you can’t humbug Butts. Suppose I should -tell you just when you left California, John Robinson? how much money you -took, John Robinson?--suppose I should lay my hand on your shoulder, John -Robinson, and say you are my prisoner, John Robinson,--what would you -say, John Robinson? - -_Harry._ That, if you lay a finger on me (_producing a pistol, and -presenting it_), I’ll blow what little brains you have into yonder lake. - -_Butts._ (_Dropping under the table._) Murder! put up that infernal -machine. Help, murder! - -_Harry._ Shut up! If you speak again you’re a dead man. Come out here! -(_BUTTS obeys._) Now take a seat, and make yourself comfortable. - -_Butts._ (_Sitting L._) Comfortable? - -_Harry._ The tables are turned, hey, Butts? - -_Butts._ Oh, you villain, you villain! But you can’t escape me; I’m an -officer of the law; never known to take a bribe. I believe in justice, -and justice will surely overtake you, John Robinson. - -_Harry._ I sincerely hope I shall some day have justice. - -_Butts._ The hemp has grown, the rope twisted, that will twist your -little neck, John Robinson. - -_Harry._ So you are Butts the thief-taker, are you? Well, I’m glad to -meet you. I’ve a little business with you. Butts, an officer of the law, -who believes in justice, and yet turned his only son out of doors. - -_Butts._ How! What do you know about my son? - -_Harry._ I know that he is dead. - -_Butts._ Dead! My Bill dead! - -_Harry._ Yes; it was my hand that closed his eyes, away off in the mines -of California. - -_Butts._ My boy dead! - -_Harry._ He told me the story of his life. He loved a poor girl, and his -father turned him out of doors. - -_Butts._ She was a vile-- - -_Harry._ Stop, Butts! She was a pure, noble woman: her only fault was -loving your scamp of a son. He married her. I have his word for it and -the marriage-certificate. He married her nineteen years ago; took her to -the little town of Elmer, fifteen miles from here. They had a child. - -_Butts._ A child! I never heard of that. - -_Harry._ Oh! you was too busy looking after rogues. You forgot your own -scamp of a son. When the child was four years old, the mother died, -broken-hearted; for your son was a villain. Bill determined to try his -luck in California. But the child was an encumbrance that must be got -rid of. So one dark night, Bill took her in his arms, and started for -his father’s house, to leave her on the doorsteps. But Bill, not having -led a virtuous life, was wanted by certain officers of the law. They -tracked him. Bill found they were after him, and, with fatherly care, -flung his offspring by the roadside, and fled. He died three months ago -in California. - -_Butts._ And the child? - -_Harry._ Ah! the child is safe. - -_Butts._ Thank Heaven for that! Where is she, my grandchild? - -_Harry._ Safe, I tell you. I, and I alone, know where to find her. - -_Butts._ John Robinson, you’re a noble--no--I mean you’re a--Oh! lead me -to her. I’m an old man. This child--I long to clasp her in my arms. - -_Harry._ Lead you? Well, Butts, under the circumstances, that is a very -cool proposition. You forget: by your own admission, I am your prisoner. - -_Butts._ You are free, only give me the child. - -_Harry._ Five thousand dollars for John Robinson, hey, Butts? - -_Butts._ If it were fifty thousand dollars, give me the child, and you -are free. - -_Harry._ I’m astonished, Butts! you an officer of the law, never known to -take a bribe! - -_Butts._ Oh, curse the law! John Robinson, if you are a man, lead me to -that child. - -_Harry._ On one condition, Butts. - -_Butts._ Name it. - -_Harry._ There’s a man named Belmer stopping at the village inn: bring -him here in half an hour. - -_Butts._ And the child? - -_Harry._ Bring Belmer here in half an hour, and the child shall be placed -in your arms. - -_Butts._ Bless you, John Robinson, you’re a trump! I’ll be here in half -an hour. Robinson, you’re a brick! (_Exit, C._) - -_Harry._ So the train is laid. I’ll take myself off, lest the sight of -that dear girl’s face unman me. If all works well, when next I enter -here none shall have cause to blush for Harry Harlem. (_As he is about -to exit, C., he meets LUCY, who enters, C. He stands aside, bows, and -hurries out, C._) - -_Lucy._ A strange old man! Who can he be? - -(_Enter FRED, C., LUCY sits, R._) - -_Fred._ Lucy, I entreat you unsay those words. Give me at least the power -to hope. - -_Lucy._ No, Fred: I am convinced a union between us would be unhappy. - -_Fred._ But give me some reason, Lucy. You love another? - -_Lucy._ No. - -_Fred._ Then why reject _me_? I love you truly, devotedly. Become my -wife; and, if you do not love me now, I will find some way to make you. - -_Lucy._ No, Fred: I repeat it is impossible. My father needs my care. -Were he well, I think he would not sanction it, and--and-- - -_Fred._ Lucy, you are not just to me or your father. He needs your care: -he needs something more than that. I know how his small fortune has -gradually dwindled away, that his house is mortgaged, that he has not a -penny in the world. Become my wife, Lucy. I am rich. Give me the power to -aid him? - -_Lucy._ No, no, Fred: better as it is. Dilly, Aunt Loring, I, will work -night and day to gain for him every comfort. - -_Fred._ But think, Lucy. The best you can do will only make him -comfortable for a little while. With a pressing creditor like Hartshorn, -this house must at last be given up. - -_Lucy._ I know it must, I know it must. Heaven help my poor father! - -_Fred._ I offer you my hand: accept, and to-morrow the mortgage shall be -paid, principal and interest. See, Lucy, I’m at your feet. I love you -truly, sincerely. - -_Lucy._ My poor father! What shall I do? oh, who will aid us now? (_Enter -BOB, R., with fishing-pole, stumbles against FRED, who is kneeling._) - -_Bob._ Just my luck! I beg your pardon. Why, Lucy! - -_Lucy._ (_Rushing to him._) Bob Winders, dear Bob, how glad I am to see -you! (_Throws her arm round his neck._) - -_Bob._ Just my luck! Why, Lucy, I hardly knew you. - -_Fred._ (_Aside._) What sent him here at this time? (_Aloud._) Bob, old -boy, where did you drop from? (_Gives his hand._) - -_Bob._ Why, Fred, is it you, still fluttering round the old flame, hey? -Where did I drop from? From the four quarters of the globe. I’ve been in -England, France, Russia, everywhere, including California. - -_Fred._ California! - -_Bob._ Yes, California. It’s a fine place, California, the Golden State. -Lots of gold to be got by digging; and, if you object to that, money can -be easily got by signing your name to a slip of paper. Just before I -left, a chap raised twelve thousand dollars by putting a name to a blank -check. But it wasn’t his name; ’twas the name of Dunshaw & Co.: his was -John Robinson. “O Robinson, how could you do so?” - -_Fred._ It was discovered. - -_Bob._ Of course it was. Robinson sloped; but he’ll be caught, he’ll be -caught! Lucy, I see you are engaged. I’m going out to try the trout. I -used to like the sport; and I rather think the trout liked me, for I -never managed to hook many of them. Just my luck! Good-by! - -_Lucy._ Oh, don’t go, Bob! I want to talk to you. I’ve scarcely seen you. - -_Bob._ Well, there isn’t so much of me to see as there was. But I’ll be -back soon. (_Aside._) There’s popping going on here, so I’d best pop off. -(_Exit, C._) - -_Lucy._ The dear old fellow, Harry was so fond of him! Don’t you think he -has altered, Fred? - -_Fred._ Very much, Lucy. But he is still the same blundering fellow he -always was. But for him, just now, I should have had your answer, I think -your favorable answer. - -_Lucy._ I have told you, Fred, I do not love you. Do not, I entreat you, -urge me to a course I know I should regret. I would do any thing for -father-- - -_Fred._ Then marry me, Lucy. Give me your hand. I will wait for your love. - -_Lucy._ To save my father, Fred-- (_Enter DILLY, R._) - -_Dilly._ Lucy, our old friend Bob Winders has arrived. Have you seen him? - -_Fred._ (_Aside._) Confound that girl! she’s always in the way. - -_Lucy._ Yes, he passed through here just now: I never saw such a change. -(_Enter DOCTOR, R., with the portfolio used in Act 1._) - -_Doctor._ Dilly, Dilly, don’t scold! I wandered into your room in search -of you. I picked up your portfolio; and I want you to write to Harry. - -_Dilly._ Write to Harry? - -_Doctor._ Yes: write to Harry. Tell him to come home: we want him. Don’t -you understand, child? Write, write, write! - -_Dilly._ (_Takes the portfolio. The DOCTOR sits in an arm-chair, L. C._) -What can I say to him, doctor? - -_Doctor._ Say--say? What can you say to Harry? I believe the child is -mad. Say that we want him here; that his old father’s heart is breaking, -breaking, breaking. You want him, don’t you, Dilly? - -_Dilly._ Heaven knows I do! - -_Doctor._ Then write: quick, quick! (_DILLY sits behind table, R. C., and -opens the portfolio._) - -_Fred._ Ah, Dilly, I see you still preserve my present of five years ago. - -_Dilly._ Preserve it? Yes; but I have never opened it. The memory of that -day is not pleasant to recall. Now, doctor, you shall tell me what to -write. - -_Doctor._ Commence “Dear, dear Harry.” - -_Dilly._ Oh, of course! “Dear, dear Harry”-- (_drops her pen, starts, -and remains with her hands clasped, her eyes fixed upon the portfolio. -Aside._) What do I see? am I dreaming? - -_Doctor._ Yes, “Dear, dear Harry.” He is dear,--my own dear son. Who says -he’s dead? It’s false: he stood by my bed last night. Who says he’s a -forger? ’Tis false. He’s a good boy, a good boy--first in his class--the -largest number of credits--no checks for Harry Harlem! Checks! they said -he forged my name,--the name of his old father; and they took him, put -him in prison, and hanged him by the neck till he was dead, dead, dead. A -forger! ’tis false, false, false. - -_Lucy._ Why, Dilly, what’s the matter? - -_Fred._ (_Approaching table._) Dilly, child, what ails you? - -_Dilly._ (_Starting up, and closing the portfolio._) Away, away!--you, of -all men! I beg your pardon: I know not what ails me. (_Takes portfolio, -and comes down, L._) (_Aside._) The proof, the proof at last! What shall -I do? who trust? I dare not leave Fred Hastings here with Lucy: I fear -his influence. Oh, if I could but make the doctor understand! - -_Doctor._ Have you written, Dilly? - -_Dilly._ Not yet, doctor (_sits on stool at his side, L._) I want to talk -with you first; I want to tell you a story. - -_Doctor._ But I don’t want to hear a story; I want you to write to Harry. - -_Dilly._ Listen to me a moment, doctor. You’ll like this story: it’s -about a boy very much like Harry. - -_Doctor._ Then he was a good boy, a good boy! - -_Dilly._ Yes, he was a good boy until he gained a friend, a false friend, -who led him into temptation. - -_Fred._ (_Aside._) What is the girl up to now? - -_Dilly._ This false friend taught him to gamble. - -_Doctor._ That wasn’t like Harry: he never gambled. - -_Dilly._ He lost a large sum he could not pay. The false friend proffered -assistance; gave him a check purporting to be signed by the boy’s -father, with a very plausible story to account for its being in his -possession. - -_Fred._ (_Aside._) What is she driving at? - -_Dilly._ The fraud was discovered; the boy punished. - -_Doctor._ The boy! It should have been the friend. - -_Dilly._ You’re right, doctor; it should. But the proof was strong -against the boy, and he suffered. Even his own father believed him guilty. - -_Doctor._ False friend! false father! - -_Dilly._ But the boy had another friend, weak but true: five years after, -among the papers of this false friend, she found the proof to clear the -boy. - -_Doctor._ Proof! What was it? - -_Dilly._ (_Opening portfolio._) It was like this, doctor. - -_Doctor._ Like this?--like this?--Why, I see nothing. A portfolio -blotting-paper! - -_Dilly._ But on the paper? - -_Doctor._ Marks, nothing but marks. Yes, yes, they assume shape,--Aug. 1, -Aug. 1. Gracious heavens! what is this? what is this? - -_Fred._ I see it all. (_Rushes up, and seizes the portfolio._) Girl, -girl, would you kill the old man? You must not so excite him: no more of -this. I’ll fling this accursed thing into the lake. (_Runs up, C., and -throws the portfolio off._) - -_Dilly._ What have you done? what have you done? - -_Fred._ Saved the old man from a fever. No more of your confounded -stories, Dilly. - -_Dilly._ Fred Hastings, you are a villain! In that portfolio is the proof -of your guilt: it shall not be destroyed. (_Runs up, C.; HASTINGS seizes -her by the wrist._) - -_Fred._ Hold, mad girl! Hard words; but, for the sake of the old man, I -forgive you. If that portfolio contains proof of my guilt, it’s too late -now: it’s at the bottom of the lake. Who can bring it thence? (_Enter -BOB, C._) - -_Bob._ Just my luck! I knew that lake contained bouncing trout; but I -never knew before that it produced any thing so nearly resembling a -flounder. (_Holds up portfolio._) - -_Dilly._ It’s mine, mine, Bob. - -_Fred._ Curse that fellow! He’s always in the way. - -_Dilly._ Listen all. I charge that man Hastings with the perpetration of -the forgery of which Harry Harlem was accused five years ago. The proof -is here. On the blotting-leaves of this portfolio once owned and used -by him are indelibly impressed the written lines of the check,--“Aug. -1, 1858. Seventy-five--Andrew Harlem,”--left there when he blotted the -check. (_Enter MRS. LORING, R._) - -_Lucy._ Gracious heavens! - -_Mrs. L._ Is it possible? - -_Bob._ By thunder! - -_Doctor._ I don’t understand, Dilly; I don’t understand. - -_Fred._ You’re right, doctor: it is hard to understand, especially as -Harry and I were such good friends. We used our writing materials in -common. Of course, he wrote the check on that portfolio; that’s plain. - -_Lucy._ Mr. Hastings, I remember the words with which you presented that -portfolio to Dilly, “Should I ever become a great man, you can boast you -possess something which no one but I have ever used.” - -_Dilly._ His very words. - -_Fred._ You, too, turn against me, Lucy? - -_Lucy._ To clear a dear brother’s name, against you and all the world. - -_Bob._ (_Aside._) Ah, ha! I shall have her yet: it’s just my luck. - -_Fred._ My friends, I pity your delusion. It is natural we should stand -by those we love; but this is a clear case. Harry Harlem is now an -outcast skulking from justice, while I--Who dare accuse me of any crime? -(_Enter HARRY, C., disguised._) - -_Harry._ Be that task mine. - -_Dilly._ That old man again! - -_Fred._ Yours! Pray may I inquire who you are? - -_Harry._ One who for five years has watched your course, knowing you -to be a villain, waiting for the proof; one who has watched you first -squander the rich inheritance of your father, then fall among the ruined -and degraded, living as a speculator and gambler; one who has proof of -your last crime, the forging of the name of Dunshaw & Co.,--the hunted -felon under the name of John Robinson. (_Enter BUTTS, C._) - -_Butts._ John Robinson here! then who the deuse are you? - -_Harry._ Belmer--did you find him? - -_Butts._ Mr. Belmer waits without. - -_Fred._ Belmer--that name! He here? Then I am caught at last. - -_Harry._ Yes: Belmer, the detective of Sacramento, waits for you. Shall I -call him in? - -_Fred._ No, no: I’ll see him outside. So, so! run to earth like a fox! -Well, I’ll put a good face on it. Friends, I have a pressing engagement; -will you excuse me? I should not have come to this place; but--but-- - -_Lucy._ Fred, Mr. Hastings, you once professed a regard for me: if it was -sincere, I beg you clear my brother’s name. - -_Fred._ For your sake, Lucy, yes. I did forge the name of Dr. Harlem to -the check used by Harry. - -_Dilly_, _Lucy_, _Harry_. (_Together._) At last! - -_Fred._ At last? (_To Harry._) Who are you that to-day stand forth as my -accuser? - -_Harry._ One who, after five long years of absence, now stands beneath -his father’s roof cleared of every semblance of stain. (_Tears off his -wig and beard._) - -_Fred._ Harry Harlem! - -_Dilly._ (_Rushing into his arms._) My Harry, my Harry! Oh, welcome, -welcome! Here, doctor, doctor, Harry’s come! Harry’s come! - -_Doctor._ (_Starts up._) Harry’s come! Where is he? where is my boy? - -_Harry._ (_Kneeling._) Here, at your feet, dear father. - -_Doctor._ My boy, my dear boy, we’ve waited long for you; but I knew that -you would come. - -_Lucy._ Dear, dear brother! (_Embracing him._) - -_Harry._ Lucy, best of sisters! - -_Bob._ Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you the junior -partner of the firm of Winders & Co. - -_Dilly._ Your partner! - -_Harry._ Yes, Dilly, my true and fast friend. From the day I left here, -we’ve been inseparable. A true friend, a true friend! - -_Fred._ If you will pardon me, I think I’ll go. - -_Butts._ I think you’d better. Mr. Belmer is very anxious to see you. - -_Fred._ Butts, you’re a stupid old fool. (_Exit, C._) - -_Bob._ He can’t help that: it’s just his luck. - -_Butts._ I think I’d better follow him. - -_Harry._ No: Belmer will secure him. Never fear. - -_Mrs. L._ Harry, welcome home once more! - -_Harry._ Ah, Aunt Loring, still as buxom as ever! thanks, thanks! - -_Doctor._ Well, I declare I feel like a new man. - -_Dilly._ Ah, I told you Harry would make all right. - -_Doctor._ Ah, that he has. I’ll open school again. - -_Butts._ I say, Harry, you’ve no ill will against me? - -_Harry._ Ah, Butts, I’ve no ill will against any one now, I’m so happy. - -_Butts._ The child, Harry? - -_Harry._ Dilly, how can I ever repay you for your kindness to my father, -for your faith in me? To you I owe the good name I bear to-day: how can I -repay you? - -_Dilly._ O Harry, you ask me that?--you to whom I owe my happiness, this -dear home, these kind friends? - -_Harry._ Dilly, you have a relative living. - -_Dilly._ A relative? - -_Harry._ Yes, a grandfather. Your father died in California: I know his -history. Your mother is also dead. Your father’s name was William Butts. - -_Butts._ And I’m your grandfather. O Dilly, Dilly! who’d have thought it? - -_Dilly._ You my grandfather! - -_Harry._ There is no mistake: you are his grandchild. I have the proofs. - -_Butts._ Come right here and kiss me. Who would have thought it? Why, -Dilly, this accounts for your being such a thief-taker: it runs in the -blood. - -_Bob._ (_Aside._) Precious little inheritance in that line she received -from you. - -_Dilly._ You my grandfather! Is it possible? Then I am really somebody -after all. - -_Butts._ Somebody? Yes, indeed! Grandchild of Jonathan Wild Butts! - -_Dilly._ But I don’t want to be anybody’s grandchild. Harry’s my father: -I don’t want any other. And, if I am to go away from here,-- - -_Harry._ Don’t be frightened, Dilly. It’s a good thing to know you have -relatives; but I do not propose to renounce my claim. You are my rightful -property: I found you by the roadside when deserted by your father. I -will still claim relationship; but, Dilly, it must now be as your husband. - -_Dilly._ My husband! - -_Harry._ Yes, Dilly, be my wife. I have had you in my thoughts night -and day for the last five years. You have proved your love for me as a -sister; now I shall claim a dearer title. - -_Dilly._ O Harry, I do not deserve it! - -_Doctor._ She does, Harry; and, if you don’t marry her at once, I will. - -_Butts._ What! rob me of my grandchild just when I have discovered my -treasure? I don’t like it. - -_Dilly._ Oh, yes, you do, grandpa! for I shall love you dearly, I know; -that is, if you let me have my own way. - -_Butts._ And that way is into the arms of a husband, I suppose? - -_Dilly._ (_Giving her hand to Harry._) So Harry says; and I always do -just what Harry tells me. - -_Harry._ Dear, dear Dilly! - -_Bob._ So, Harry, you’re going to take a new partner into the concern? - -_Harry._ Yes, Bob: remember the Scripture injunction, “Go, and do thou -likewise.” - -_Bob._ Lucy, what say you? Will you take an interest in the concern? The -senior partner is desperately in love with you. - -_Lucy._ O Bob, you’ve been a kind friend to my brother Harry! - -_Bob._ That’s got nothing to do with it. I’m getting rid of all -superfluous stock; and I find I’ve got too much heart. So I’ll throw it -into the market. If you want it, it’s yours at your own price. Yes: I’ll -take yours, and call it an even trade. - -_Lucy._ Well, I suppose I must say it’s a bargain. - -_Bob._ Thank you: we’ll just put a revenue stamp on that contract -(_kisses_). I’ve got the best of the bargain: just my luck! - -_Doctor._ Ah, that’s right, that’s right! just as it should be! We’re a -happy family now, thanks to Dilly! Ah! we have much to thank her for. - -_Harry._ Ay, that we have! Father, your words have come true at -last,--“Cast thy bread upon the waters,”-- - -_Dilly._ “For thou shalt find it after many days.” - -_Doctor._ Yes, yes: returning peace and happiness after many days, after -many days. - -DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS. - -R., BOB, LUCY, DOCTOR, HARRY, DILLY, BUTTS, MRS. LORING, L. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mimic Stage, by George M Baker - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MIMIC STAGE *** - -***** This file should be named 54063-0.txt or 54063-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/0/6/54063/ - -Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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