r LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 434 653 1 * Conservation Resources Lig-Free® Type I MANX, MUSTrGSj .some merit:" dr. Sx r ^m vm PMEDIES|ARCES, OMEDIETTAS,^ No. 58 C03srr^.iisrs — -— mi NO THOROUGHFARE. MANAGER'S DAUGHTER. A WINNING HAZARD. M in. mm I I II II I I II t I II I I I TBI Ml I I HENR^ X. (JORNKTT, Printer and Publisher, F. O. Box 2852. S Spruce St., New York. Price 15 Cts. The Brightest Gems of the b ^nguage. A CHOICE COLLECTION OF r h^GEDIEft*C@PEDIE&+FTOE&+§C., -rvDAPTED TO ^-\sThe Home Circle, Private Theatricals, and the American Stage. THE NEW YOEK DKAMA supplies a long-acknowledged want of the Reading Public, by placing before those who are unable to attend the Theatre the classic dramatic gems of our language. In it the choicest productions of the greatest writers of the world, from Shakespeare to the present time, are so clearly presented as to render every scene and incident as plain to the reader as would the actual performance of the play. 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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by Rathbone Gardner, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. NO. 58. NO THOROUGHFARE: % gtama, in Jive §M# and a gvotugue. By CHARLES DICKENS & WILKIE COLLINS. OAST OF CHARACTERS. New Royal Adelphi, London, 1867. Veiled Lady Mrs. Billiugton. Sara 7 Goldstraw " Alfred Mellon. Liltk Walter Wilding Master Sidney. First Husband Mr. R. Eomer. Second Husband " Pritchard. First Wife Mrs. Stoker. Second Wife Mrs. D'Este. Mr. Walter Wilding Mr. Billington. Mr. Bintry " G-. Belmore. Joey Ladle " Benjamin Webster. George Vendale. " H. G-. Neville. Jules Obenreizer " Fetchter. Marguerite Miss Carlotta Leclercq.. Madame Dor Mrs. A. Lewis. Jean Marie Mr. C. F. Smith. Jean Paid " Branscombe. Father Francis " R. Phillips. ««• i" a. Exits and Entrances — R. means Right; L. Left; R. D. Right Door; l. D. Left Door: 2 E. Second Entrance; TJ. E. Upper Entrance; M. D. Middle Door. Relative Positions .— R. means Right; L. Left; C. Centre; R. C Right Centre; L. C. Left Centre, &c. The reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the audience. PBOLOGUE. Scene I. — Gas down. Veiled Lady enters l. to a, pauses, then to r., by gate in f. Two Girls enter by gate in f., draw their shawls closer around them, cross and exeunt l. Veil- ed Lady follows them to c, looking at their faces, shakes her head, stops, returns to gate. Sally Goldstraw enters by gate, crosses to exit l., but Veiled Lady overtakes her and stops her, c. Sally. What do you want of me f V. Lady. I wish to speak with you. I must speak with you. Sally. What is it you want ? V. Lady. You are called Sally Goldstraw; you are one of the nurses at the hospital, and I must speak with you. Sally. You seem to know all about me, ma'am. May I make so bold as to ask who you are ? V. Lady. Come, look at me under this lamp. [To gate, removing veil. Sally, [shakes head.] No, ma'am. [Replaces the Lady's veil] I don't know you, I never saw you before this night. V. Lady. Do I look like a happy woman ? Sally. No ! you look as if you had something on your mind. V. Lady. I have something on my mind, Sally ! I am one of those miserable mothers who have never known what happy motherhood is! My child is one of those poor children in this found- ling hospital, put there when a boy, and I have never seen him. Sally. Oh, dear, dear, dear ! what can I say — what can I do ? V. Lady. Carry your memory back twelve years. The day when you entered the foundling must have been a memorable one ! Sally. It was. But twelve years is a long time ! V. Lady. If it is long to you, think how long it must be to me ! I have paid the penalty of my disgrace ! My family forced me to live in a foreign land ever since. But now I find myself released — free to come back. Sally Goldstraw, I have come back. It lies in your power to make me a happy woman ! Sally. Me ! and how can I do that ? V. Lady. Here are two guineas in this paper. [ Offers roll of paper.] Take my poor little present, and I will tell you. Sally, [repulses paper.] You may know my face, but not my nature, ma'am. There is not a child in all the house that I belong to, who has not a good word for Sally. Could I be so well thought of if I was to be bought ? V. Lady. I did not mean to buy you ; I meant only to reward you very slightly. Sally. I want no reward. If there is anything I can do for you, ma'am, that I will do for its own sake. You are much mistaken in me if you think that I will do it for money. What is it you want ? V. Lady. The day when you entered the found- ling hospital must be a marked day in your life? Sally. It is a marked day ! V. Lady. You must remember what passed on that day ? Sally. Everything ! V. Lady. Then you remember a child that was received in your care ? Sally. I do remember the child. V. Lady, [eagerly.] That child is still living? Sally. Living and hearty ! V. Lady, [clasps hands.) Thank Heaven ! You still take care of him ! ♦ ♦ ♦ : : ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ : ♦ i ♦ ♦ ♦ : ♦ t ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦^♦^♦♦♦♦♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^^♦♦^♦•♦-♦-♦-♦^•♦--f ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■♦- ♦ -♦-♦ ■♦• ■f ♦ ♦ ♦ ■ ♦ ♦•*•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦>♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦••« ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦-♦•♦-♦■♦♦♦•♦-♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦-♦•♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦•♦»♦■♦♦ «■♦ NO THOROUGHFARE [Act I, Scene 1. StoW?/. Oh, let me go. I am doing wrong to lis- ten to you ! [Crosses to l. c, detained &?/ Veiled Lady. V. Lady. What of the child ? tfaJty. He — he is still here. He was still here when I came hack from our country establish- ment to learn the ways of the place. V. Lady. I, too, have learnt the ways of the place. They have given my child a name— a Christian name and a surname f Tell me, what have they called him ? Sally. Oh, you mustn't ask me ! indeed, you must not! [To l. V. Lady. His Christian name ! You must tell me ! I am his mother ! Come back, come back! [a] You may some day be a mother ! As you hope to be a happy wife, as you are a living, lov- ing woman ! tell me the name of my child ! [Detaining Sally by shawl. ■ Sally. Don't, please don't ! you are trying to make me do wrong ! V. Lady. The surname and the Christian name, Sally ! [Clinging to Sally. Sally. Oh, don't, don't kneel to me ! V. Lady. His name, Sally, his name ! Sally. You promise — V. Lady. Anything ! Sally. Put your hands in mine [Lady does so) and promise that you will not ask me to tell you anything but the surname and the Christian name? V. Lady. I promise ! Sally, [putting her lips close to her face.] Wal- ter Wilding ! V. Lady. Walter Wilding ! [506] kiss him for me ! [Exit Sally, hiding her face, l.] Oh ! [Sobbing, goes along flat to b.] Oh ! [Exit sobbing, b. Scene II. — Gas up. First and Second Hus- bands and Wives discovered l. c, the Two G-iBLS, l., at table, carving. Boys enter, r. u. e., and sing " God Save the Queen."* They take seats. Veiled Lady enters, b. u. e. to l. c, down stage, earnestly regarding the Boys. First Wife. Mr. Jones, whatever made you bring me here ? First Husband. Why, my dear, you wanted to come ! First W. How dare you tell me that I wanted to come ? First H. You did ! to see the pretty children — First W. I — I — I ! The man who would bring his wife to see these examples of vice, is lost to the commonest sense of decency ! I blush for human nature ! First H. Human nature is very much obliged to you, my dear. First W. Ugh ! give me your arm, Mr. Jones ; you are a fool ! First H. When I married you that left no doubt of it! [to b., proscenium e., ivith Fibst Wife] but you had better keep that opinion to yourself. [Exit b. proscenium e. Second W. Oh, I should like to kiss these dear boys. Second H. Kiss them ! Think of your own boys at home. Second W. It is sad to think that none of them * Or any devotional hymn. have ever known a mother's love, or sat on a fath- er's knee ! It is a noble charity. Second H. A noble charity indeed ! I have counted more than forty boys in this room, and every one of them is as well kept and fat as our Tom ! [Leads Wife off b. , proscenium e. Sally, [to Veiled Lady.] Didn't you faith- fully promise you would not ask me to say any- thing more ? [ l. c. front. V. Lady. I told you I would not ask you to say more ; but point me him out, dear Sally, good Sally ! Sally, [aside. \ Oh, I'm going to do wrong again ! V. Lady. My heart is breaking ! to know that my boy is here, but I can't tell which he is ! Sally. You must not speak so loud here ! Be patient a moment. I am going to walk round the table. Follow me with your eyes. The boy that I stop at and speak to will not be the one. But the boy that I touch will be Walter Wild- ing! [Veiled Lady nods. Sally goes up to b. u. e. corner, around table, comes down b. side of table, and bends over the Second Boy to speak to him, resting her right hand on the left shoulder of Wilding, the First Boy at front end. After seeming to speak, pats Wilding's shoulder, looks over at Veiled Lady, turns and goes off~R., pros- cenium e. V. Lady. Ah ! [Sloivly to head of table, to Wild- ing. ] How old are you, my boy 1 Wilding. I am twelve. V. Lady. Ah ! Are you well and happy ? Wilding. Yes, ma'am. V. Lady. Would you like to be provided for and be your own master when you grow up ? Wilding. Yes, ma'am. V. Lady, [with growing emotion.'] Would you like to have a home of your own, and a mother who loves you ? [Sob. Wilding. Oh, yes, ma'am. [Veiled Lady embraces him, sobbing — All Boys rise, and sing, " God Save the Queen.' 1 the ACT I. Scene. — Court-yard in Wine Merchants, discov- ering Walter Wilding and Mr. Bintby seated at cash table, b. c, front — two men carry cases from l. u. e. offn. 2e. Wilding. I don't know how it may appear to you, Mr. Bin try, but what with the emotion, and what with the heat of the weather, I feel that old singing in the head, and buzzing in my ears. Bintry. A little repose will refresh you, Mr. Wilding. Wilding. How do you like the forty-five years' old port * Bintry. How do I like it ? I, a lawyer ! Did you ever hear of a lawyer who did not like portf Capital wine ; much too good to be given away — even to lawyers ! Wilding. And now to my affairs. 1 think we have got everything straight, Mr. Bintry f [Bin- tby nods.] A partner secured I Bintry. [nods.] Partner secured. [Drinks. Wilding. A housekeeper advertised for ? Bintry. [nods.] A housekeeper advertised for, to " apply personally at Cripple Corner, Great Tower Street, from ten to twelve." •♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦•♦••♦•♦♦•♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦<•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦•♦•♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦•♦■-♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦- Act I, Scene 1. NO THOROUGHFARE. Wilding. My late dear mother's affairs wound up— aDd all charges paid ? Bintry. [chuckling, and slapping his vest pock- ets lightly.] All charges paid, without an item being taxed ! the most unprofessional thing I ever heard of in all my career. [Looks r. 1 e.] Dear me ! you have her portrait there f Wilding. My mother's. One I have in my own room ; the other there in my counting-house, in full view. Ah ! it seems but yesterday when she came to the Foundling to give me a home, and ask me if I could love her. Oh, you (her lawyer) know how I loved her ! And now that I can love her no more, I honor and revere her memory. The utmost love was cherished between us, and we never were separated till death took her from me six months ago. Everything I have I owe to her. I hope my love for her repaid her. She had been deeply deceived, Mr. Bintry, and had cruelly suffered. But she never spoke of that — she never betrayed her betrayer. Bintry. [drinking.] She had made up her mind, and she could hold her peace. [Aside.] A devil- ish deal more than you ever can ! Wilding. I am not ashamed of her— I mean, not ashamed of being a foundling. I never knew a father ; but I can be a father to all in my em- ployment. I hope my new partner will second my desire, and that the housekeeper will help me — my people living in the same house and eating at the same table with me. Joey enters from cellar door, l. 2 e. , with candle in stick, which he puts l. on barrel, comes down c. Joey. Respecting this same boarding and lodg- ing [cap in hand], young Master Wilding ? Bintry. Ah, ha ! This is one of your new fam- ily ! That boy in a leather pinafore won't cost much in washing. Wilding. Yes, Joey ? [Interrogatively. Joey. If you wish to board and lodge me, take me. I can peck as well as most men. Where I pecks ain't so high a h'objeck as what I peck, nor j even so high a h'objeck as how much I peck. Bintry. Master Joey, you ought to have been ; a lawyer. Where zee peck is not so high an ob- 1 ject as what we peck and how much we peck ! Human nature is much the same in all profes- j sions. Mr. Wilding, I'll try another glass of the forty-five. Joey. Is it all to live in the house, young Mas- ! ter Wilding? The two other cellarmen, the three porters, the two 'prentices, and the odd men ? Wilding. Yes, Joey ; I hope we shall be a united family. Joey. Ah, I hope they may be. Wilding. They ? Rather say we, Joey ! Joey. Don't look to me to make jolly on it, young Master Wilding. It's all werry well for you gentlemen that is accustomed to take your wine into your systems by your convivial throt- tles to put a lively face upon it ; but I have been accustomed to take my wine in at the pores. And, took that way, it acts depressing ! It's one thing, gentlemen, to charge your glasses in a din- ing-room with a Hip Hurrah and a Jolly Com- panions Every One ! and another thing to charge yourself by the pores in a low cellar. I've been a cellarman all my life, and what's the conse- quence ? I'm as muddled a man as lives— you won't find a muddleder than me, or my ekal in moloncolly. Bintry. I don't want to stop the blow of Mas- ter Joey's philosophy, but it is past ten o'clock, and the new housekeeper is coming. Wilding. Let her come! my friend, George Yendale is to see them, and recommend the one that seems best. Bintry. [rises.] I'll look in again presently. [Joey goes up c. with him, to open d. t'»p.] Thank you, Joey. [Exit d. in F. Joey, [comes down c] So you have taken a new partner, young Master Yendale, in, sir ! Wilding. Yes, Joey. Joey. But don't change the name of the firm again, young Master Wilding. It was bad luck enough to make it Yourself & Co. Better by far have left it Pebbleson Nephew, that good luck always stuck to ! Never change luck when it is good, sir ! never change luck. [ Up l. Enter George Yendale from set house on stoop, L. Vendale. Well, I have seen the new house- keeper. Her name is Sarah Goldstraw ! Wilding, [startled, b. c] Goldstraw! Surely I have heard that name before. Vendale. If she is an old acquaintance, all the better. Here she is. I'll go and inspect the rest of the establishment. [Exit doivn back of stairs, l. u. e. Enter Sally from house, and down front steps. Wilding. I have seen her before ! Sally, [aside.] Wilding ! Wilding ! It's a com- mon name enough ! [Recognizes Wilding. ] Ah ! Joey, [to Wilding.] Take her, young Master Wilding. You wont find a match for Sarah Gold- straw in a hurry ! [Aside.] I feel as if I had taken something new into my system at the pores. Has that pleasant woman brought the pleasant sunshine into this moloncolly place, I wonder i I will think over it in the cellar. [Exit l. 2 e., cellar door. Wilding. Will you please step this way, into the counting-room ? Sally, [aside.] I must be mistaken. [Crosses to R. 1 e., opens door, starts.] Oh, my ! Wilding, [r. c] What's the matter i Sally. Nothing. Wilding. Nothing ? Sally. No ; excepting — what — what is that — that portrait hanging up in the counting-house f Wilding. The portrait of my late dear mother. Sally. Of your mother ? [Aside.] It is like the lady who spoke to me twelve years ago. [Aloud.] I hope you will pardon my taking up your time, sir. [Crossing to l.] I don't think this place will suit me. [n. Wilding. Stop, stop ! There is something wrong here— something I do not understand ! Your face puzzles me. Ah ! [hand to forehead, bewildered] I have it ! You were at the Found- ling twelve years ago ? Sally. What shall I say ! Wilding. You were the nurse who was kind to my mother, and pointed me out to her ! Sally. Great Heaven forgive me ! I was. Wilding. Great Heaven forgive you :' What do you mean 1 Speak out. Sally. Dreadful consequences have followed, ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦-♦•♦ ♦♦♦♦•♦•♦•♦■ 4- •♦• -f ♦♦♦•♦■ -f •♦•♦ ♦♦•f 4- •♦• ♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■♦♦♦♦♦■;-t+++ ♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦ 4 ^» ? 291 Jr > 4. + 4. 4- 4- 4- 4- + 4-4-4-4-4- + ■*■ + ■*■ + ■*■■*■ + ■*■■*■ + ■*■■*■■*■■*■*■ 4- + + + ■*■*■ + + + ♦ ♦.♦.♦ ♦4444* 44 44444444 44-4* + + 4. + + + + 4- + ■*■ 4- + + NO THOROUGHFARE [Act I, Scene 1. I am afraid, "because I forgot my duty, for that lady — Wilding. That lady ! she calls my mother the lady. When you speak of my mother, why don't you say — my mother '. Sally. Oh, sir, I was deceived, and so was the lady. Wilding. Why can't you speak plainer? You mean my mother ? Sally. 1 will speak the truth, but I wish I hadn't to do it, sir. When I was away to our country institution, there came to our house a lady, a Mrs. Miller, who adopted out one of the children. Six months afterwards I came "back, and knew nothing about that. That's how the child was taken away — Wilding. Tou — you mean me f Sally. No, sir ; 1 mean the child of that lady. [Points offn. 1 e.] You were not her child. You cannot regret it more than I do. A few days after I had gone away the child, was adopted and taken away. But another boy had just been re- ceived, and so they gave him his place and called him Walter Wilding ! Of course, I knew nothing of this. I thought you were still the same infant that I had cared for at the first. Indeed, I was not to blame. It was not my fault. Wilding. Is it dark, or am I dreaming ? Give me your hand. [Sally comes to him, c. Sally. What is the matter 1 Wilding. I can't see you! The noise is in my head. Sally. Shall I get some water ? Shall I call for help ? Wilding. No ; give me your hand! How do I know your story is true 1 Sally. Would I have told you if I were mis- taken I Wilding. Oh, I loved her so dearly. I felt so fondly that I was her son ! Sally. Let your head rest on my shoulder — not the first time, my boy. I have rocked you to sleep in my arms when a child, many and many's the time. [Embraces Wilding, who is seated on barrelj l. of table barrel. Wilding. Oh, Sally ! why did you not speak before ? Sally. I couldn't, sir ! I did not know it till two years ago, when I went to the institution to see one of the girls, and she told me all. If I had only not come here for the housekeeper's place you would never have known to your dying day what you know now ! Oh, don't blame me ! You forced me to speak ; don't blame me ! Wilding. You would have concealed this from me, if you could f [c. J Don't talk that way ! She left me all that I possess, in the persuasion that I was her son. I am not her son. Would you have me enjoy the fortune of another man ? He must be found ! What was the name of the lady who adopted the child ? Sally. Mrs. Miller, sir. Wilding. Where does she live ? Sally. No one knows, sir. She took the child to Switzerland. Wilding. Switzerland ! What part of Switzer- land? Sally. No one knows, sir. Enter Bin try, r. 1 e. Bintry. How are you getting on with the new housekeeper ? Bless me, what is the matter ? Enter Joey, with candle, l. 2 e., cellar door, slowly, stays up l. Wilding, [to L., leaning against banisters.] Sally, tell him in your own words — I cannot speak. Bintry. [to Sally.] Step into the counting- house for a little time. I will be with you. [Exit Sally, r. 1 e., crosses to Wilding. Joey, [comes down.] I hope, young Master Wilding, that Sarah Goldstraw is not going to be sent away ? Wilding. Sarah Goldstraw is a good, kind- hearted woman, and shall stay here. Mr. Bintry, the lost Walter Wilding must be found. Bintry. Not easy after a lapse of twenty years. At this time of day, you will find it no thorough- fare, sir, no thoroughfare. Wilding. It must be done. I will make my will, and leave all I have to him before I sleep this night. Enter Vend ale, r. ] e. My friend, you don't know what a blow has be- fallen me. Vendale. [shaking Wilding's hand.] Sarah has just told me. Wilding. You will take my side, George ! You will help me to find the lost man ! If neither of you will help me, I will go to Switzerland myself. Vendale. Don't talk like that. I am your part- ner in all ways. Bintry. How will you find the lost man f If we advertise, we lay ourselves open to every rogue in the kingdom. [r. c. Wilding. You don't understand me ! It is be- cause I loved her that I feel it my duty to do justice to her son ! If he is a living man, I will find him, for her sake, his and my own! [a] I am only a miserable impostor ! Vendale. Don't talk like that ! As to your be- ing an impostor, that is simply absurd, for no' man can be that without being a consenting party to the imposition. You need not distress [yourself. We will help you. Come, compose .yourself, [l. c. Joey, who has been up at gate in f. , comes down with letter and card. Wilding. What is it, Joey ? Joey. A foreign gentleman give me this letter and card. [reads card.] Jules Obenreizer ! [takes letter.] Obenreizer! from Swit- Wilding. Vendale. zerland. Wilding. Vendale. Wilding. man ! Vendale. companion Switzerland ! I have seen him before. Something tells me I am near the : ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ Mr. Obenreizer is an old traveling whose acquaintance I made in Swit- zerland. [Beads letter.] " Mr. Obenreizer is fully accredited as our agent, and we do not doubt you will esteem his merits." Signed " De freonier & Co., Neufchatel." [c. Wilding. So you met him on the mountains ? [k. c. Bintry. [l., aside.] Mr. Vendale seems con- fused. That is a bad sign to begin with. Vendale. Yes, he was with a young lady — Wilding. His daughter ? Vendale. No, he is no older than you are. His niece. Bintry. And you fell in love with her ? Excuse ■ ♦-♦.»+♦ 4- 4 4 4-4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4~>~f 4 4 44 4444 4 t 4- t 4 t 4 t ! : 44-»- 4 .♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦*>- NO THOROUGHFARE. Act I, Scene 1.] my legal habit of helping out an unwilling witness. Vendale. [laughs.] I am not an unwilling wit- ness, Mr. Bintry. I do love her — I loved her then, and I shall love her to the end of the calen- dar ! Is that an unwilling answer ? Bintry. I can't say. I am not professionally acquainted with the subject. Wilding. George, you seem confused ! Vendale. The fact is, I rather talked of my family, to make an impression on the young lady. Wilding. Come, if you object, you need not meet him. Vendale. Pshaw ! Mr. Obenreizer is recom- mended to our house, and we would be sure to meet in the way of business, so that the sooner it is over the better for me. Joey opens gate and lets in Obenreizer, who enters and comes down c. to shake Wilding's hand. Wilding. I am glad to see you, sir. This is my friend and legal adviser, Mr. Bintry. Obenreizer. [shakes Bintry's hand.] Charmed, charmed to make Mr. Bintry's acquaintance, [l. Bintry. [aside.] He is too civil by half. I don't like him. Wilding. Mr. Vendale you know. Vendale. [s/^e-s Obenreizer's hand.] You are doubtless surprised to meet me here as a partner with Mr. Wilding ? Oben. On the contrary, no. As I said when we were on the mountains. We call them vast, but the world is so little, one cannot keep away from some persons. [Quickly.] Not that any one would wish to get rid of you, Mr. Vendale ! Oh, dear, no ! So glad to have met you ! So glad ! [Half embracing Vendale. Bintry. [aside.] Rather a tigerish way of being glad. Oben. Though you are descended from so fine a family, you have condescended to come into trade? Stop, though. Wines ? Is it trade in England, or profession? [Smiling.] Not fine arts? Vendale. Mr. Obenreizer, I was but a silly young fellow in the first flush of coming into the fortune my parents left me. I hope what I said when we traveled together was more youthful openness of speech than vanity. Oben. You tax yourself too heavily ! You tax yourself, my faith ! as if you were your govern- ment taxing you ! I liked your conversation. I like your conversion. It is the misfortune of trade that any lower people may take to it and climb by it. I, for example — I, a man of low ori- gin—for what 1 know of it — no origin at all ! Wilding, [l., aside to Bintry. J Do vou hear that? Bintry. [same.] No ! I am deaf, on principle, to all humbugs ! Vendale. [r. a, to Obenreizer.] And Mad- ame Dor ? Oben. Oh, she is well. She is with Margue- rite — Bintry. You seem rather young to be a young lady's guardian, Mr. Obenreizer ? Oben. Young in years, Mr. Bintry, but old in discretion and in experience. Her father was my half-brother — if he was my brother ?— a poor peas- ant, and when he was dying, leaving her a little fortune, bewailed me to him and told me, "All not Wilding [r. c, to Obenreizer.] And Madame Margue- this or I may be that, but one thing I know, I shall live and I shall die true to my trust ! [Pause.] Well, we are house-hunting now, and she shall have a home replete with gratified wishes ! [Aside.] Though where the money is to come from is another matter. [Turns up c. a little. Wilding, [to Bintry.] He is not sure of his origin ! he is doubtful of his parentage ! Do you hear that f Bintry [same.] No, Mr. Wilding ; I do hear that ! Vendale. Dor? Oben. Oh, she is well. She is with rite — Vendale. Abroad ? Oben. Here ! here, waiting for me without. Wilding. What ! ladies kept waiting at my door ? I will go bring them in — Oben. Not for worlds ! [Prevents Vendale and Wilding going up c, goes up c. to gate, which Joey opens sloivly. Wilding [to Bintry.] I must do something in this ! Bintry. There is one thing you can do— hold your tongue. Oben. [leads in Marguerite and Madame Dor down c] My niece ! [Marguerite comes down l. c. to Vendale.] Madame Dor ! [Madame Dor crosses sidewise to r. , side of barrel-table, back to characters on stage, rubbing glove.] The guar- dian angel of my wardrobe ! you will excuse her — she is now at my gloves ! to-morrow, it may be, darning my stockings or making pudding. Ah ! you English, who delight in domestic mat- ters. You like it in your pictures ; you like it in your books ! Ah, Madame Dor makes me my good, solid, heavy, indigestible English pudding ! Only look at her back ! [points to Madame Dor, r. by table] it is as broad as her heart ! [c. Vendale. [to Marguerite.] Mr.Obenreizerwas saying that the world is so small a place that peo- ple cannot escape one another. If it had been less I might have found you sooner ! It is still a curious coincidence that you come to Londou the day I become partner in a house to which Mr. Obenreizer's firm in Switzerland introduce him. Oben. [coming between.] Ah! Loudon is the place — city of luxury, if you are rich, like Mr. Vendale, here ! Some are lucky ! While they were saying to him, " Come here, my darling, kiss me!" I was called "Little wretch, come taste the stick!" [Gesture with cane.] I dwelt among a sorry set in Switzerland ! Would I could forget it ! [Wilding touches Bintry to notice. Marg. For my part, I love Switzerland. Oben. [quickly, tenderly.] Marguerite, so do I. But speak in proud England ! Marg. I speak in proud earnest ! And I am not noble, but a peasant's daughter. Vendale. And I honor and fully appreciate your sentiment ! Oben. Ah! [Interposing]. Marguerite, we will set about our house-hunting. Wilding, [a] Mr. Obenreizer! Bintry. Mr. Wilding, will you hold your tongue? Oben. My dear Mr. Vendale, you must come see us often when we are settled. Mr. Wilding, for Marguerite." Ah, Mr. Wilding! I may be the same. Mr. Bintry ! [Bows] We will transact ++ ♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦ + ♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 4 ! ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦» ■»■»♦♦♦■»■»■»•»♦♦■♦■■»♦■»♦■♦-»♦-» ♦ NO THOROUGHFARE. business together, and be firm friends. Adieu ! J I [Bows, escorts Marguerite and Madame Dor 1 1 in c. j Vendale, l. side, with Bintry and ♦ Wilding r. c. Vendale. [aside.] How he guards his niece ! Wilding. This may be the lost man ! ACT II. Scene I. — Room in Obenreizer' s house, discov- ering Marguerite standing at window, l. in ¥., and Madame Dor seated at table by same — Obenreizer, r. Marg. [aside.'] Not come — not come yet ! [Turns sadly from looking out of window. Oben. [counting money, r. 1 e., atpressin set.] One hundred — two — four hundred — fifty — four hundred and fifty. Fifty pounds still wanted to make up the missing sum. That sum I must re- place, or I am a lost man! [To table r. front.] Ah ! this miserable luxury — this hollow show ! Has Marguerite any idea of what this splendor costs me f Has she even noticed it ? Yes, within the last few weeks she has been more animated and kinder. Something like affection is in her ways. She does not even think of that man, Ven- dale. Marg. [aside.] Still no signs of him ! Oben. [aside.] What ! he has sent nothing as a birthday present. He has forgotten her, then ! Oh, if he had sent her a present it would have been something so rich that her proud spirit would have revolted. I will put up the money. Yet [hesitating] I might replace it by a month. Nonsense ! it is not to be thought of. Disgrace myself f Ah, it would ruin me for life ! What would Marguerite say when she looked on me as a felon ? I will put the money up j he will not come. Marg. [suddenly.] Oh! he is crossing the square. Here he comes. [Turns to d. in e. He ! Who f Mr. Vendale. [aside.] Then he has not forgotten her ! [r. front. Enter Vendale, d. in e. Vendale. [to Marguerite.] Permit me to wish you many happy returns of the day. Will you accept a little memento ? [ Gives jewel case. Marg. Jewels ! They are too rich for me ! Vendale. You have not opened it yet. Marg. [turning to Obenreizer.] So simple a present I may keep \ Oben. [sneering.] The modesty of wealth ! Marg. [to Vendale.] I own that you have pleased and flattered me. [Puts on brooch, Oben, [aside.] He forces me to it. [Gets money from press, e. 1 f, ; aloud.] Mr. Vendale has re- minded me that I have not yet made my offer- ing; you will excuse me! [Vendale bows — up to d. in e. ; aside.] Ah ! Mr. Vendale, come what may, you will not get the upper hand of me now ! [Exit, d. in f. Vendale. [aside.] I will wait here with the greatest pleasure till he comes back. My oppor- tunity has come at last. No ! Madame Dor ! Is there no means of getting this ptece of human furniture out of the room % [Madame Dor leans forward, sleeping.] She lets her work fall unheed- ed to the floor. Oh ! oest of women, yield to the 4~+ -♦■ -f 4 ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 4 4- 4 4 ♦ ♦ ♦ 4- 4- 1 Oben. Marg. Oben. voice of Nature, and fall asleep. [Madame Dor does so. Vendale comes doivn c. to Margue- rite. Aloud.] I have something to say to you — a secret to impart. [Seated beside her. Marg. What claim have I to any secret of yours, Mr. Vendale ! Vendale. You have not forgotten the happy time when we first met and were traveling to- gether. Out of all the impressions I brought back from Switzerland, there was one impression chief. Can you guess what it is ? Marg. I cannot guess. An impression of the mountains ? Vendale. No, more precious. Marg. Of the lakes 1 Vendale. No ! the lakes have not grown dearer to me every day ! Marguerite, all that makes life worth having, hangs, for me, on a word from your lips. Marguerite, I love you ! Marg. Oh, Mr. Vendale ! have you forgotten the distance between us ? Vendale. [prevents her rising.] There can be but one distance between us, Marguerite— that of your own making. There is no higher rank in goodness and in beauty than yours ! Marg. Ah ! Think of your family, and think of mine. [Rises. Vendale. If you dwell on such an obstacle, shall think only that I have offended you ! [Rises. Marg. [forgetting herself] Oh, no, George 1 Vendale. Say you love me ! Marg. I love you ! [Embrace, starts, goes up to L. u. corner. Enter Obenreizer, d. in e. Madame Dor is aivakened by Marguerite. Oben. [as men bring in flowers in stand, and place them up c. against r.] Now you will see that you birthday is not forgotten. [r. front. Marg. [c. up.] I thank you. Oben. Oh, not for them ! My present is not made yet. Flowers will fade. Wear these ! [ pre- sents jeivel- case] and give them a beauty which is not their own. Marg. [takes case.] Oh T how could you buy these for me ? how can you expect me to wear these ? I would have been contented with the flowers. [Goes up toL. u. corner ] Madame Dor, we will be late. We must dress for dinner. [Exit l. ivith Madame Dor. Oben. [aside.] She wears his offering round her neck ! My crime is useless ! I have put my whole life in peril, and this is my reward ! Oh, curses on her glitter and her beauty ! Vendale. [l. c] What is the matter, friend? Oben. [sarcastically.] Friend! Nothing! Vendale. Stay ! I have something to say to you. [c. front. Oben. [r. c. front.] Excuse me. I am not quite myself. You want to speak to me f— oh, on business, I suppose. Vendale. On something much more important than mere business. Oben. I am at your service. Go on. [Seated r. side of table, Vendale seated l. side. Vendale. Perhaps you may have noticed latterly that my admiration for your charming niece — Oben. Noticed * Not I ! Vendale. Has grown into a deeper feeling — i : ♦ ♦♦-♦■-♦•-♦"♦•« -•♦■•♦•♦♦•♦•♦•♦■♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦-♦•♦♦•♦•♦♦ Act II, Scene 2.] NO THOROUGHFARE O&m. [wweasi'??/.] Shall we say friendship, Mr. Vendale 1 Vendale. [rises.] I ask you to give me her hand in marriage f Oben. [starts up.] You ask me! [Best rains his anger. Vendale. Stay, I beg you to tell me plainly, what objection you see to my suit ? Oben. The immense one, that my niece is the daughter of a poor peasant, and you the son of an English gentleman. Vendale. I ought to know my own countrymen better than you do, Mr. Obenreizer. In the esti- mation of everybody whose opinion is worth hav- | ing, my wife would be the one sufficient justifica-! tion of my marriage. We are both men of busi- ! ness, and you naturally expect me to satisfy you i that I have the means of supporting a wife. I am in a trade which I see my way to gradually im- 1 proving. As it stands at present, I can state my | income at fifteen hundred pounds. Do you object | to me on pecuniary grounds i Oben. [abruptly.'] Yes! Vendale. Yes ? It is not enough ? Oben. It is not half enough for a foreign wife, who has half your social prejudices to conquer. Tell me, Mr. Vendale. on your fifteen hundred pounds a year, can your wife live in a fashionable quarter, have a butler to wait at her table, and a j carriage and horses to drive about in ? Yes or No? Vendale. Come to the point ! You view this question as a question of terms f Oben. Terms, as you say ! Terms beyond your j reach ! Vendale. Sir ! Oben. Make your income three thousand pounds and come to me then ! Vendale. Then I will speak with her. Oben. You surely would not speak to my niece j on this subject '. Vendale. I have opened my whole heart to her, and have reason to hope — Oben. [passionately.] What! Mr. Vendale, as I a man of honor, speaking to a man of honor, now ' can you justify such conduct as this f Vendale. The best excuse is the assurance that I have had from her own lips that she loves me — [e. front. Oben. [passionately.] She lo— Oh! [violent- ly] we'll soon see about that ! [Goes over to l. d.] i Marguerite! Marguerite! [Aside.] How lovely! she looks ! Enter Marguerite, l. d. Marg. You wish to speak to me .- Oben. Yes, my child, I wish to speak to you— j to ask a question. Mr. Vendale says — [Hand to forehead, as in pain. Marg. How altered you are in your manner. Are you not well % . What have I done \ [Up l. Oben. [forgetting himself] Done ! you have turned the knife ' in the wound ! No ! I don't i mean that! I mean— But we are forgetting, Mr. Vendale. He has said [sneering] that you; said you loved him. It is not true, my child ? Marg. [comes down, l. c. ] It is true ! Oben. [in a suppressed voice, c] Oh! Great 1 God! Marg. You frighten me ! Vendale. [triumphantly.] Are you satisfied now ? Oben. Wait ! wait a little ! I have my authority ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦-♦• ♦ yet, as she is my ward. Marguerite, you know that your father entrusted you to me; you cannot marry without my consent. Whatever Mr. Ven- dale says— if I say wait, you will wait ! Marg. [Vendale glances at her imploringly.] Vendale. Oh, Marguerite ! Oben. [violently.] You will wait, my child? Marg. [submissively clasps her hands and hangs her head.] Yes ! Oben. [to Vendale.] Are you answered . ; Vendale. [firmly.] I am. You have heard from her own lips that she loves me. I will make the fifteen hundred three thousand pounds ! Oben. Make it three thousand ! Vendale. Adieu, Marguerite ! Marg. Oh, George ! [Vendale turns. Oben. Ah, Mr. Vendale ! You are not her hus- band yet ! [Going up l. with one hand of Mar- guerite's in his, Vendale at d. in f. Scene II. — Room in Wildings House. Mr. ♦ Bintry enters r., hands under his coat-tails. X in thought, crosses to l. turns to d. r. in f. X Enter Sally, r. d. ♦ Sally. Oh, Mr. Bintry, so you have come to see ♦ master ? X Bintry. Yes, I have Come to see how he is get- X ting on. X Sally. I am afraid he is worse. The new doc- X tor has ordered that he must not be disturbed, [c. X Bintry. [r. c] Another doctor called in .' X When I was here last, Mr. Wilding could walk X and talk. ♦ Sally. He can walk and talk yet, but I must ♦ agree with the doctors. He is dying — growing ♦ back more and more like him I used to call my ♦ little child at the Foundling. Bintry. Well, Miss Goldstraw, you may be old ♦ enough to be his mother, but you certainly don't * look it. X Sally. Thank you, sir, for the compliment. Bintry. You are heartily welcome. Sally. Don't you think, sir, you could make him better by doing-more as he wishes, sir \ Bintry. Miss Goldstraw, you have your duty to perform, and I have mine. My duty as a profes- sional man is to keep my old friend from all rogues— Mr. Obenreizer for example. [Crosses to l. Sally. But you go contrary to his will, sir. Bintry. Contrary to his will— I wish we could go contrary to his will. I drew it up and nad it executed ! the most absurd document ever put on paper ! Vendale and I were bound by it. as exe- cutors, to find a lost man, no matter what he is ! and give up to him a fortune. By drawing up that document I have committed professional suicide, and yet the worthy woman says I have not humored my client ! Sally. Excuse me, sir. I see closer than you. It is wearing his life out. Bintry. Come, speak out if you think I can be of any service to my old friend ! What can I do . ? Sail if. Find the lost man ! Bintry. If I do, I'll be— [Stops short on Sally lifting her hands. Sally. Oh, sir, if you'd only promise to lei; him have his own way, and try to find the lost man ! Bintry. Was there ever such perversity ! Here's ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦■♦•♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦4 •♦■■♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■♦■♦■♦•♦•♦■•♦■•♦■♦■♦■•»♦■»■♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦■♦•♦■•♦■♦■♦•♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ■ ♦ ♦♦-< ♦ — — J ♦ 8 NO THOROUGHFARE. [Act II, Scene 3 a man dying to find a man who will rob him of every penny he possesses, and leave him a pau- per. Humph ! Well, I'll put an advertisement in the papers, telling the client to apply to my office, to me, mind you — it will be a devilish lucky man who will get a fortune out of me, I can tell you ! [Crosses to l. and returns to c. Sally, [r. c] Thank you, sir, for my master. Ah, you may have a rough outside, but I see that you are a warm-hearted man ! Bintry. [going r., turns and comes close to Sally, after pause.] Miss G-oldstraw, don't you take away my character ! Well, I will set about it, and come to-morrow. [Exit, n. Sally, [to d. in r., which opens.] Oh, my dear master ! Enter Wilding, d. in r. Wilding, [to c, assisted by Sally.] I thought I heard Mr. Bintry? Sally, [r. c] He was here only a minute. He is coming again to-morrow, sir. Wilding. Always to-morrow ! When it is now that we ought to find the man. [Querulously.] Nobody helps me. Sally. Mr. Bintry says he will try, sir. Wilding. Mr. Bintry is too suspicious, and drives people away. [Aside.] The more 1 think of it the more I see that everything points one way. Obenreizer is the man ! I think of him by day, and I dream of him by night. [Aloud.] Sally, I may call you Sally ? Sally. Dear, yes, sir. Wilding. For the sake of the old times let it be Sally. Sally. Of course, sir. Do you try to be the good boy that you always were at the Foundling, the good, patient little boy. Try to be patient now. Wilding. Something tells me I must lose no time. I must see Mr. Obenreizer at once. Sally. Yes, sir, I will send for him. Wilding. I must and will see him. Sally. Yes, yes, sir. Wilding. Where is Mr. Vendale ? Sally. Gone to Mr. Obenreizer's. Wilding. Ah ! gone to propose to niece. Vendale's a dear good friend, him all success. He is not so suspicious as Mr. Bintry, and I think he will aid me. Sally. I am sure of it, sir. Wilding. Then you will send for Mr. Obenrei- zer ? Sally. I promise to send there, sir. Wilding. You will relieve my mind. Sally. I will do it, sir, but be a good child, and go to bed. Wilding. Sally, Sally ! how little changed things are since we met for the first time. Mr. Obenreizer says, "the world is so small that it is not strange how often the same people come to- gether at various stages of life." After all I have come round to my fouudling nurse to die ! Sally. No, no ! dear Master Wilding, not going to die ! [Leads him out d. in r.] No ! [Exit d. in f. his pretty and I wish Scene III. — Cellar in Wilding's Stores. Joey discovered up it., measuring casks and bins, etc. Vend ale comes down l. platform to front. Vendale. Poor Wilding ! I would tell him what took place at Obenreizer's, but he has troubles of his own to engross him. My spirits are depressed, spite of myself, as if something evil was overhang- ing me. Can I do what I have engaged myself to do ? Can I double this business in a year's time ? I have been wandering about these old cellars like a perturbed spirit. Oh, you are here, are you, Joey ? [Takes candle and comes down l. side listlessly, comes down, around and up c. Joey. Oughtn't it rather to go, Oh, you're here, are you, Master George? For it's my business here, and not yours ' Vendale. Don't grumble, Joey. Joey. I don't grumble ! It's what I took in at the pores. Have a care that something in you don't begin a-grumbling, Master George ! Stop here long enough, and the wapors will be at work — trust 'em for it ! So you've regularly come into the business, Master George ? Vendale. Yes, Joey. I hope you don't object. Joey. Oh, I don't, bless you ! But wapors object that you're too young. You and Master Wilding are too young. Master has not changed the luck of the firm. Vendale. Pooh ! Joey. Pooh ! is an easy word to speak, Master George ; but I have not been a cellarman down here all my life for nothing. I know by what I notices down here when it's a-going to rain, when it's a-going to hold up, when it's a-going to blow, and when it's a-going to be calm. I know when the luck's changed quite as well. Vendale. [taking rod up.] Has this growth on the roof anything to do with your divination, Joey? We are famous for this growth in our vaults, aren't we ? Joey. We are, Master George ; and if you'll take advice by me, you'll let it alone. Vendale. Why, Joey ? Joey. For three good reasons ! Vendale. Let's hear the three good reasons for letting the fungus alone. [Playing with icebs. Joey, Why, because it rises from the casks of wine, and may leave you to judge what sort of wapors a cellarman takes into his system when he walks in the same, and because at one stage of its growth it's maggots ! Vendale. Maggots ! What other reason ? Joey. I wouldn't keep touching of it, Master George, if I was you ! Take a look at its color ! Vendale. I am looking. Well, Joey, the color ? Joey, [mysteriously.] Is it like clotted blood, Master George? Vendale. It is rather like. Joey. Is it more than like? [Shakes his head. Vendale. Say it is exactly like ! What then ? [Playing with the cobweb, as before. Joey. Well, Master George, they do say— Vendale. [carelessly.] Who? Joey. How should I know who ? Them as says pretty well everything ! How can I tell who they are ? Vendale. True. Go on, Joey. Joey. They do say that the man who gets, by any accident, a piece of that right upon his breast — Vendale. [playing with stick and web mechan- ically.] On his breast ? Joey. For sure and certain — Vendale. For sure and certain ? Joey. Will die by murder ! ♦ Act III, Scene 1.] NO THOROUGHFARE. Vendale. Murder ! [ Web drops on his left breast and vest; lets rod fall. Obenreizer appears on platform, l. front. Vendale. What do you want here ? Oben. [comes down l. platform to stage toe] Mr. Vendale, I come on a sad errand. You need a friend — a true friend. I will try to be it again. I hope you will forget how we parted when I say that I regret my manner of receiving you. [To c] Mr. Vendale, I ask your pardon. Vendale, I accept the apology. Oben. [softly. .] Won't you shake hands with me ? [They shake hands.] Mr. Vendale, prepare your- self for a shock. Vendale. What is it ? Oben. I come to bring you sad tidings- Vendale. Is it of Wilding ? Is my poor friend worse ? Oben. Worse ! Vendale. Not — Oben. He is — Vendale. Dead? Oben. Dead ! Joey, [up c] Dead ! Vendale. Dead ! My poor friend ! Ah. Joey, your superstition spoke truth. This was a warn- ing of death. Joey, [comes down r. c] I did not say death, Master George, I said murder ! ACT III. Scene I. — Counting-room in Wilding's house, discovering Vendale at table, R. c. front, and Sally beside him. Sally. Have yon anymore questions to ask me, sir I Vendale. Yes ; tell me again all that passed just before poor Wilding died. Sally. He had been asking for Mr. Obenreizer, who had been sent for ; and when he came he sat up to try to speak to him ; but before he could say a word, he fell back again. The doctor or- dered Mr. Obenreizer to leave the room. Mr. Wilding died soon after — only spoke a word, but I am sure he breathed your name. Vendale. [with emotion.] I am sure of that. So no one knows what he wanted so eagerly to say to Mr. Obenreizer. The mystery is wrapped in denser obscurity than ever. My poor, dear friend ! I know what his trust was, and if the missing man is to be found, I will find him ! [Knock r. 1 e.] Who's there i Come in. Enter Joey r. 1. d., with letter. Joey. A letter, sir, from foreign parts. Vendale. [takes letter.] From Defreonier &Co., of Neufchatel. The answer to mine. Joey, [to Sally, l. tj. e. corner.] Do you find yourself, miss, getting over the shock of young- Master Wilding's death ? Sally. Mr. Joey, we all have to submit to losses in this world. I am learning, I hope, to submit to mine. [Exit, l. tj. e. Joey, [aside.] Beautiful language ! beautiful ! The parson himself couldn't have said it better than she. I'll try to remember it before I forget it, like the catechism. "W T e must all submit to learning, which is one of the losses in this world!" Vendale. [aside, r. c. front.] Just when it is most important for me to increase the value of the business, it is threatened with a loss of five hun- dred pounds. Ah, Marguerite ! Joey, [comes down r. side.] Ah ! Master George, I know what's on your mind. It's those six cases of red wine sent from the place called Noocattle, instead of the white. Vendale. The devil take the six cases ! Joey. The devil sent them. sir. It's foreign to my nature to crow over the house I serve, but hasn't it come true what I said to young Master Wilding, respecting the changing the name of the firm, when I said that you might find one of these days that he'd changed the luck of the firm ! Did I set myself up as a prophet I No ! Has what I said to him come true f Yes ! What's the consequence ? You write to them at Noocat- tle, and they write back. You, not satisfied, write to them again; and they, not satisfied, write back again; and that's the letter you have in your hand, as chock full of bad news as an egg is full of meat. In the time of Pebbleson Nephew, young Master George, no such thing was ever known as a mistake made in a consignment to our house. I don't want to intrude my moloneolly on you, sir, so let me recommend the beautiful lan- guage of Miss Goldstraw, fitted to the case: "We must all learn to submit to our losses, which is one of the learnings in this world !" Reflect over :hem, Mr. Vendale; I'm going to the wapors awaiting in the cellar for me ! [Exit, r. 1 e. Vendale. This is most unfortunate ! [ To desk up l.] Let me put the correspondence in order. [Takes up letters.] First I write to Defreonier & Co., saying the number of cases per last consign- ment was quite correct, but on six of them being opened they were found to contain a red wine in- stead of champagne, a mistake probably caused by a similarity of the brand. The matter can be easily set right by your sending us six cases of champagne, or by crediting us with the value of six cases red on the five hundred pounds last re- mitted to you, to which they reply: " The state- ment of the error has led to a very unexpected discovery— a serious affair for you and us. Hav- ing no more champagne of the viutage last sent to you, we made arrangements to credit your firm with the value of six cases, when a reference to our books resulted in the moral certainty that no such remittance as you mention ever reached our house, and a literal certainty that no such re- mittance has been paid to our account at the bank. We have not even a suspicion who the thief is, but we believe you will assist us towards discovery by seeing whether the receipt (forged. of course) purporting to come from our house is entirely iu MSS., or a numbered and printed form. Anxiously waiting your reply, we remain," etc.. etc. Ah ! Next I write to the Swiss firm, and receive the answer I hold in my hand. [Beads.] "Dear Sir: Your discovery that the forged re- ceipt is executed on some of our regular forms has caused inexpressible surprise and distress to us. At the time when your remittance was stolen but three keys were in existence opening the strong box in which our receipt forms are in- variably kept. My partner had one key, I an- other. The third was in possession of a gentle- man who, at that period, occupied a position of trust in our house. I cannot prevail on myself ♦ ♦ ♦♦- - ♦ ♦ ♦ .4-> ♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 4-4 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦■♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦••♦•♦•♦-♦"♦-♦■^ 10 NO THOROUGHFARE. [Act Til, Scene 2. to inform you who the person is. Forgive my si- lence; the motive of it is good." Who can this be I However, it is useless for me to inquire in my position. " The handwriting on your receipt must be compared with certain specimens in our possession. I cannot send you them, for business reasons, and must beg you to send the receipt to Neufchatel, and, in making this request, I must accompany it by a word of warning. If the per- son, at whom suspicion now points, really proves to be the person who has committed this forgery and theft, the only evidence against him is the evidence in your hands, and he is a man who will stick at nothing to obtain and destroy it. I strongly urge you not to trust the receipt to the post. Send it, without loss of time, by a private messenger accustomed to traveling, capable of speaking French; a man of courage, a man of honesty, and, above all, a man who can be trusted to let no stranger scrape acquaintance with him on the route. Tell no one— absolutely no one — but your messenger of the turn this matter has now taken. The safe trausit of the receipt may depend on your interpreting literally the advice which I give you at the end of this letter." Now I know the man who writes these words. He would not have written them without good rea- sons. Who can I send ? There is no man I know of. None of the clerks speak French. [Music to Obenreizer's entrance. Oben. [in r. 1 e.] May 1 come in ? Vendale. Certainly. Oben., r. 1 e., puts hat and cane on table r. c, against flat, and comes doivn. Joey. [r. 1 e., aside.] He stole in here just as he stole into the cellars to tell of Master Wilding's death. He was by when the web fell on Master George, he is by when that letter of bad news comes; I will watch. I don't like this Mr. Open- razor ! [Exit, r. ] e. Oben. Ah, Mr. Vendale, you look as if there was something the matter ! Vendale. Yes, you come at a bad time; I am threatened with the loss of five hundred pounds. | r. 2 E. Oben. Five hundred pounds ! [Aside.] Ah! Vendale. [at safe in wall, r. 2 e.] Your own house is one of the parties in the affair. Oben. Indeed ! [Aside.] The forged receipt. [Aloud.] Tell me how it has happened. [Aside.] I wonder where he has got the receipt ! If he only takes it out of his safe — Vendile. Ah ! [Takes paper out of safe, r. 2 e.] Here is the forged receipt. Oben. [up l., aside.] He is alone. lam stronger than him. [About to cross to r. Enter Joey, r. 1 e. Joey. Did you call, Master George ! Vendale. No ! Joey, don't disturb me ! Joey. I'll keep the door open this time. [Exit, R. 1 E. Oben. [aside.] Force is hopeless ! I must try fraud! [Aloud.] Well? Vendale. Well, the latest letter wishes me to send your house the forged receipt to compare it with writing in their hands. It is wished that I must keep the whole jjroceedings a profound se- cret from everybody. Oben. Not even excepting me ? Well ? Vendale. Not excepting. [Surprised.] Oh! not excepting you. They must have forgotten you. Oben. They must have forgotten me. Then under the circumstances I can hardly advise. Yet why not take it yourself? Nothing could happen better. I am going to Switzerland to- night. Vendale. And Marguerite 1 Oben [gayly]. Oh ! come to the house and dine with us at seven. We can go off at once by the mail-train to-night. Is it agreed ¥ Vendale. By the mail-train to-night ? Oben. Ah ! well, [looking at watch] at seven ! [ Up r. at d. in f. Vendale. At seven to-night. Enter Joey, r. 1 e. Joey. I will take your luggage for you to Mr. Openrazor's house. Vendale. You have beeu listening, Joey ? Joey. Not listening, Master George, but I heard every word for all that. Joey straw, firm ! Sally. Me ! you want me ? Why, bless your innocent soul, I was the cause of all the trouble that has come into the house. If it had not been for me, none of this would have happened. If you, Joey, knew all, you would 'ate me. Joey, [shakes head.] ,If you brought the cross of luck, why, that's the very reason you should bring the good luck home again. [Aside.] That was well said, I think ! Sally. Why, what can I do, Mr. Joey ? [Puts arm around her.] Mr. Joey, may I ask, did you ever make love before ? Joey. Yes, but I never got as far as this. Sally, [laughs.] The idea of any man making love in an apron like that ! Joey, [aside.] She remarks my apron. Now, what follows from her being in love with my apron? Why, that she should be in love with me ! [Aloud.] You are at liberty, Miss Gold- straw, to like any part of me, so long as you like > ♦» » ♦»♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦4 Scene iL— Boom in Wilding's house— enter Sally and Joey, l. Sally, [a] Mr. Joey, why do you follow me about into my part of the house "i Joey. Miss Goldstraw, if you was to go down into the cellars I'd follow you there with the greatest pleasure. Sally. But why do you follow me at all ? Joey. For the same reason that the first man followed the first woman. Sally. Ay, but she led him all wrong after- wards, and I don't want to lead you wrong, Mr. Joey. Joey. Then there's another reason : I want to see you change your name, which if Goldstraw is good, to Ladle, which is better ! That was well said, I think ! Sally. Well, I never ! Is it you of all men that would want me to change the name of the firm ? What next, I wonder ? Joey. Woman is not the firm. [Putting arm roun4-4 4 444-4-44-4 4-4 4 4- 4- 4- 4-4 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- ♦ 4 4-4 4 4- 4-4 4- •< - 4- 4- 4- 4- 4-4-4- < 300 • 4-4- 4 4- 4 4- 4- 4- 4 4 4 4- 4 ■*• 4- 4- 4 ♦ ♦ ♦ 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 4 ♦ ♦ 4- ♦ 4 ♦ ^♦♦^♦♦♦.♦♦♦.♦.♦.♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦.♦^ .s r 4.4-4444-4444.4-i~< Act IV, Scene 3.] NO THOROUGHFARE. 13 [To bed, searches.] Not there! [Knife in hand, to have done my duty of warning you and I table, l.] Not here! [At writing-case.] He must my hands of it have it on him. [Crosses to r.] If I could take it without waking him— without crime ! There he lies, at my mercy ! Marguerite's lover — my rival — who carries more than my life in the pocket of his coat. If that man goes free, I am ruined ! [Bends over Vendale, knife in right hand, search- ing him with left.] It is here ! Could I but un- wash aands of it. /. Marie. I'll not go unless the old man will. Land. We'll do our best to make you comfort- able in the inn, gentlemen. Oben. Well, what do you propose ? As Shakes- peare says, " Discretion is the better part of val- or !" or will you take my advice ! lam mountain- born, and we would only have had to guide those button his coat ! [Loud knock d. in f. Obenrei- I poor devils of guides. If you dare to make the zer leaps back and conceals knife ; lights his pipe, attempt I will go with you Vendale. [jumps up.] Come in. [Bewildered. Oben. [aside.] Another moment, and I — [Sheaths knife. Enter Landlord d. in f.— Lights up. Land. Four o'clock, gentlemen, and the guides are waiting. [Helps Vendale, sleepy, on with overcoat, l. Oben. [dresses himself with his clothes brought in by a ^servant. Aside.] It is my fate. I must kill him on the road ! [All go up to d. in f. The occasion is pressing. I must to understand one an- gentleman — Scene II. — Exterior of Inn on 1 g. Enter Jean Paul and Jean Marie and Land- lord, d. in f. Land, [l.] Well, my friends, what do you think of the weather now '! J. Marie, [c] I say the weather will do. J. Paul, [r.] I say that it is bad. Land. Come, you must make up your mind. The two gentlemen are coming. Enter Vendale and Obenreizer, d. in f. Vendale. [to l. c] Well, I suppose you have explained to the men f Are you ready to cross the mountain ? J. Marie. I don't care, for one. Land. You may depend upon these guides, sirs. Oben. [aside.] That won't do. J. Paul. I say no. There's something in the air that looks like snow. Oben [aside. ] That's better. J. Marie. I won't go unless Jean Paul goes. J. Paul. And I'll not go at all. Oben. [to Vendale.] I suppose you know what all this means ? Vendale. Indeed, I do not. Oben. Part of the trade of the poor devils — it's to double their pay. J". Paul. You heard the rushing of the water- fall last night % snow ! You heard an unseen hand try to open the doors ? snow. You heard the far-off thunder? snow. Yes, you'll have snow enough to bury a man upright, and wind enough to blow the hair off his head ! And that won't be long from this — it will all be before to-night. Oben. Part of the profession. Two Napoleons will change you. J. Paul. No ! Not two thousand would do it. Oben. [aside.] He will not go! J. Paul, [to Vendale, leading him to r You do not laugh at the guide. Mark ! many peaks do you see ? Vendale. Two. J. Paul. There are three. Vendale. Why can't I see the other ? J. Paul. Because the storm cloud has already come down upon it. It will bring down tons and tons of snow, which will not only strike you dead, but bury you at a blow. Do as you will now. I Vendale. eross- Oben. Yes. It is well other— friends all. This Vendale. Must cross. Oben. It is settled. We go. Vendale. We go. [They take sticks from Guides. J. Paul. Do not rush upon destruction ! Oben. Never fear. [Exit r. with Vendale. J.Marie. Stop, here"! stop! stop! Land, [to R.] Hi, hi ! mind you keep the track ! Don't leave the track ! /. Paul You need not waste your breath. You have seen the last of them ! Land. Pooh ! they are two stout walkers, and one knows the mountain. J. Paul. That may be, but they are both dead men. [To l. Land. We shall see ! [Exit d. in f. J. Paul. Come, brother, we must be on our way. [Exit l. with J. Marie. Thunder distant. 1 e.] How ! Scene III. — Mountain pass — thunder — Ven- dale discovered, c. front — Obenreiz::r up r. on stairs, staves in hand. Vendale. Is it here that we strike the path again ? Oben. Yes, the track is here again. Vendale. The snow seems to have passed over. Oben. The storm will come again. Vendale. Let us on. Oben. No. Vendale. No ? why linger here ! Oben. Because we are at the journey's end.: Vendale. Here ? how here I Oben. I promised to guide you to your jour- ney's end. The journey of your life ends here. Vendale. You are a villain ! Oben. You are a fool ! I have drugged you ! Doubly a fool, for I am the thief and forger, and in a few moments shall take the proof from your dead body ! Vendale. [a] What have I done to you '. Oben. [r. c] Done? You would have destroyed me but that you have come to your journey's end. You have made me what I am ! I took that money— I stole it to give luxury to Marguerite ! You made me buy the jewels that should out- shine your gift ! You made me lose her love — you would have made me lose my liberty and life! Therefore you die ! Vendale. Stand back, murderer ! Oben. [laughs.] Murderer! Why, I don't touch you. I ueed not, to make you die ! Any sleep in the snow is death ! You are sleeping you stand ! Vendale. [violently.] Stand back, base mur- derer! [Lifts up his staff, Obenreizer standing ♦♦ ♦♦♦♦^ ♦♦♦♦♦♦■♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■►♦>♦-♦♦♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦.♦-♦■♦♦♦■♦•♦-♦• ♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦•♦■•♦•♦♦♦♦♦•♦♦♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦. ♦ 301 4 *■ 4 4 4 ♦ ♦ + 4< ♦ ♦ ♦•»•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•«♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦*♦♦♦ ♦>♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦••♦•♦•♦• ♦♦♦♦•»■♦♦♦• 14 NO THOROUGHFARE. [Act V, Scene 1. on guard with his staff.] Stand back? [Lets staff Joey. Here, in this convent, where the monks fall, when Obenreizer rakes it over to him, and brought us after they had picked us up. throws it off, R.j God bless my Margaret, may she j Bintry. Here, with Mr. Obenrcizer I never know how I died ! Stand oft* from me— yet, Joey. But they have not seen one another yet. let me look at your murderous face. Let it re- ; Bintry. What does Mr. Obenreizer say about left to me to say : the his ward coming out f mind me— of something secret must not die with me — no, no, no ! Oben- reizer, I must say one thing before I sink in death. Oh ! [Reeling. Oben. [aside.] My courage fails me ! [Advan- ces, knife in hand.] Give me the paper, or — Vendale. Never ! [Rushes up set bank to trap; leaps.] Never ! Oben. [pauses on bank.] Lost ! [Staggers down to stage.] Lost! the — the paper! [Falling.] Ah! [Falls in dead swoon, c. front. Music kept up — pause. Enter Marguerite, Joey and the Two Guides, r. u. e., by set stage. Marg. Ah, George ! [Comes -to c. then throivs herself on bank, looking over. Music. They keep t nothing- out of ACT Y. right Scene. — Interior in Monastery, discovering Joey, c, a little up, and Bintry beside him. Bintry. What next, I wonder f Here's an ad- venture for a professional man. I've been rattled across the country in a railway, dragged up the mountains on mule-back and popped into a mon- astery by a monk ! This all comes of you, Master Joey. Joey. How do you make that out, sir? Bintry. Why, could Miss Marguerite have sent for me if you had not brought her out here, and would she come out if you had not brought her I It's all her fault and yours. Joey. If it comes to that, Mr. Bintry, would Master George be living at this moment if we had not been in time to save him on the mountains ? Bintry. Is Mr. Obenreizer mixed up in any way in this affair ? Joey. We found him lying in the snow by the edge of the precipice, if that's what you call be- ing mixed up with it. Bintry. Dead? Joey. In a dead swoon. Bintry. Did you remark anything ? Joey. I remarked nothing. At first I thought j account of you, I will go Master George was dead. When I felt of his heart j directly ' there was no beat, but my fingers were so numb with the cold that perhaps I felt on the wrong side ! Bintry. You don't comprehend what I am driving at. When will Mr. Vendale be able to travel 1 Joey. He is able to travel now. Bintry. And when will Miss Marguerite be able to travel ? Joey. Just so soon as Mr. Vendale is ready to travel, and not before. [Exchanges glances with Bintry, and both laugh. Bintry. I see, I see. You mean when they do go out, their first walk will be to the nearest church ? Joey. That is about the figure of it, sir. Bintry. So far all is clear ! But the rest is not so plain. Now, where is Mr. Vendale ? Joey. They have not met either the men and women apart here, sir ! Bintry. Has Mr. Vendale said the common ? Joey. No. Bintry. Not in any way I Joey. He will not speak. He has something on his mind. Bintry. Ah ! then it is he who sent for me by Miss Marguerite i Joey. Then Mr. Vendale will see you at once. Bintry. I will go at once. Joey, [stops him.] If you'll excuse me, sir, may I ask you one question first ? Bintry. Certainly, as you please. Joey. When you left London, how did you leave that precious woman, Miss Goldstraw 1 Bintry. Leave her ? I didn't leave her ! Mr. Joey, prepare yourself for a great surprise. When Miss Goldstraw heard that Miss Marguerite had come out here after Mr. Vendale, she said she must go into foreign parts as well. And it's my firm belief, Master Joey, that you are at the bottom of it all! Joey, [chuckling.] Not a doubt on it, sir, not a doubt on it ! Bintry. [aside.] Why, he don't seem surprised at all ! Joey. Why, I knew all along that if I didn't go back to her, she'd come all the way out to me. Bintry. Is that your experience of woman, Mas- ter Joey ? Joey. That's my experience of Sarah Goldstraw, sir. Now, what was the beautiful language that she used the last time I saw her ? It went this way : " The separation of a man and a woman is a serious institution, and the sooner they come together again after it, the better for all parties." There's language ! Now, what follows ? Why, if Miss Goldstraw has come out to see me, it's all all rieiit. Enter Sally, r. 1 e. d. to c. up. Sally. If you think that I have back to come here on London again Bintry. For that purpose allow me to offer you my arm, ma'am. [Sally takes his arm. Joey. Just allow me one moment before you walk her off! Bintry. Certainly, certainly. Joey. There's going to be two marriages. Now, if Mr. Vendale marries Miss Marguerite, who is to marry Miss Goldstraw ? Sally. Don't you distress yourself on my ac- count. Joey, [firmly.] Who is to marry Miss Gold- straw ? Bintry. Well, you are, I am afraid. Joey. Then why are you walking off with her, instead of me ? Sally. You wait a little, and you will be walk- ing off" along with me all the rest of your future existence. ■ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■»-♦♦■»♦♦■» 4-»» ♦♦♦♦♦■»♦♦♦♦♦■»♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■»-»4»4- ♦■»♦■»■»♦♦■»♦♦♦■♦■-♦•♦♦-»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦ 4- ■»■♦■♦♦♦■»♦♦♦♦ 4-4..». 4^.4. ♦ *3 O Jw ♦4 ♦ ♦ ♦ 4 ♦ ♦ 4 ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦* 44*4 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ! Act V, Scenel.] NO THOROUGHFARE. 4 444>4 4 44*-f*4*4*44*44444444444444444444444444< 15 ♦ ♦ ♦ 4 ♦ ♦ : ♦ : : ♦ Bintry. Isn't it enough to monoplize your wife after marriage, and not to want to monopolize her before she is your wife ? Sally. Mr. Joey, I'd like you to remember this : A man had better not give a woman the chance, or it may end in her leaving him at the church door ! [Exit, d. in f. Joey, [aside.] Beautiful language ! Enter Father Francis, d. in f., with book, and Obenreizer with bag of money, to table r., where they put them doivn. Father Francis crosses to l. to shake Bintry's hand, Bintry looking at him through eye-glass. Bintry. [aside.] Mr. Obenreizer turned treas- urer of the establishment ! Oben. [to Bintry,. who receives him suspicious- ly.] You have arrived safely — so glad ! [Shakes hands.] Come to see Mr. Vendale? Make your mind perfectly easy ; our old friend is as good a man as ever. [Subdued tone.] You have come on business, I suppose \ Bintry. Humph ! that's impossible to say until I shall have seen Mr. Vendale. Oben. I shared his perils as his fellow-traveler., and yet I have not seen him yet. F. Francis. You shared his perils, and your sight will remind him of his perils. This gentleman will remind him of home, and can see him at once. Joey, [at l. d. ] I'll show you the way, sir. Bintry. All right. Joey ; I'll follow you at once. [Exit Joey, l. d., Bintry to r., to Obenreizer, snuff-box business. Exit, quickly, l. d. Oben. [aside.] Why has he come here ? What can Vendale have to say to him ? F. Francis. Patience, my son ; before the night you shall take the hand of your friend. [At table.] Till then you must endure, for a little longer, my poor company. Oben. There is none I could desire better, father. Ah, pardon me ! where does that door [l. d. in F.j lead to ? Francis. Why do you ask J ? Oben. That door puzzles me the more I look at it. No bolt, no bar, no lock. When I go nearer and listen, I hear something going " tick, tick," like the ticking of a clock. Francis. It is a clock in the room. Oben. A room there % [Examines thickness ofivall by r. d. in f. Francis, [nods.] The door opens by clockwork. One of our brothers made it after long laborious years. It is the strongest strong-room in the world. Nothing can move the door till the time comes, and it opens of itself. Oben. A strong-room here ! Now, if you were bankers or jewelers, I could understand the need. Francis. Are we not bankers of the poor, my son f Oben. Oh! Francis. Then we have to keep our valuables safe. Oben. Oh ! rare old manuscripts and relics. [Laughing. Francis. Hush ! my son, I speak seriously. The property of the travelers who have perished on the mountain is preserved by us until claimed. Oben. [laughs.] What a quantity of waste paper you must have ! Francis. Not so ; sooner or later all is claimed. eight. Oben. Both by foreigners and natives ? Francis. At the present time we have but one foreign: the Vendale papers [Obenreizer starts.] found on an Englishman in the snow. Oben. [aside.) The Vendale— [Checks him- self.] Ah! Enter Monk, d. in f., staying there. Monk. The young English lady desires to speak I to you, father. I Francis. Presently, brother, presently. [Exit I Monk, d. in f.] I must put awav the monev and I wait to set the clock. The English travelers will be on the road early. I will make it to open at one o'clock. [To Obenreizer.] We keep regular hours here, and do not often have occasion to al- ter the hour of the safe's opening. Oben. [looks at watch.] It is now a minute to jht. [r. c. up. Francis. Then in one minute you will see that door open. [r. Music, piano, long-drawn strains on violin— clock strikes eight, l. door in f. opens, Francis pushes it back so as not to close, then to table. Oben. Wonderful ! Francis. So simple, too, in its action. Now, to change the hour. [Alters the hand.] At any hour, or part of an hour, that the regulator is fixed, the safe will opeu. [To r. Oben. [to R.] I see. Don't trouble yourself, father. May I assist you? [Takes bag of money, puts it in l. room, turns dial hand around, doses door with snap, stands back to it.] Oh ! [Pretends to snatch at door. Francis. What have you done ? Oben. My stupidity is inexcusable ! I— I leaned against the door and — aud Francis. You have closed it! [With vexation of a man who has learnt to suppress emotion pretty ivell.] Now, it will not open till six to-mor- row morning ! Oben [aside.] It will open in five minutes ! Francis. And my book is left out! Oh, you have caused me excessive trouble ! Oben. I am so sorry, father. Francis. The book makes no matter, but the — well, I must go see the young lady. [Exit, r. d. in F. Oben. Ah! the old idiot. How fortunate it was put in his keeping. [Watch in hand.] There's not a minute to be lost. Ah ! the door opens ! [Musia, L. d. in f. opens as before; overhauls papers.] This is not it. Not here, not here ! 1 know the receipt well ! What is this . ; Vendale papers! [To table, runs over packet.] It is not among them. Bah ! Eighteen hundred— twenty- nine years ago! [Interested.] What does all this mean? Certificate of death! A mother— and not a wife ! Ah ! ah ! I have him ! [Rises, puts paper in breast.] Ah, Mr. Vendale, I am prepared to meet you now! [Closes l. ]). in r. to l. Enter Marguerite, r. d., George d. i)t f. They embrace. Oben. Marguerite, [to R. C.] have you no word for me f Vendale. [keeping Marguerite l. c. front.] Pardon me, Mr. Obenreizer, you will understand that you can have no further interest in this lady. Oben. Marguerite, what does this nieau ? Mr. ♦ : ♦ ♦ : : ♦ : ♦ ►♦♦♦♦♦4 »♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦-^♦♦■^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦* ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 3CXJ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ •♦• 4 4 ♦ ♦ -♦■■♦■♦♦♦-♦■♦♦•♦■•♦• + ++++++ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + 1+. 16 NO THOROUGHFARE. [Act V, Scene 1. Vendale speaks in such a tone that I cannot tell whether he is in jest or earnest. Vendale. Do not answer. [To Oben.] There can be no question between us. My object in so far meeting you is to bring all further proceed- ings on your part to an end. Mr. Bintry will tell you how. Oben. Marguerite, I hardly need to repeat in what position I stand towards you. That man has no claim on you — when I leave the house, you come with me. Bintry. [at r. table, r. side of it.] Mr. Oben- reizer, when you are ready, I am. Will you sign the paper by which you relinquish all authority over your neice, and leave her free to wed Mr. Vendale ? Oben. [a] Mr. Bintry, your professional en- thusiasm leads you too far, clever as you are. Mr. Vendale and I made an agreement under which he was bound to double his income. [ To Vendale.] Have you doubled it? Vendale. No ! Oben. Theu, more talk is useless. Mr. Bintry, you can put your paper in the fire. Bintry. My paper will get the better of you yet ! Vendale. I will force you to sign it. Oben. Force me ! Force is a very big word, Mr. Vendale. 1 beg you to withdraw it. Mr. Bintry, you are fond of curious documents ; will you be so good as to look at these f Bintry. What? [Takes papers.} Impossible ! Oben. I told you so. Three years ago an Eng- lish gentleman perished on the mountains, and the papers found on his body were brought here. Vendale. How did you come by them ? Bintry. That it is needless to inquire. [Examining papers eagerly. Oben. Twenty-five years ago a lady, living in Switzerland, childless for years, decided on adopting a child, and her sister in England took one out of the Foundling Hospital ! Vendale. Out of the Foundling ! Marg. Oh, George, what is this ? Oben. You shall all have information enough. Here are the written proofs of what I advance. Mr. Bintry, what do you want else ? Bintry. Proof that the father and mother are living ? Oben. [gives papers.] They are both dead. Bintry. List of the witnesses and their resi- dences who can speak to the facts of the case ? Oben. [gives papers.] Are they right f Bintry. Complete ! Oben. Ha ! ha ! Bintry. [to Vendale.] Mr. Vendale, allow me to congratulate you ! Vendale. [bewildered.] What was the name of the woman in England % Oben, Mrs. Miller. Vendale. Miller ! then we have found the miss- ing man ! Marg. What does all this mean ? Vendale. Our poor dear friend's last wish on earth is accomplished. All is explaiued now ! [To Oben.] You are the lost Walter Wilding ! Oben. I— I have not that honor ! You are the man ! Marguerite, do you know to whom you would have given your hand ? To an impostor— a bastard ! brought up by public charity ! Marg. Oh, I never loved you, George, as I love you now ! Vendale. I the man ! Bintry. Yes ! Ah, ha, Mr. Obenreizer, he is the man who inherits all the fortune of Mr. Wilding. In one breath he has doubled his income, thanks entirely to your exertions ! By your own agree- ment he is free to marry her now ! Will you sign the paper f [r. at table. Oben. [fiercely.] Never! never! Vendale. Then I must force you ! Oben. Force me ! Vendale. [shoivs paper.] What becomes of your authority over her now ? Bintry. Will you sign ? Oben. [to Vendale, softly.] Does she know ? Vendale. [same, aside.) She does not. Oben. [aside to Vendale.] Will she ever know, if I sign ? Vendale. [to table r., to bum receipt in candle.] Never ! Bintry. I told you my paper would get the bet- ter of you at last ! [Points out place to sign. Oben. [signs wliile Vendale burns receipt — aside.] So ends the dream of my life ! [Swallows poison from vial. Marg. What does all this mean ? Oben. It means that you are free — free to marry him ! Marg. Free! [To Vendale, l. c] I don't know what feeling prompts me to do thii. [Ap- proaches Obenreizer, c. front.} I am going to begin a new and happy life. If I have ever done you wrong, forgive me ? If you have ever done me wrong, for George's sake, I forgive you. Ah ! you are ill ! Oben. [sadly, taking Marguerite's hand.] Marguerite, you said once I frightened you. Do I f i-ighten you now I Marg. What is the matter ? You are looking ill. Oben. I am looking at you for the last time, Marguerite! [Staggers up c, when Vendale tries to catch him— fiercely.] Don't touch me ! [Drops his voice, mildly. ] No, I Thanks ! Farewell! [Dies. Marg. [?o Vendale.] George! Joey and Sally enter d. in f., look down at Obenreizer. the end. t ♦ t if ♦♦♦♦♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^ _♦>-♦-♦-♦-♦-♦"♦-« ♦ f t -♦■♦••♦• ♦-.»-•*■■♦-•♦--»-•♦- 4- 4- -»--♦■♦-< NO THOROUGHFARE 17 COSTUMES OBENREIZER.— Act ls« : Black hat, black neck-tic, long- 1 skirted black frock coat, light pants, dark vest ; hair rather long behind : cane. Act 2d, Scene 1st: Black suit, coat is short-skirt- ed; Scene 3d: Same, with hat and gloves. AH 3d, Scene 1st: Same, with hat and gloves; Scene 3d: Traveling dress; round black Astracan cap, russet waistcoat witli some of the breast but- tons left unbuttoued, showing white vestunder.- wallet with strap; watch. Act 4th, Scene 1st: Same as last, w>th pants tucked into ! top of boots ; 2d entrance, in waistcoat, with sleeves drawn tight, collar open; Scene 2d and 3d: Same us 1st entrance,- Scene 1st: well buttoned up. thick gloves. Act 5th: Russet waistcoat, black ' pants in high boots, black coat, snuff-box. GEORGE YENDALE.— Act 1st: Suit of gray mixture, cut- away coat, black, low-crowned hard felt hat, watch and chain. Act 2d, Scene 1st and 2d : Gray pants, black high hat, black coat, white vest, jewels in case, tb bring on with him. Act 3d, Scene 1st: Black suit; Scene 3d: Dark gray pants, black coat and vest, hat. Act 4th, Scene 1st: Same; Scene Id and, 3d : \ Pants in high russet boots, tall black felt hat. black overcoat, but- toned up to neck, thick gloves. Act 5th: Same as last, but with- ' out hat, gloves and overcoat. MR. BINTRY.— Black suit, with brown overcoat in Act 5tk. Grizzled wig and iron gray side whiskers, white stand-up collar and cravat, black gloves. AVALTER WILDING.— Black suit, except gray pants ; light hair and fair complexion ; an habitual action of putting his hand to his head when pausing for a word. JOEY LADLE.— Act 1st and Id: Black hair, bald on top of head and forehead, small black side whiskers; dark suit of vel- veteen ; leather apron, much wrinkled and stained, from his neck to mid-leg, with collar-strap and waist string; small skull-cap of oilskin; slow in speech and thick in comprehension. Made up stout. Act 3d, Scene 1st: Same; Scene 3d: Same, without apron; coat on. Act 4lh, Scene 3d: Muffler round neck", black overcoat and cap; black gloves, legs bandaged in the Italian brigand style. Act 5th: Same as last. LANDLORD. — As a Swiss peasant ; gray stockings, blue breeches, banded vest, in red and. blue, embroidered; black felt hat. GUIDES. — Felt hats, pinned up with crosses ; long cloaks, sheepskin jackets, high boots, alpenstocks (pine poles six feet long, with iron at eud). FIRST AND SECOND HUSBAND in Scene 2d, Prologue: Ordinary walking dresses. The FIRST is a man of fifty; the SECOND a young man of twenty-five. Hats and gloves. FATHER FRANCIS.— Russet gown, sandals; tonsure on black wig; black beard. : ♦ A MONK.— Like FATHER FRANCIS. LITTLE WALTER WILDING.— In dark blue jacket and pants; fair haired and fair complexion. FOUNDLING BOYS. — A number, about twelve years old. in blue suits. TWO MEN.— To bring in flowers, Act 2d, Scene 1st: Ordinary dress, coats and caps. MARGUERITE.— A ct 1st: Straw hat, witli red and blue rib- bons; blue dress, with bodice cut square and low, in Swiss fashion ; I gilt buckle to waist-belt ; buckles to shoes ; light hair, braided ; i car-rings, and cross at neck. Act 2d anil 3d: House dress, dark I color, Swiss waist. Act 4th: Plain dress, with mantle of same. with hood; hair braided. Act 5th: Blue dress, with f^ur inches deep black border at bottom hem; black jacket, with gilt buttons. VEILED LADY.— Black dress, black bonnet, with long black veil; face pale. SALLY GOLDSTRAW.— Prologue, Scene 1st: Black dress, I shawl and bo n net; Scene 2d: Same dress, white cuffs and collar; | apron. Act \st: White bonnet, with fancy ribbons; shawl, plain ! dress. Act 2d: Dark dress, black apron. Act 4th : In black. FIRST WIFE. — A woman of forty ; gray hair, slightly em- purpled face ; shawl and bonnet trimmed gayly : colored dress. SECOND WIFE.— Walking dress, bonnet and mantle. MADAME DOR.— Act 1st: Bonnet, dark dress, with black j "lace square ;" she is made up stout, with her hair frizzled out on each side of face, to make it seem broader. Act 2d: House dress, hair as before ; she walks side wise, keeping her face from the other performers when crossing stage or making an exit. TWO GIRLS (for the Hospital).— Prologue, Scene 1st: Dark , dresses, bonnets and mantles ; Scene 2d: Neat brown dresses, I white cuffs, collars, aprons and caps. ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦*■♦■♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦♦•♦♦♦♦•♦•♦•♦♦•♦•♦♦•♦•♦♦■♦♦♦♦■♦■♦♦♦♦♦■■ 3C>- ♦♦^♦♦♦- •*♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦•♦-»•♦ ♦"*♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦*■*♦*♦< Casts of Characters, Stage Business, Costumes, Relative Positions, & c ., ADAPTED TO JHE jioME flF(CLE, ^RIV/iTE ^HE/TRICy^, /ND THE ^jVIE^ICAN JStAQE. VOL. 5. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by Rathbone Gardner, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. NO. 58. The Manager's Daughter. gtti gjntnlMtle, w ©tie f&ct. BY EDWARD LANCASTER, ESQ. CAST OF" CM A.R A.OTE rtS. Iheatre Royal, Richmond, 18 — Davenport. J. Webster. Wright. Marks. Mr. Davenport, Manager of the Theatre Royal, Richmond Mr. Mr. J. Webster, Principal Loio Comedian " Mr. Wright, First Tragedian " Servant " Mrs. Davenport, Manageress Mrs. Davenport. Miss Desbrough, the Leading Actress Miss Desbrough. Miss Jean Margaret Davenport, a young lady ) nine years of age J Miss Davenport. Hector Earsplitter, a caricature sketch of a) grovnng Yankee J Miss Effie Heatherbloom, a blossom from the ) Highlands J Fergus O' Botluvell, a genuine specimen of an) Irish bog trotter ) Sassinella Thespis, an exquisite model of first- ) rate genius J Paul, a minstrel from la grande nation Actors, Carpenters, etc. Scene I. — An apartment in the Manager's house. Mrs. Davenport discovered seated at a table. Mrs. B. What can detain Mr. D. so long at re- hearsal I He fatigues himself from morning to night. Oh ! little do audiences know the pain we endure for their pleasure — the expense, the anxieties and the frequent losses. [Knock.] Ah, that is my husband's knock, and here he comes. Enter Mr. Davenport, d. l. of r. — He walks about in great perturbation. Bav. Was there ever anything more perplex- ing ! next to being king or prime minister— the situation of manager of a theatre is the most un- comfortable in the world. Mrs. B. {rising.] Why, Mr. D., what can be the matter f Bav. Oh ! my love, we are ruined ! Mrs. D. Mercy forbid ! Bav. All the hopes I had built on the strength of my approaching benefit are blighted; the com- pany refuse to go on in the masquerades without double salaries. Mrs. B. And on what plea, pray ? Bav. Anticipating that Lord Lofty's bespeak will cram the house j and, knowing there is not another actor within fifty miles, they are resolved, it being the last night of the season, to share the profits among themselves, without taking into consideration the great loss I have hitherto sus- tained. Mrs. B. What shameful ingratitude ! but, yet, perhaps you had better comply, for if we disap- point Lord Lofty we may forfeit his patronage forever. Bav. No, my love; as a manager, I always con- sider it a duty to let my company experience the effects of public liberality to the utmost; as a man, I have ever, I hope, leut a willing hand to relieve their distresses ; but, on principle, T would rather perish than yield to insolence and extortion ! Mrs. B. Then we are ruined. {Retires and iveeps. Enter Margaret, singing, d. l o/f. She has a large doll in her arms. Am. — "Merry Swiss Boy." Oh, my doll ! pretty doll, what a darling you are, How I doat on tliose pretty blue eyes ; Such a head !— lips so red ! — it was dearest mamma Who gave you to mo for a prize; And I will keep you all ray life, And you shall be another doll's wife. Oh, my doll ! etc. Mar. Oh, papa ! look at my new doll ! — I shall be the envy of the entire school— where's ma f — oh ! there she is, and weeping !— Oh ! mamma, what's the matter ? [Buns to Mrs. Davenport. Mrs. B. Nothing, my child, nothing; play with your doll, there's a good girl ; you are not old enough to understand the cares of this life. Mar. Oh, mamma, never mind that- -do tell me I may cry what's the matter f if it's only that with you. Mrs. B. And why do you wish to do that, Margaret ? Mar. Because I think I ought ;— you and papa are always so happy when I am joyful, that when I see you grieved, I almost think it a duty to be sad too. Bav. My dear feeling girl ! tell her, my love- she deserves to know all. [Mrs. Davenport tells her in dumb show. Enter Servant with a letter, d. l. o/f. Ser. A letter from Lord Lofty, sir. [Belivers letter and exit. Bav. [glancing over letter.] So, places to be taken, sufficient to fill three more boxes; this in- creases my dilemma— I shall be obliged to disap- point half the town ; I never was so perplexed in the whole course of my life. ♦ i ii ♦ ♦ ii ♦ : : : ♦ : ♦ ♦ "♦"*►■♦ ^^^-♦^♦♦♦•^■^♦^.♦♦.♦♦.♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦^^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^^♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦> THE MANAGER'S DAUGHTER. 19 ♦ ♦ all ? — oh, never if tbey please — I Mar. [advancing.] Is that mind, papa ; let the actors go will supply their places. Dav. and Mrs.D. You, Margaret ? Mar. Yes — In the first place, I will take a part myself; — you know you have often said you did not think I should be very bad on the stage ; and, remember how I acted at our breaking up — " A horse, a horse ! mv kingdom for a horse ! " Dav. Well, child ? Mar. Well, papa ; and, then, you know, a great many of my school -fellows are very clever; — there's Miss Erne Heatherbloom, she cau dance like a fairy ; Master Fergus O'Botherwell is quite a young Betty ; and as for Miss Sassinella Thes- pis, she equals Mrs. Jordan and Miss O'Neil put together; suppose, then, I get them to come and play for your benefit! it will be quite a novelty, you know, pa. Dav. My dear child, I should not dare to bring anything but genuine talent before the public; it is a manager's duty, when he is paid by his audi- ence, to let them have full value for their money. Mar. But you dou't know how clever they are — I ivill go and fetch them. Mrs. D. You should never say you will against your father's wishes. Come, Mr. D., I will go with you to the theatre myself, and see what my persuasions can effect. [Exeunt Mrs. D. and Davenport. Mar. What is to he done ? this is the most serious thing that has occurred since I broke my last doll's nose; I wish I had been let go for my school -fellows — ah ! I have it; I can represent them all myself; papa didn't forbid tmt — aud if I can deceive Mm there is a probability of deceiv- ing the company also, who will then be frightened into remaining with him, lest they lose their sal- aries. I shall thus be enabled to repay the debt of gratitude which I owe my parents — let me has- ten to the wardrobe. " The fancy pleases; should the plot succeed, 'Twill be anew way to pay old debts indeed." [Exit, R. H. Scene II. — Interior of a Theatre during rehearsal time. Carpenter at work on aflat, representing a house with practicable door and ivindows. Tra- gedian, Comedian, Miss Desbrough, and other actors and actresses lounging on the stage. Com. [a solemn looking personage.] Well, la- dies and gentlemen, I think we have given the manager a spice of our independence; wdio does he suppose was to cut comic mugs before noble- men without being paid double sals. ? Trag. [a comic squab personage with a red nose. ] Or, how did he imagine I would act trage- dy on such an occasion under London terms ! Why, the ladies I should attract in "Romeo" would more than pay the expenses — "It is the east, and Juliet is the* sun !" Oh, there's nothing like shape. Des. For my part, if I had it in my power, the management should never get anything by us; it's quite reward enough for them to see such tal- ented creatures as myself for nothiug. Trag. Right, madam; the sight of your Juliet and my Romeo is better than a full purse; it ought to fill pocket, stomach and all — ''Peace! break off; see where he comes again \ n Enter Davenport, r. h. Dav. Well, gentlemen, I hope you have at length come to your senses. Trag. [singing.] " Hope told a flattering tale:" — "A tale as long as my arm.'' Com. No, sir; if by comiug to our senses you imply a change of resolution, you are mistaken. I am your principal low comedian, it is true; but in this matter I am serious. [Turns up stage. Trag. [pompously.] So am I; you never saw me otherwise, Mr. D. [Davenport turns up. Des. And I am so serious that Momus himself could not make me smile. [Tosses her head disdainfully and joins the rest. Dav. This is the most scandalous treatment I ever experienced. [Turns to carpenter.] What keeps you so long over that flat .'—see to the platform behind, and then get your scenes ready for night. [Aside.] I am out of all patience with everybody. [Margaret sings without, r. h. Air. — ''■Yankee Doodl"." Yankee Doodle came to town, ^Mounted on a pony, He stu«ck a leather in his cap, And called him Maccaroui. Yankee Doodle, doodle, do, Yankee Doodle, dandy; Yankee Doodle loves a lass As sweet as sugar candy. [Enter Ma ROAHwr, r. h., dressed as an Ameri- can boy, ivitli a stick and bundle across her shoulder. Dav. In the name of goodness, what strange animal is this the spawn of I Mar. [aside.] I have thought it best to recon- noitre, to see how the kind lies, before I assume a less palpable disguise than the present one. [Aloud, in a tinging tone.] Well, now, be this the play-house : ; Dav. Why, this is some trans-Atlantic importa- tion ! Mar Dav. Mar late. Dav. Mar, Oh, yes ! Have vou anv business with me. pray Oh, no! you ar'nt the manager, I calcu- I am ! Then, I reckon, I made a mistake; where's my father I Dav. Really, young gentleman, I cannot tell; did you expect to find him here .' Mar. Oh, yes! we came to know if you wanted a help in the acting line. Dav. And who is your father ? — who are you ? Mar. I'm Hector Earsplitter, the small ! fath- er's Hector Earsplitter, the great ! I'm the young American Roscios, and father's the old one; — and a tarnation fine actor he is, I reckon. He licks all as I ever seed — and I licks him ! Trag. [advancing.) Who speaks of licking a tragedian when I am by H Mar. Who are you ? Trag. Principal sigh-drawer and tear-extract- er to this establishment. Mar. Pooh, you are a swankey ! Trag. Oh, horror ! what's a swankey ! Mar. I don't know ; but you all talk about play-acting. You should see my father play-act ! he can make more love in a minute, louder and faster, than any three men of his size. Com. [advancing.] Does he profess low-com- edy f Mar. Oh, no ; what do you profess ? >44+4»4 44>»» 4,44 44-444 4444 4 4 44 444 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦>*♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ► 307 ♦ y+ + 4- + + + + ± + 4-4- + 4 4-4-4- + + +■ + *■ + + + + + + + + +■ + 4- *■ + + + 4- + + + + + + + + 4- + + + + + + + * + * + + + 4- + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + 4. + + 4. + + + * + ^ 20 THE MANAGER'S DAUGHTER. Trag. He sets himself up for a wit. Mar. Then the sooner he sets down again, the better. Dav. [aside.] There appears something about this lad ; he may be cleyer ; if so, it may be worth while engaging him by way of novelty. [To Mar- garet.] Have you come far, my little man 1 Mar. All the way from Connecticut. Dav. But this morning i Mar. Well, not an immortal, distance, but the way was ravenously increased by the ice, and for every step I took forward, I slipt three back again. Dav. Then how did you get here at all ? Mar. Well, I turned around, and walked the opposite way. Trag. It strikes me, young gent, that you are given to fibs. Mar. Oh, yes ; it's an accomplishment I'm proud off. There's not a chap east of New Jer- sey as can lie like me. I'll bet a diamond mine to a sunbeam that I'll lie, and tell you I lie, and yet you shall believe the lie, all the time I am lying. Trag. Bragadocia— prove your words. Mar. Well, you are a right down, arnest, slick- away, bang up, prime, tarnation good sort of a chap ! Now I calculate no lie can be bigger than that, and yet you'll believe it, I reckon. Com. [laughing silently.] Ha, ha, ha! You are in the wrong box, Mr. Wright. [They retire. Dav. You are a gifted youth, no doubt ; but I want to know something about your histrionic abilities. Mar. Well, now, I don't know what I can say, except that I am a perfect star. Dav. Ay, but did you never hear of a falling star ? Mar. Oh, yes ! I catched one once, and chucked it into its place again. Dav. Oh, oh, oh ! well, I defy you to go be- yond that ! Mar. I chucked my hat after it with such tar- nation fine aim, that it fell bang over the star, and there has been an eclipse ever since. Dav. Zounds ! This is Baron Munchausen the Second. Mar. Then as to acting, I can do anything from Hamlet to the bear in Perouse. I can go through dashing comedy like a rattlesnake, aud walk into tragedy like a cow into a turnip field ; farce has been the serious study of my life ; in opera I am a tarnation good un ! so is father ; we could both lick John Kemble all of a heap, and smash Gar- rick into invisible nothingness ; when we stamp in tragedy we make the ground shake so that the innocent part of creation fancy that an earth- quake is going forward ; when we appear in comedy doctors are obliged to be in attendance to sew the sides we split, and when we sing, all the nightingales drop tarnation dead with envy. Dav. Better and better ! do you add dancing to your other accomplishments % Mar. Dancing ! We can dance anything, from Jim Crow to a Spanish fandango. [Imitates. "Wheel about, and turn about, And do just so; Every time I wheel about I jump Jim Crow !" "La, lal, lal, la, lal, lal, lal, etc" [Hums Spanish air, and dances part of a fan- dango. Dav. Bravo ! bravo ! Mar. But what is more, we can do three things i together ; and while spouting tragedy to the boxes with our lips, we can give a slick away, ! comic cock with our eyes, so, to the galleries, and go on dancing this way to the pit in a double shuffle ! [Imitates. Dav. Well, you must be extraordinary fellows ! your father will, no doubt, be here shortly, and I will then talk about engaging you ; meanwhile go through yonder door, it leads to the green- room, and remain till he arrives. Mar. [aside. J Fortunately, that is also the way to the wardrobe ; I find I am totally unsuspected, and now for a new disguise. [Resuming her for- mer style.] Well, I reckon I can't be in bet- ter company than my own ; I'll keep myself warm by practicing the steps that I saw executed by a kangaroo once, when I brought him down with my rifle; my eye ! he did dance, surely, " with his wheel about, and turn about, and do just so — " [Singing, and exit through door in flat. Dav. If that lad's father be the genius he de- scribes, 'twill be worth while offering him an en- gagement. Tragedian and Comedian come forward. Com. Well, sir, are we to be detained here all the morning before you agree to our terms ? Dav. [aside.] A lucky thought ! I will make use of what has occurred to bring them to reason. [Aloud.] I told you before, ladies and gents, that nothing should induce me to alter my determina- tion ; besides, I have thought of dispensing with your services altogether, and engaging a juvenile company. Des. Oh, what an outrageous absurdity ! That little American wretch, I suppose, was a speci- men? Dav. Fie, madam ! the Americans are a gifted and enterprising set of people, and deserve not to have such an epithet applied to a single member, whatever his peculiarities. Des. Sermonizing— oh, let's away ! but we'll not quit the theatre until we see what sort of urchins he will gather together. A juvenile company — ha ! ha ! ha ! [Exit, r. h. Trag. If it were consistent with the duty of a tragedian to laugh, I should bellow like a bull; a juvenile company ! we shall have whalers ex- tracting sperm oil from sprats next. [Exit, r. h. Com. It is seldom I quote from a character I play, but if you succeed I must say, as Dogberry says, " Be sure you write me down an ass!'' [Exit, r. H.,follotved by rest of the company. Dav. This ridicule is only employed to conceal their fears at my threat ; egad, I wish, now, I had permitted Margaret to call upon her school- fellows ; but, pshaw, what could they have done, eh 1 whom have we here 1 Enter Margaret, l. h., as Effie Heather- bloom, a Scotch lass. Mar. Eh, what a brave gentleman. [ Curtsies.] If you please, sir, do you know where your wee little daughter is ? Dav. And what do you want with my wee little daughter, my dear f Mar. I'm so unco' shame-faced, I dinna like to tell. Dav. Don't be afraid ; come, tell me — what is it? ^.I ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■ ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦•♦-♦ ♦♦♦••♦•♦• V ♦ ♦♦ - 308 >♦♦■»•■♦•■♦■•»-♦•■»♦♦♦♦■»■♦♦■♦•»»»»♦♦ »-» ♦•♦-♦-♦-♦"♦-♦•■♦•♦■♦•♦••♦•♦♦■♦■•♦♦•♦"♦■•♦-♦-♦"♦-♦•-♦■•♦-♦-♦-♦ MANAGER'S DAUGHTER Mar. Why, if you please, sir — hi, hi, hi— she offered me to come and act a braw play for you. Dav. Oh, she did ! well, this is lucky — but what do you know about plays I Mar. Oh, an unco' deal ! I mind weel, when I was in my am bonny Scotland, how, night after night, we used, at gleaning, to have siccan braw plays at, u wha's ganning round my bonny stave wa," " Betsey's gone a-milking," and ''Here we gang round the gooseberry bush.' 7 My word, them were plays worth speaking of ! Dav. Yes, yes, yes ! but I mean dramatic plays, such as tragedies and comedies. Mar. Comedies, eh ? I ken a' about them ; 1 remember a comedy I once saw at Glassgy — my heart alive, I nearly died a-laughing at it. Dav. And what was it called i Mar. Let me see — thel — loo — aye, Othello. Dav. Othello ? Mar. Yes, there was a chap for all the world like a chimney sweep, dressed up in gold and diaments, and he made a grand elopement to Gretna Green, wi' one Desdamona ; my word, there was siccan a hallabaloo after them, but they got clear off, and then a soger chap got foun' ; aud then the bell went ding dong, as if a' the town went mad ; weel, after that the man wi' the black face gied his wife a pillow to hauld her head up in bed, while he played an unco* lot o' mountebank tricks, that he'd learned somewhere or other, for her amusement. Dav. Mountebank tricks ! Mar. Ay, the last of them was to put a muckle dish to his throat, and kick up his heels without hurting himself; he fell flat on his back better than any tumble I ever saw ; and a' the folks be- gan to clap their hands, and I came away laugh- ing, fit to bursten my sides. Dav. Very laughable, truly ; and so it is in a comedy of that kind you wish to act ? Mar. Ah, no, no, no! I like to act tragedy, where there's a braw lot of singing and dancing. . Dav. And can you dance f Mar. Dance ! the vera word makes my bluid sally fra my heart to my heels. Dance ! I ha' danced at a penny wedding mair blythesome than the bride. Dance ! I ha' danced over the bonnie purple heath flower wi' the blythe moon shining aboon me, and the bright stars winking their e'en at me, and the sweet Lavaroch piping to my steps, till a' seemed fairy land, and the earth her- self seemed dancing fra' beneath my feet. Dance ! reel, fling, jig and strathspy ! Dance ! the sound is music, and 1 cannot resist beating time to it. [Scotch dance and exit through door in flat. Dav. That's the wench for me ! nature has taught her grace, and enthusiasm given her mo- tion ; why, she would set a London audience mad ! her melodies, to me, would rival the lyre of Orpheus in effect, and her nimble movements teach a lesson that would make a gouty man skip ; I will go and talk to Mrs. Davenport, directly, about engaging her ; or stay, I had bet- ter wait till I have seen a few more specimens of these boarding-school misses, for it would never do if all tneir notions of tragedy and comedy agreed with those expressed by this little north- ern lassie. Enter a Servant ivith an old woman's dress, a pair of green spectacles with nose and chin at- tached — cap, stick, looking-glass and skipping- rope. Dav. Now, sir, what do you want? Ser. I have brought Miss Davenport's mas- querade dresses, sir. Shall I put them in the wardrobe ? Dav. No; I am not certain that they will be required— you may place them on that table for the present. Ser. Very well, sir. [Places them on table.'] So I have obeyed Miss Margaret as far as possible, but what whim she has got into her head, I am at a loss to guess. [Exit. Mar. [without. ] " With my row. (low, dow, row, dow, dow, My English, Irish, row, dow, dow, Each eye shall listen, Each ear shall glisten, To my English, Irish, row dow, dow ! '' Dav. Whom have we here ? by the accent it should be a member of the sister isle ; surely, I am not fated to receive a visit from some puny whipster desirous of eclipsing Jack Johnstone. Margaret is heard singing without in the Irish brogue. If e'er I go out to a wake, I never consider how late 'tis, While there's whiskey enough to be got, and plenty of roasted paraties. Terry I oh, I oh ; Terry I oh for Child Ireland. Enter Margaret as an Irish bog trotter. Small broivn jacket with a large hole in the elbow, and hay stuck in the top of his hat, as an apology for a crown. Dav. Well, where did you come from ? Mar. Where did I come from ! sure, didn't I come from the neatest spot in all little Ireland, just close by the bog of Ulster ! Dav. Well, what brought you here ? Mar. What brought me here ? sure, the same thing that brought my fader and moder. Dav. And what was that ? Mar. Sure, a big ship ! a stame ship they called it ; with a great big chimney-pot stuck in the mid- dle of it ! and, och, such a lot of people, and cows, and pigs and poultry, squeaking and quarreling altogether. Sure, it was no wonder we were in hot water all the way. Dav. And what do you want with me ? Mar. What do I want ? vourneen, 1 want noth- ing ! but Paddy McGuire, that keeps the sign of the Pig and Salt-box, tould me that you want a lad or two that could act in a play, and so I thought I'd come to offer my services. Dav. You an actor with that infernal brogue ? 1 want none of your Irish bulls here. Mar. A brogue is it you maue ? divil a bit of brogue is there about it ; and as to bulls, sure, you needn't be talking of Irish bulls, when I can prove there are as many, if not more, in England. Sure, didn't I stop at a public house, and what was the sign of it ? by my sowl, " The Red Cow." Now, whoever heard of a red cow/ divil a one! So the Red Cow's a bull after all. Now, look at dis, sir ; don't you always say you'll put on your coat and waistcoat, and your shoes and stock- ings ? Now, do you ever put on your coat before your waistcoat, or your shoes before your stock- ings? answer me dat, now ! and even your law- yers, with their big wigs, make some pretty blun- ders; wasn't Teddy O'Shane indicted for man- -♦♦ ♦"♦• ♦■♦■■♦•♦•♦■-♦-» -t ♦♦> -*• ♦♦♦-♦■•♦♦♦♦♦-♦•♦■♦♦♦ -t-f ♦ ♦♦-^♦-♦•♦^-♦•♦♦-t ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦-♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦ V ♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦■ 309 ^♦♦^.♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦.♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦> 22 THE MAN throat ¥ And didn't my fader send me to get a new spade in Holborn, at the sign of the Little Dustpan ? and didn't I travel half the town over to find it out f and when I axed a spalpeen which was the Little Dustpan, sure, he showed me a great big tin shovel that would have carried a bushel of paraties without spilling. Dav. Well, and what sort of part can you play f Mar. Sure, and I can play anything and every- thing — tragedy, comedy, dancing, singing — Dav. Oh, you can sing! Mar. To be sure I can, like Phelim Fogarty's tay-kittle — listen, and I'll sing you my fader's historv. SONG. Aik. — " Norah Orena." My father lived near Ulster town. So young, so handsome, and so frisky, He'ddance or sing-, or knock you down, Whene'er his head was full of whiskey; He kept a horse, a cow, a hog-, A garden too, and son and daughter, His house stood just beside a bog, And the fish-pond bad no fish or water. Whack, fal lara, lara, etc., etc. But mushagree bad luck fell out, My father went to wake one day, A storm came on when he was out, And blew the horse quite clare away ; The cow was killed, off went his hogs, The daughter flew clane out of sight, • His horse took lodging in the bog, And so my dad was ruin'd quite. Dav. Well, and what did he do after that J ? Mar. Och, sure, he took to larn a genteel pro- fession. He turned builder and haymaker, and shouldered the hod ; and och, 'twould have done your heart good to see how he'd run up and down a three-story ladder ; and then when business run slack in that line, he'd take the rake and pitch- fork and pitch hay about ; and so, after a bit, his uncle, Mr. Reilly, said if he'd like to try his for- tune in England, he'd give him the means to go over— so we all came away togeder. And we did not ride, because we were obliged to walk, for fear the few thirteens we'd got would be spent — and I walked on first ; and presently, I saw an empty post-chaise, wid a lady and gentleman in it ; so I called out, " stop a bit if you plase, while I git up and ride behind ; " but divil a bit did they stop ; and I saw an ugly voice look out of the chaise window and say, " get along, you dirty blackguard ! ,y li Bad manners to you," says I, "be off wid your dirty shay. I wouldn't demean my- self by running by the side of it, at all, at all ! " When we got to London, my fader took an elegant lodging in the Seven Dials, down one pair of stairs — he goes to house-building, and my mother opens a genteel shop. Dav. A shop ! Mar. Yes, she sells ould shoes and buys rabbit skins. But only you let me play a part in your theatre, and see if I don't astonish you. Dav. I shall be astonished if you don't get laughed it. Mar. And sure, that's the very thing I want ; only let me give them a bit of Darby, or Father Luke in the " Poor Soldier," and see if they don't scream themselves into fits ; and as for my trag- edy part, och, the tears will run as plentiful as the Liffey when the tide's running in. Dav. Stop, stop ! we'll say 'nothing slaughter because he killed a woman ? and didn't tragedy business, but I have some notion of try- the crowner's jury bring in a verdict of fell into j ing you in some of the Irish parts, such as Dennis the sea, on Cornelius O'Sullivan, who cut his Bulgruddy or Looney McTwoulter. Mar. Och, that's the very thing ! see how I'll charm all hearts with my beautiful voice when I give em [Sings. Oh, whack ! Cupid's a manakin. Smack on my back lie hit me a poulter • Oh, whack ! -Judy O'Flanikin, She is the girl for Looney McTwoulter. [Exit through d. in f. Dav. He has a capital brogue for Dennis Bul- gruddy ; and, I daresay, makes his companions as merry as crickets. [Seats himself.] And now let me reflect upon the situation in which I am placed. I have an American youth who promises wonders— a little northern beauty, with heels as nimble as light— and an Irish lad who speaks as largely as the transatlantic oddity. Then I have my daughter, Margaret— but I can't build upon her ; one so young could scarcely have nerve to study apart, much less go through with it. [Or- gan heard without] Ah! yonder is one of the numerous unfortunates which the recent convul- sions abroad have thrown penniless upon our wanderers, my heart bleeds shores. Poor for them ! little daughter will about the Enter Mrs. Davenport, l. h. Dav, My love, is that you ? Mrs. D. Yes, I have done everything but gone on my knees to the company— yet they remain inexorable. Dav. You shall not go near them again ; cir- cumstances have transpired since I saw you last which gives me hopes that our prove a treasure to us. Mrs. D. In what way, Mr. D. ? Dav. She has, in spite of our prohibition, been among her school-fellows, and I doubt not that, after all, we shall be enabled to raise a juvenile company for our benefit. Hark ! what sounds are those ? [Margaret sings ivithaut. Gentle Laurette, gentle Laurette ! La rose, La rose, La rose ! D'aniour ! etc., etc. Mrs. D. It's the poor organist, who played so plaintively a minute or two ago. Dav. He comes this way; egad, if the band had struck he would have served as a musician. Enter Margaret as a French musician — crosses to Mrs. Davenport and sings. Song— Margaret. Air — '• Gaily the Troubadour." Sadly the minstrel boy wanders from home, Sadly must he from his dear country roam ; Pity him, lady fair, shed mercy's ray, Lady fair, lady fair, pity I pray. Sadly I've wandered o'er mountain and vale, Many an echo has repeated my wail ; I've travel'd over desert and sail'd ever sea, Lady fair, lady fair, pity poor me. Lady, those crystal tears brighten thy cheek, Gems from a kindly heart, pity bespeak ; Lady, the minstrel's heart answers each tear, Lady fair, lady fair, pity dwells here. Gaily the minstrel boy shall now sing and dance, Viva viva L' Angleterre, vive viva la France ; Sadly the minstrel boy no longer shall roam, For iady fair, lady fair, has found him a home. < ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ►»»»»»t»»»»» ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^ ■♦♦♦+♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦■»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■»■■»■■»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦- -♦♦♦>♦»♦♦♦♦-»♦♦♦♦■♦-»♦♦♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦ ♦ ♦ » ♦ ♦ »^ "♦■♦■■♦■♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦♦■♦■♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦-♦♦♦ THE MANAGER'S DAUGHTER. ♦ 23 t Mrs. D. My poor child, how can I serve you ? Mar. [putting the organ on the ground.] Par- donne un gareon, madame; I am one leetle orphan shield, widout no fader and no moder. Good people, tell me if dis be de place where one graude lady and gentlehomme pay much large money to hear de moosic and de dance, and to see de pretty song. 31rs. D. Poor little fellow ! you have mistaken; this is not the place where your plaintive strains can be appreciated with profit. Mar. Oh, tres, gentle madame ! you no say dat —je suis — cold, cold ! like one small robin wid- out his nest. My heart be sore, my foot be weary — mine eyes are dry for want of sleep, and I can- not even cry ! do take me in. Mrs. D. Such relief as I can afford shall be yours, sweet orphan ; but here you would be useless. Mar you no cast me little shild of voui Den me go back to France and die ; but off; tink how you like one own to wander as I have done. When 1 lose my home and my parents I go here and I go dere, but no one know me ; dey forget depauvre shild of one rich fader, den I buy de organ and I play and sing for charity — but I no got one sous. Everybody pass and look so happy, yet no try to make me happy, too ; so den I get to de grave where my parents lie buried, and I kiss it, and pluck some grass to wear in my bosom ; and after dat I go into de wide world to seek my fortune. I have wandered to de Tyrol and over de Piedmont — I went all over Picardy, and crossed de Alps widout a shoe to keep my feet from de snow; de snow for my bed ; de cold sky for mine only shelter ; even den me tink de stars be angels' eyes watching over me. I hear of Angieterre, and come over. Oh, do take me to your theatre, and me dance wid foot so light and heart so merry, dat your own kind heart jump to see me. Mrs. D. What can I do ? Mar. See, see ! Monsieur, dere, smiles upon me ! Eh bien tres, bonne fortune ! Me found a home at last. Mrs. D. The child quite interests me ! What can have reduced you to this condition "1 Mar. Helas mon Dieu,\t was de revolution. We all sit at dinner, when we heard de flash of light, and see de clap of cannon ; den fader drop his knife and fork to listen ; den de tocsin sound, and ten thousand voices cry, " aux amies, aux amies." Moii pere rise like one hero ! He take his sword and he rush out, and ma moder follow. I cry to dem not to leave me, but dey do not hear me ; so I take pistol and go, too. Oh, what a terrible sight I den see ! Blood, and lire, and smoke— de dying and de dead ! Still I push ou to seek my parents, when I see a young captaine gallop past me— I raise my weapon to tire, but I tink of his little ones, and de tears dey would shed for hisj loss, and let him live ; but he no tink so for me ! i He gallops on, and den— ah, lady, lady — den hej cut down mine fader — he stagger — he no fall— he I Mrs. D. [weeping.] Child, child, I cannot bear this ! Mar. [sobbing.] Don't weep, lady, don't weep ! You look like ma moder when she looked at me, but she did not cry like you. No ; she look Dale and calm— she kiss me wid lips like ice, den she kiss mon fader, and look up to heaven— I speak —I call— she no answer— I hide ma face in her bosom— lady, lady, she dead, too ! Dav. Heavens, what a tale ! How did vou en- dure such misery ; Mar. My heart break, but I get over it, and I come here for charity. 31rs. D. And charity you shall have, poor child ! You will find yonder a fire to warm vou ; mean- while, I will prepare both clothing and refresh- ment. Mar. Oh, happy day! Je vous rendez grace, madame; je vous remercie, monsieur, [kisses the hand of Mr. and Mrs. Davenport, and slings organ round his neck.] I shall be so happv, I shall dance like one lark, and sing like one leaf in de breeze. [Dances and sings " Gaily the Min- strel Bog," and exit through d. in f. Mrs. D. That boy has made me cry like a sim- pleton. Dav. I will not swear that my eyes are perfectly dry. But, come, time wears, and much remains unfinished. Mrs. D. I will away directly ; do not be long ere you follow. [Exit, d. in f. Dav. [reflecting.] I have it. I will have a piece written introducing characters from different na- tions. I only want a clever English girl, and mv juvenile company is complete. Enter Miss Desbkocgh, arm in arm ivith Tra- gedian and Comedian, d. in f. Des. Pray, Mr. D— ha, ha, ha! Prav, has your wonderful assembly of living puppets ar- rived yet ! Dav. Part of it, madam. If you cast vour eye into the greenroom, you will see "a group of lillipu- tians that will make you as curious as vou are high. Des. Oh, la ! that would be a sight ! Shall we go, gentlemen 1 Trag. By all means! My next piece of acting will be like nature— I shall grow serious at the folly. Com. On the contrary, it will make me laugh, as I do my audience— ha, ha, ha ! heigho ! [Exeunt Tragedian, Comedian and Miss Desbrough, d. in f. Dav. I am all anxiety to know the result. If my young proteges display specimens of decided talents, my refractory actors will be put on the qui vive. Oh, Thespis, Thespis ! what cares you have entailed upon your unhappy children. Enter Margaret, fashionably attired, d. in f. Mar. Did you call, sir I Dav. No, child ; I don't even know your name. say, " vive la nation, vive la "France!" Den, den Mar. Didn't your daughter tell you it was Sas sinella Thespis, at your service, sir \ [Curtsies. Dav. Oh, then you are another of the school- mates ? Mar. [curtseying and speaking with much sim- plicity.] Yes, sir. Dav. And are sent by her I he sink — de soldiers come on — I shriek, I cry — I cling to dere knees, as I do to yours, for pity ! — Dey no hear— dey no see — ten thousand sabres strike at once — I feel hot blood spout over me— I hear mon fader groan — I see, I see him die ! [Bursts into tears. ♦ : ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦♦ V ♦♦♦♦>♦♦♦♦*♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦4 ♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦-♦•♦♦♦-♦■♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^ ► ♦♦-♦•♦ ♦ 311 ♦♦♦♦-♦-♦■♦♦♦♦♦♦ +i+++^+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++1 24 THE MANAGER'S DAUGHTER Mar. Yes, sir. Dav. Then let me have a little conversation with you. Mar. Yes, sir. [ Curtsies and approach. Dav. Your governess allows you to get up pri- vate plays among you? Mar. Yes, sir. And are you all very clever f Yes, sir — no, sir — some are, and some are Dav. Mar not. Dav. belong- I should scarcely suspect you of ing to the former class. Mar. [altering her style to one full of spirit and vivacity.] What, you were misled by my diffi- X dence ; but, pardon all boldness, and you shall no ♦ 4 4 4 4 4 longer complain of that ; I can be gay and full of sport, but, you know, sir, little girls should not always be so. Dav. You are right, my little dear j I should like to be present at one of your entertainments. Mar. You would laugh rarely, sir, at some of us ; there was Miss Jacqulina Stubbs, for in- stance, in playing Lady Anne, spoke thus: [Speaks in a drawling school-girVs voice, the speech of Lady Anne, commencing, u Hang the heavens with black."] Then there was Master Signor Snuffle, in playing Douglas, exclaims in this way : [Imitates, " My name is Norval." Dav. Ha, ha, ha ! Mar. But the finest fun was to hear Miss Polly Screechowl favor us with a song. [Sings verse of a fashionable song. Dav. You are quite a mimic ; I shouldn't won- der, now, if you could play all these things prop- erly yourself. Mar. Aye, that I could ; anything, from a girl of fifteen to an old woman of fifty. Dav. You can never assume the wrinkles of age. Mar. Had I a dress I'd soon convince you. [Sees masquerade dress.] Ah, there is one ; I will make up for an old woman in a moment ! [ Goes to table and dresses. Dav. [after watching her.] Upon my word this seems to be a most extraordinary child. Mar. [hobbling forward with a stick, and speak- ing like an old woman.] Aye, aye, but children are not what they were in my time ; I am now three score and ten, and have been a mother my- self. [Sings— Air — u Old English Gent."] Aye, aye ; it's all very fine talking — you are a young man compared to me ; but when you reach my age, you will discover that modern politeness is nothing to old-fashioned sincerity — that ancient charity was better than all the new poor laws in the world — and that, however glorious England may be, that it was her forefathers that laid the foundation other constitution. Dav. I can scarcely believe my eyes — my ears ; it surely must be a real old woman ! those wrin- kles are genuine— the hobbling unassumed — and the step forever deprived of the elasticity of youth. Mar. We'll inquire into the truth of that, young man. [Throws off dress, catches up skipping-rope, and skips several times. Ee-enter Tragedian, Comedian and Miss Desbrough. Dav. Bravo ! Bravissimo ! Des. It's very strange I can't see anything of- Hey, dey ! who have we here ? Dav. One, madame, whose fame, I hope, will shortly spread from one end of the kingdom to the other. Des. What, a little chit like that ? Mar. Pray, madame, were you ever a little child, or were you born a woman f Des. Hold your impertinent tongue ! Mar. Oh, yes ! you would silence the chit, that you may have all the chat to yourself. Omnes. Ha, ha, ha ! Des. It's all very well ; but when minxes are so forward, they seldom have any ability to support their pretensions. Dav. To the proof, madame — to the proof !— a hundred guineas that she recites a passage from Shakespeare with superior wit to you. Des. Indeed ! mark how speedily I will extin- guish the glimmering of her little rushlight— [Speech from Lady Macbeth. " I've known what it is to give such," etc. [Bombastically. Dav. [leading M.A-RG&RKTfonvard.] Now, listen to one whose conception sprung from nature alone. Mar. I'm almost afraid to begin. [Recites a favorite speech — all applaud except Miss Des- brough, to whom Margaret curtsies.] I hope, madame, I have entertained you. Des. I shall go mad ! I'll tear your little eyes out ! begone, miss, before I do you a mischief. [ Chases Margaret round stage. Mar. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! [Makes her escape through d. in f., ivhich she closes as Miss Des- brough is about to enter. Dav. Well, gentlemen, what think you of this specimen ? Com. Why, if all the articles equal the sample, I care not how soon I enjoy another treat. Mar. [appears at one of upper windows as Hector Earsplitter.] I say, how much longer am I to wait ! I'm blessed if I haven't stayed long enough for eternity to begin and end ; and that's too long for any one's notions, I calculate. [Disappears. Des. Why, that is the little American wretch again ! Trag. I begin to fear the manager has got the best of us. Mar. [at another window as Efeie. ] Eh, sir, here has been sich awfu' work ! they are tired of waiting your further pleasure. [Disappears. Dav. They shall not now wait another instant. Com. Our hour has almost come. Mar. [at another window as Fergus.] Come, come, ould gentleman— ain't your consideration over yet f we shall find ourselves walking into the middle of next week if we wait many centu- ries longer. [Disappears. Com. Oh, I'll alter my mind ! [To Daven- port.] Second thoughts, sir, are best; I have no objection to continue my services as usual. Dav. I have now, sir, no occasion for the ser- vices of any of you. Mar. [appearing sieur ! hasde kind de tearful eye returned yet ? [Disappears. Dav. She will return immediately. Trag. and Com. I say, we have bamboozled ourselves after all. Managers appear like magi- cians, to be enabled to raise a company at pleas- ure. Des. If I had not thought myself so secure I as Paul.] Monsieur! Mon- lady, wid de sweet tones and .+ 4 4- + 4-4-44~*-4~44 >-4-44-4*4-4-+4-4+±4-4-4-4-4-< 312 *.^*-4-44-44-4^4*-4-i -♦444»»»i>>»» ♦ r ♦ ♦ 4-4-4+4- 4-4-4- 4-4-4- 4-44- 4-4-4 4-> 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4- 4-4- 4- 4-44444-44444 444- 4-4 4 44 444 44444444*44 ♦4.^4. 4 . > 4^4.4. 4 .4. > ^ >4 . > . 4. 4.4.4.4.4^.^, THE MANAGERS DAUGHTER. 25 would never have joined the outbreak; do, Wright, there's a good soul, try what you can do to bring matters round again. Trag. I will. Mar. [at ivindoiv as Sassinella. ] Has the mad actress made her escape? Is the coast clear f Dav. All is safe; and you may approach when you please. [Margaret disappears. Trag. Well, I confess you have surprised me by the activity you have displayed. Let them all appear, and in their presence we pledge our- selves to ratify all our engagements. Enter Margaret, in propria persona. Mar. Here they are. Omnes. How f Mar. Yes ; in my person you behold them all. I know that you will forgive the cheat, and that papa will overlook my presumption. [Advances.) But what will my patrons say ? Ah, I fear not them. My efforts were to save a father. And never vet in such a holy cane Did kindly hands withhold that sweet applause, Than which more joyous, paught the ear cau bless, For, ah ! it carries tidings of success. THE END. COSTUME S— C H^R^CTERISXIC 4 ♦ 4 4 i 4 4 4 4 : 4 4 : 4 i 4 4 4 4 4 4 "That which pleases long, and pleases many, must possess some merit." — Dr. Johnson. A CHOICE COLLECTION COMEDIES, Casts of Characters, Stage Business, Costumes, Relative Positions, &c, ADAPTED TO J'HE ]40ME fSlF^E, ^RIVyVTE yHE/TRIC/L^, /ND THE ^JVfEF^ICyW JSt^QE. VOL. 5. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by Rathbone Gardner, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. NO. 58. A Winning Hazard: BY J: P. WOOLER. CAST OF OHAR.ACTER.S. Prince of Walen, 1865. Colonel Croker Mr. Dyas. Dudley Croker " E. Dewar. Jack Crawley " Bancroft. Aurora Bh/the Miss Lilian Hastings. Coralie Blythe " Bella Goodall. Scene.— A portion of Colonel CROKER'sparfc. Lake atback. Summer-houses, open, and facing audience, r. and l. Enter Dudley Croker, r. 1 e. Dudley. Too early again, no one about — but that's nothing new, it's my confounded fate. Some men are always too late, and come to grief in con- sequence; I was always too early, with a ditto result. I was born too early. I was the son of my father's first wife, and all the money came with his second, and of course goes to her son. I fell in love too early with my uncle's ward, Aur- ora, because she certainly was not in love with me then, whatever she may be now, which is somewhat problematical. But as I said before, it is my confounded fate; and I dare say it will last my life— which, by the way, is sure to be shorten- ed, for I am quite certain to die much too early. Now, where the deuce can all the people be? For, early bird as I am, I can't even see a stray worm about. Hillo! by Jove, there's some one put in an appearance at last. Hang me, if it isn't my cousin. Jack Crawley. Ah, he's always as much too late as I am too early. The idea of the governor having us down here, to see which he would prefer leaving his money to! that's good, but I'll soon take the curl out of Jack's hair. Well, Jack ! Enter Jack Crawley, r. 1 e. Why, where the plague is everybody ? particu- larly the girls, eh ? Jack, [r.] Oh, the governor's taken them for a row on the lake — I was to have gone, too, but you see I was rather late, and they started with- out me, so I've been wandering about these eter- nal grounds till — till— Dad. [l.] Till now, I suppose you want to say? Jack. No, that isn't what I was going to say. Till — well, never mind, I forget now. But what brings you down so early in the morning % Dud. Ean down to see Aurora; thought I'd come early, and after a rather bewildering study of the luminous " Bradshaw," found I could be here at nine, and here I am ! How do you get on with Coralie f Jack. Get on ? Well, rather— that is, not at all. I believe I'm just where I was when you left; per- haps, if anything, gone back a little. I was to take her for a drive yesterday, and I'll swear I didn't keep her waiting half an hour at the out- side, but she sulked and wouldn't go at all. Dud. Serve you right, but just see how Tm served; last time I was here I had to take Aurora to the archery meeting, twelve sharp — bless you, I was there, dressed like a model Robin Hood, ex- actly at eleven, and you'd hardly credit it, but she told me I always came bothering— her very word — an hour before folks were half dressed, and as I'd nearly shot three people last meeting I'd better go and practice for an hour or so, as she shouldn't be ready till one, if then ! Jack. Sensible girl, that. Dud. I believe they're a precious pair of flirts, and that's a Jack. Hark ! I thought I heard the splash of — yes, there's the boat, and the governor's help- ing them out; I believe that conceited old bache- lor wants to marry one of the girls himself. Dud. Shouldn't be surprised. He's peacock enough for anything. Enter Colonel Croker, l. u. e., with a pair of sculls on Ms shoulder, followed by Aurora and Coralie Blythe. Aurora. What, Dudley, you here ! [ Crossing to Dudley. Dud. Yes; aren't you glad to see me ? Aur. Oh, yes, as glad as usual; but you're so early. Coralie. Well, Mr. Crawley, you're a nice young gentleman to make an appointment with a lady. Jack, [crossing to Coralie.] Come, Coralie, I admit I was a trifle late, but I — I— couldn't find my bootjack. Cor. [l.] Oh, it's of no consequence; thanks to our gallant guardian, we did extremely well. Croker. [a] Yes, my very dear, but rather im- becile nephews. You see one of you is always too early, and the other's always too late — now, I am always just in time, so there's no fault to be found with me, is there, my pretty wards f ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦* ♦♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦t 4 314 4 V* 44 44 44 4444444 4-4 44 44444 4 4444 4444444 444444 44 4 44 44 4444444 4 44 4444 44 444444 4 4444 4 44-*"4444 4 444 4 4444+,*- I - 4 4 A WINNING HAZARD. 27 ♦ 4 : 4 4 J.w. [R. c] Yes, a very great one; you're so frightfully modest. Crok. Ahem ! thank you. Well, perhaps I am a little so. Cor. So diffident, so timid. Aur. So bashful, so unassuming. Crok. Come, ladies, this is really not fair, two to one. Aur. There are two allies for you there, sir. Crok. Obliged to you; I withdraw from the contest and admit my modesty, diffidence and the rest of it. Dud. [r.] I say, governor, I'm not much up in rowing, do you call those things on your shoulder oars or sculls ? Crok. Sculls, sir; wooden ones; there are one or two more about — but I must take them to the boat-house; I see no man about, and they're plaguey heavy. Now, girls, ruu in and get your- selves up for breakfast; I shall be there as soon as you. [Exit, l. 1 e. Aur. I wish you'd take your hands out of your pockets, Dudley. Dud. Do you ? I rather like them in my pockets. Aur. Most vulgar men do ! [Jack whistles. Cor. Pray, for goodness' sake, Mr. Crawley, don't whistle in that horrid manner. [Dudley and Aurora go up, r. Jack. Eh ! whistling was I f Ah, I was think- ing. Cor. Oh, then pray whistle on, if it conduces to such an unusual effort as that. Jack. You're sarcastic this morning, Miss Blythe, absolutely biting, I declare. Cor. Perhaps so ; the fresh air has given me an appetite. If you had been up earlier, you would have found me in a charming temper. Dud. Well, I was up early enough, and I don't find Aurora much more agreeable to me thau you are to Jack. Aur. My dear Dudley, if you had not been up quite so early you would have been absolutely enchanted with me. I am always uncertain in my temper till after breakfast. Jack. There, for heaven's sake, go and have your breakfast, and be sure you make a hearty one. Aur. I will try to do so, unless the profound grief I feel at your displeasure takes away my ap- petite. Dud. I tell you what it is, I didn't come down from London to be made a fool of. Aur. No : you would have taken a most un- necessary journey, if you had. Dud. Now just you look here, Miss Blythe — Aur. Where else could I look when in your com- pany ? Dud. You'll put me in a confounded passion presently, my lady ! Aur. That will not frighten me much; my lord ! [ The girls go up. Jack. It seems to me, cousin Dudley, you're get- ting the worst of it. Dud. You try it on with Coralie, and see if you get any the best of it. Re-enter Colonel Croker, l. 1 e. — crosses c. Crok. Now, you torments of girls, are you com- ing to breakfast ? Drinking a lot of cold air instead of hot coffee may be very well for you, but it doesn't suit me, and I'm obliged to come and fetch you. Aur. [r. c] Oh, dear guardy, pray forgive us. I but these gentlemen, especially Dudley, have J been so vastly entertaining that we could not tear ourselves away. Crok. [a] Well, for the novelty of the thing. I must forgive you. Dud. [r.] it's a parcel of confoimded nonsense, isn't it, Jack ? Jack, [l.] Confounded ! Crok. That I can easily believe. Dud. The girls have been behaving in a most villainous manner, haven't they, Jack . ; Jack. Villainous! Crok. You pair of rascals, how dare you malign my wards ! Go in, my darlings, and leave me to talk to these unmannerly cubs. Aur. But won't the dear cubs escort us ? I'm sure I shall eat no breakfast if they, don't, shall you, Coralie ? Cor. [l. c. ] How can you ask ? Of course not. Dud. Then you may go without it, for you'll go i without me. Jack. Tm not going ! Aur. How cruelly you tyrants play with poor women's hearts. [Crosses to Coralie.] Come, Coralie ; adieu, marble heart. I am very much distressed, but, at the same time, I am voraciously hungry. [Exit Aurora and Coralie, laughing, l. 1 e. Dud. Did you ever see such a pair of consum- mate flirts '! Crok. [a] Did any one ever see such a pair of confouuded idiots ? You know I have set my mind on your marrying these girls, and I'll be hanged if you know any more how to set about it than monkeys know how to talk Greek. Dud. [r.] The deuce is in the women ; they won't let us make love to them, will they, Jack .' Jack. [l.| No; they prefer making fun of us. Crok. They'd be cleverer than I think them, if they could extract any fun out of you. By George ! it would serve you right, Master Dudley, if I were to run away with Aurora myself, one tine night, and where would you be thsnf Where would you be then ? Dud. Well, it would depend upon the hour. In bed, most likely. Crok. You cold-blooded simpleton ! Dad. You're wrong there ; my blood happens to be rather over fever heat just now. How's yours, Jack f Jack. Oh, about 90 Fahrenheit. Crok. Now, look here, you two monkeys, if you don't conduct matters in a more sensible manner, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll first of all man y Aurora— I don't suppose she'd survive it long — and then I'll marry Coralie, and you two precious puppies may go and hang yourselves. [ Crosses l. Dud. I think you'd be glad enough to do that yourself a quarter of an hour after you'd married that fury, Aurora. Jack. If he did I'd cut him down, to give bim the pleasure of being sent to Colney Hatch by that demoniacal Coralie. Crok. Bah ! you're a brace of snipes. I've shot I birds far more sensible ; but mind what you're ! about, for if you go on in this imbecile manner, i I'll kick you off the premises myself. [Exit, L. 1 E. 4 4 4 4 4 4 : 4 4 4 : 4 4 ♦ -4444444444444444-4444444444444444*444444444 44**_*44444444444444444444444444444 444444444444* 4 4 4 4 4 ♦ ♦ 4 ♦♦- 4 ♦ ♦ ♦♦♦♦■»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»»»♦♦♦»♦♦♦»»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦»»♦♦»♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦»»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦»♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ 4"*- ♦28 A WINNING HAZARD. I ♦ Bud. Urbane old ruffian ! Jack. Yes ; he seems very fond of us. I wonder which of his pet nephews he'll make his heir at last. Dial. I wish he'd make up his mind — I'm sick of being trotted down here for inspection — and as for the girls — Re-enter Colonel Croker, l. 1 e. Crok. [l.] Now look here, you mountebanks, I'm not going to stand any more of this nonsense. You know I've been trying for some time to find out which of you was the more worthy, or, rather, which was the least worthless, to inherit my mon- ey. Now, listen to me, and it's final, whichever of you first gains a promise of either of my ward's hands shall be the man. Now, not a word ; when I say a thing, it is a thing, so I advise you to put the few brains you have to as good a purpose as you can. . [Exit, l. 1 e. Jack. Dudley, what do you think of this move I Bud. Well, I think, as matters stand at pres- ent, the prospect of a fortune for either of us is in a thick fog. [Aside.] I've a shadowy kind of | idea what I'll do, though. If I can't make Aurora j marry me, I can at least try and prevent Coralie \ from marrying Jack. [Aloud.] Anything to sug- I gest '? Jack. Nothing radiant ; but as Coralie has not promised to marry me yet, I think I shall carry her off by force, and then she must, you know. Bud. Have you ever asked her to marry you ? Jack. No, but I meant to do it soon. I thought j a day or two couldn't signify. Bud. You're always so confoundedly behind hand. Now I asked Aurora to marry me first, And I'll frighten her out of it if before I made love to her — I like to be early, and she half promised ; my plan's better than yours — I shall threaten her with an action for breach of promise, and frighten her into it. Jack, [aside.' I can, my friend. Bud. Now I shall go and get a glass or two of wine to wake myself up a bit, and put a little life into me. Will you come f Jack. Presently. You're always in such a hurry. Bud. Oh, I shan't wait — sharp's the word. I say, Jack, 1 shall sure be the governor's heir, for there's no doubt about your being the tortoise. [Exit, L. 1 E. Jack. Gl-o ahead, my fine fellow — the tortoise beat the hare in the long run. I saw Aurora in the distance, coming this way. I'll try and see if I can't disenchant her with her bargain, and spoil his little game. Re-enter Aurora, l. 2 e. Aur. Why, where's your lively companion flown off to, Mr. Crawley Jack, [r.] Oh, he's only gone glasses of brandy and water. to get a few Brandy and water at this hour Aur. Mercy of the day ! Jack. Bless you, yes; he generally breakfasts on brandy and cigars. Aur. Is it possible ? Jack. I must admit, with whatever pain and reluctance, that poor Dudley is — a superhuman drinker. Aur. How shocking ! I am astonished ! Jack. Are you * Still, poor dear fellow, he is j really to be pitied after all, for I believe he is driven to it, his luck is so frightfully bad. Aur. His luck % Jack. Yes— cards, dice— no matter, all dead against him. He loses fabulous amounts. Aur. A gambler, too ! You horrify me ! Jack. It is very much to be lamented, but you ; see he is in a measure forced to play, in the hope | of winning to meet his expenses ; his allowance is so ridiculously small— what is it \ Why, Lucy I Carlton's brougham swallows all that. Aur. What, Dudley keep a brougham for a lady? Jack. I blush to say he does— but, though Lucy is certainly extravagant, I don't think she is as expensive as the others. Aur. Others ! Oh, Crawley, this is frightful ! [Crosses, r. Jack. Yes, it is ; but Dudley's rather a favorite with the women, and yet he has been very fortu- nate, considering. I don't think he has had more than — let me see, one, two, three — no, four duels, as yet. Aur. [half screaming.] Four duels! You ter- rify me — the monster ! Jack. Now I think of it, we may say five. For, if I remember rightly, young Parker died in the hospital. Aur. [grasping his arm.] For mercy's sake, Mr. Crawley, close this catalogue of horrors: a drinker, a gambler, a profligate and a duelist ! My stars ! what an escape I have had ! [Crosses to l. Jack, [r., aside.] I think he is neatly folded up and put by. Aur. My nerves are usually pretty firm, but this revelation of atrocities is too much. May I beg your escort to the house f Jack. By all means, my dear Aurora. It is very painful to unveil the faults of a friend, but duty — Aur. Oh, thank you j thank you a thousand times, but I should never have believed that so young a man could have been guilty of so much depravity. Jack. Why, you see, Aurora, he began, as usual, very early. [Exeunt Aurora and Jack, l. 1 e. Re-enter Dudley and Coralie, l. 2 e. Cor. My dear Dudley, you surprise me ! Bud. [r., aside.] What's that cousin of mine floating about with Aurora for f Cor. Can Mr. Crawley really be so bad ? Bud. I have no hesitation in saying — although he is my own cousin, and my very dear and par- ticular friend — that I look upon him as the most evil-tempered, unprincipled, mean-spirited, semi- felonious humbug living. Cor. You amaze me ! I always thought him so mild, so quiet, so — Bud. Confoundedly slow, you mean to say — that's his art — deep enough, but mild, quiet. Why, not long ago he pitched a tailor out of the window for asking for his bill. Cor. Good heavens ! Bud. It's true he only broke his arm, but it might have been worse, you know — not his fault, that it wasn't ; then, as for his principle, there is a tradition in our family — which I happen to know is scrupulously correct — that, at the age of fourteen, he stole his grandmother's teaspoons. Cor. What a shameful trick ! ♦ ♦ 4 ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ t ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ I ♦ ♦ * : -♦-♦"♦-•♦"♦»♦-♦-♦■♦•♦•♦•♦-♦-♦•♦-♦- ^^♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^♦^■♦^^♦^♦♦♦♦^♦♦^♦♦♦♦♦^ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦■»■»♦♦■»■! A WINNING HAZARD. 29 Dud. And for his spirit, why, only lately he was publicly horsewhipped in Hyde Park for winking at a dowager duchess. Cor. Can this shameful tale be credible ? Duel. I speak by the card, equivocation would undo me, but worse remains behind. Do you know why he persists in hiding down here ? Cor. Hiding ! why, he's on a visit to his uncle, as you are — you know for what reason, and per- haps /have been partially the cause of his long stay. Dud. Excuse me, don't think so— he is my friend, he is my cousin — indeed, I regard him in the light of a brother, but truth must out — I be- lieve he is afraid to be seen in London, as he is wanted for a little matter of forgery ! [Coralie screams.] Hush ! don't do that — he may square it, you know, but I must confess the case seems to be a very bad one. [Aside.] There, if that doesn't settle him, why, as the Yankees say, 11 There's no cotton in Cairo." Cor. Oh, my dear Dudley, how very, very dreadful! and how can I thank you enough for this timely warning? and I almost thought I could have loved this wretch ! Dud. Hush ! here he comes with Aurora. He-enter Aurora and Jack, l. 1 e. Aur. Thank you ; I feel better now. Dud. [aside, R.J Confound him, he has been making her ill. Jack. [l.J Ah, Coralie. [Coralie turns away coolly. Dud. My dear Aurora. Aur. [l. c, coolly.] Well, sir. [Aside.] How dare he look me in the face ? Dud. Cool, as usual. Aur. Pardon me, sir, I'm rather warm. Dud. That's temper, and I'll lay any odds you are in this humor all day. Aur. Betting is not one of my accomplishments, sir. Jack, [aside.] Ahem ! but he won't understand it. Cor. [r. c] Well, what is it ? eh, Mr. Crawley ? Jack. Come, hang it, Coralie, give up this ab- surd conduct, for if I attend it much longer I'll be— Cor. Horsewhipped ? Dud. [aside. J Ahem ! but he can make nothing of it. Jack. Yes, if you like, horsewhipped— anything — hanged. Cor. There are more unlikely things than that. Dud. And if I stand it Fll be shot. Aur. You have enjoyed a singular immunity from that fate. Dud. Have I? Jack, [aside.] It's all right, he can't see it. [Aloud to Coralie.] One would fancy a fellow was nothing better than a mere milksop — a regu- lar spoony — a — Cor. Fie, for shame ! don't talk about spoons, pray. Dud. [aside.] Ahem ! water on a duck's back, he can't feel it. [Aloud— crossing to Aurora.] I forever. Come, Aurora, let us be friends— J have a few : Jack. wise words to say to you, come into the summer Dud. house. Jack. Aur. That's so great a novelty that I will. Dud. [Aside. ] For the last time, to hear what the im- postor has to say for himself. [Dudley and Au- rora retire to the summer house, r., in view of audience.] Jack. Do uot let the brilliant example be lost on us, Coralie, for if Dudley has wise words to say — I'll be bold to say I have pleasant ones. Cor. Oh, you are very bold, I know. [Aside.] Lee us hear what this mean creature has to say. [They retire to summer house, l. — Jack and Dud- ley listen to each other's conversation.] Dud. My darling Aurora, you know how dear you are to me. Aur. [coolly.] Not so dear as some others, I take it. Jack, [aside.] That's Lucy's brougham! [Aloud.] My own Coralie, you know you are the only woman I can love. Cor. [coolly.] Here, perhaps — but in Hyde Park. Dud. [aside.] That's the Dowager Duchess. [Aloud.] You are very cruel, Aurora, to say so — the whole game of life is lost if I lose you. Aur. There are other games besides the game of life, sir. Jack, [aside.] There go the dice down his throat. [Aloud.] Hyde, what do I know of or care for Hyde Park, or any other park, but this where you are, and this is paradise ! Cor. I should be afraid to sit down to tea with you, even in paradise. Dud. [aside.] That's one for the tea-spoons. [Aloud.] Plainly then, my darling, my happiuess is in your dear hands — I love you, adore, worship you! Aur. Mr. Croker, this intemperate language would lead to the belief that you had dined in- stead of breakfasted. Jack, [aside.] That's the brandy and cigars. [Aloud.] In short, Coralie, my future is bound up in you, and if you reject my suit Cor. You have such a strange way of dealing with your suits. Dud. [aside. J There goes the tailor out of the window. [Aloud.] Do not refuse me, Aurora, here at your feet. [Kneeling.] I offer my hand and heart. Aur. [rising indignantly.] And here on my feet I reject both. [Goes down r. Jack, [aside.] That's the five duels, and young Parker in the hospital. [Aloud.] Dearest Co- ralie, I love you to distraction. Come, now, have mercy, and do take me. Cor. You must look for mercy from a different Judge. Died, [aside, R.] There's the forgery out. Cor. [rising and going down l.] For me I must decline both your love and yourself. Dud. [R.] This is infamous— intolerable ! Jack. Odious— insufferable ! Aur. [r.] Dudley, I believe I could have loved you ; ask your own heart if you merit my love. [Crosses, l.] All is at an end between us hence- forth—come, Coralie. [Exit, l. 1 e. Cor. [l.] Mr. Crawley, I might have been led to love you— examine your past life, and see if you deserve it— our intercourse is at an end, now and Dudley ! Jack ! Settled. Floored ! ing my own heart ? [Exit, L. 1 E. What does she mean by ask- ■-♦-♦•■♦•♦-♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦-♦•-♦■♦♦♦♦i 317 >-4 4 4 4 4 4 4-4-44-4^4-4-4-4-4-4- 4-4-»4.4-4-+4-4-»- ♦.+♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦■♦•♦■♦♦♦••♦•♦« -♦♦■♦■♦♦♦♦♦.•♦•♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦♦■♦♦♦••♦•♦♦♦♦•i^ 30 A WINNING HAZARD. Jack. What does she mean rather by examin- ing my past life ? Dud. I say, Jack, I've got an idea. Jack. Nonsense! Dud. Fact ! you see how we are treated by these dove-like young females 1 Jack. Quite clearly. Dud. Well, it's by no means clear to me that we haven't, by some blunder or another, each pitched upon the wrong woman — it's quite clear to me there's a mistake somewhere, and that must be it. Jack. By Jove ! that idea never struck me be- fore. Dud. Dare say not ; you're always late with your ideas, and I, as usual, am early with mine. The governor said, " whoever gets the first prom- ise from either of my wards," so it's all right. What I propose is this, that we change partners in this not very lively dance, and try if we can't get on a little better. Jack. Well, we can't get on much worse ; let it be so. Dud. You know, as far as I am concerned my- self, I rather prefer Aurora ; but what's that to do with it if she doesn't prefer me ! and there's another advantage in it. If the girls do like us, after all, they'll soon let us see it when they find out our tastes are altering j they may have been only playing with us. Jack. Well, they don't choose nice games to play at ; I expect that we shall make a mess of it. Dud. I expect we have made a mess of it al- ready — I don't like giving up Aurora, though, either. Jack. Nor I Coralie. But mind, if Aurora says u yes," I shall have her. Dud. I'm not quite so sure about that — it de- pends upon whether Coralie accepts me, in which case, as of course I can't commit bigamy — why, I suppose you must have Aurora. Jack. Oh, then, I am to wait till your emi- nence has tried your chance. Dud. Certainly. Jack. You're mighty clever, young man. Then, if Coralie consents, and she's flirt enough for any- thing, you gain her hand first, and pocket the governor's money. Dud. Well, Mr. Dog-in- the-Manger, if you can't get it, why shouldn't I have it ? Jack. But I don't know that I can't get it — I'll ask Aurora first. Dud. Will you ? No, no ; the idea was mine, and I'll have the first innings. Jack. Do you want to quarrel, Mr. Croker ? Dud. I'm not particular, Mr. Crawley ; but I don't see the use of it. I think we'd better toss ! Jack, Toss ! Dud. Never mind; here they are again, and the governor with them. He seems in a state. Look here, we'll go in together — I'll trust to your not being up to time. [They go up. followed E. by Crok. [a] No, sir; all these epithets, and five hundred thousand more like them, apply to you and your wooden-headed cousin there ! I ask what have you been doing now f Jack, [r.] I should rather ask what you've been doing, sir; you seem somewhat elevated. Crok. If I had my cane with me, you puppy, you'd soon find your elevation lowered, I can promise you. I found these poor, dear girls half crying. Dud. That's the state you ought rather to find us in, sir. Crok. Hold your tongue ; and I ask what you've been doing to them ? Jack. You should rather ask what they've been doing to us. Dud. The fact is, I did Miss Aurora Blythethe honor of offering her my hand. Crok. Honor ! you puppy ! well ! Dud. And she did me the distinguished honor of declining it. Jack. And I conferred the same obligation upon Miss Coralie Blythe. Crok. Jackanapes ! Jack. Which met with the same ungrateful return. Crok. [turning to girls, l.] Why, girls, how's this? Dud. Your pardon, sir, a moment. I now beg leave to withdraw my pretensions from a quarter where they have met with so ungrateful a recep- tion, and to make a formal proposal for the hand of Miss Coralie Blythe ! Crok. and Girls. What ! Jack, [pushing back Dudley.] Mr. Croker has forestalled me. I beg— in fact I meant to have begged — first, to withdraw the affection I have wasted in so uncongenial a soil, and to demand your permission, as the young lady's guardian, to ask the hand of Miss Aurora Blythe. Girls. Well! Crok. I am amazed, stupefied, at this stupend- ous impudence. Dud. [pushing Jack back.] I wait for an an- swer. Jack, [business repeated.] I pause for a reply. Aur. [earnestly.] Oh, Coralie, dear, don't have him — he breakfasts on brandy and cigars ! Cor. What! Jack, [aside.] It's coming! Dud. That's a wicked fib— I never take break- fast at all. Cor. And, pray, Aurora, don't have Mr. Craw- ley — he threw a tailor out of the window for ask- ing for his bill . ♦ ii ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ < ♦ > ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ • | ♦ »♦»»♦♦ ♦ »♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦»»»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ »♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦»♦- 31S t Aur. What ! Dud. [aside.] Jack. That's Ahem ! a palpable Enter Colonel Croker, in a rage, Aurora and Coralie, l. 1 Crok. Come along, you silly girls, will you f Now, you dolts, idiots, fools, simpletons, block- heads, owls, puppies, geese, donkeys, rascals, rogues, humbugs — Dud. [r. c] You're addressing quite a mixed audience, sir. invention — I could never find a tailor who'd let me run a bill. Aur. And Dudley gambles from morning till night, dear. Jack, [aside.] Her tongue once off, it'll never stop. Dud. But this is an infamous libel — a — Cor. And Mr. Crawley stole his grandmother's teaspoons. Dud. [aside.] Oh, the devil ! Jack. What ? that's a vile aspersion; I never had a grandmother ! Aur. And Dudley keeps a brougham for Lucy Carlton. ♦■♦♦♦•♦■•♦■♦♦■♦"♦-♦••♦•< ►-♦"♦•♦♦-♦■»♦♦•♦■♦•♦■♦♦♦♦♦•♦•♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦-♦"♦"♦^"♦"♦■♦-♦•♦^ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ A WINNING HAZARD. 31 Cor. Mercy ! Jacfc. [«5^e.] It's getting warm. ^/tZ. Hang and confound it, this is too bad. the deuce is Lucy Carlton ? -.And Mr. Crawley was horsewhipped in A e Park for winking at a dowager duchess. Aur. Oh! Dud. [aside.] Now for it ! 'Jack. Madam— by Jove ! this is too infamous. ur. And Dudley has fought five duels, besides r young Parker in the hospital. w. Horrible ! ud. Mad, mad — by Jupiter, quite mad ! pr. And Mr. Crawley is afraid to go to London .use he has committed a forgery. [Aurora screams— Girls go up l. t, ck. What ! Oh, hang it, this is too much ! [Colonel Choker has turned from one to another at each separate charge in a state of bewilderment. GroJc. You precious pair — you couple of mon- j strous villains ! Not content with drinking bran- dy with a tailor and stealing his teaspoons, with j horsewhipping your grandmother in Lucy Carl- j ton's brougham— gambling with a dowager duch- ess and throwing her out of the window, and fighting duels with one another — you must needs commit a forgery upon poor Parker in the hos- pital. I renounce, discard, abandon, cast you off and send you to the devil on the spot ! [Crosses to l., and goes tip. Dud. [crossing to Aurora.] I cannot tell, madam, where you have picked up this budget of confounded and immeasurable slanders, but I demand your authority. Jack, [to Coralie.] And unless your imagina- tion be equal to your perfidy, madam, I cannot think you can have invented this tissue of abom- inations—be pleased to favor me with your au- thority. Aur. I can have no objection to Mr. Crawley. Cor. Nor I to surrender mine; Mr. state mine; [ Goes up. Croker. [Goes up. and Jack Dud. [r., fiercely.] Sir! [Dudley approach each other menacingly. Jack, [l., ditto.] Sir ! Dud. Did you say " brandy at breakfast "? Jack. Did you say " tailor out of the window "? Dud. Did you say H gambling "? Jack. Did you say " teaspoons "? Dud. Did you say " Lucy's brougham "? Jack. Did you say "duchess and horsewhip "? Dud. Did you say " dueling"? Jack. Did you sav " forgery"? Dud. What if I did ? Jack. What if 7 did? Dud. Then I demand satisfaction for your most abominable slanders. Jack. And I for your most illimitable false- hoods. [They separate and go up, r. and l. Aur. Oh, colonel, they will fight. [Coming down ivith Coralte. Crok. [coming down, c] Let 'em fight, and it will be a blessing if they come to the same end as the Kilkenny cats. Fight! they daren't fight. Satisfaction ! Tm the only one who's likely to get that, for I shall have the satisfaction of seeing them bundled off the premises in less than ten minutes. There, go along, do ! [Pushes Girls off, l. 1 e. — looking round.] Oh, you precious pair of rascals ! [Exit, l. 1 e. Jack and Dud. Now, sir ! Jack. I think you stand a chance of finding your imaginary horsewhip converted into a sub- stantial one, and freely applied to your clumsy shoulder. Dud. And I think that your phantom duel may become a reality, and that you may find yourself side by side with the ghost of young Parker in the hospital. Jack. What did you mean by inventing all those lies, eh ? Dud. I meant to induce Coralie to turn her white and cold shoulder to you till I had smoothed the rumpled feathers of my bird of paradise, Au- rora. Pray, what did you mean I Jack, [frankly.] I meant to play the same game; but all's fair in love and war, you know. Dud. Ha, ha ! Then it appears we are " arcades ambo — id est, blackguards both." Well, so much the better; it saves our fighting over it, and I've got another idea. Jack. I hope it's a better one than the last. Dud. It's seraphic, sir, and will test whether these girls ever cared half a kiss about us, or whether they're a pair of heartless, worthless co- quettes; in either case — win or lose — we're the gainers. Come along, and I'll put you up to it. But if we meet anyone, you abuse me roundly; I'll return it with interest. Jack. That's it; let's begin and quarrel here. Dud. All right. [Exeunt, squabbling, r. u. e. Be-enter Aurora and Coralie, l. L e. Aur. [r.] Did you hear .hem at one another? I am so frightened; I'm sure they'll fight. You know Dudley's a duelist. Cor. [l.] Yes; but it takes two men to fight a duel, and if Mr. Crawley has submitted to a horse- whipping, he won't be one of them. Aur. I say, Coralie, dear, do you believe all these shocking things about Dudley ? Cor. Oh, I don't know. Who can tell what men are when they are out of your sight i But I never can think that Crawley would commit a forgery. Aur. Oh, I don't know; all sorts of men have done it before. Cor. Now, it's not at all unlikely that Dudley may have kept a brougham for a lady. Aur. And it's extremely likely that Mr. Craw- ley robbed his poor grandmother. Cor. You spiteful thing, with your " grandmoth- ers!" [Crosses ~R. Aur. You're just as spiteful, with your " broughams !" [ Crosses l. Cor. It's my firm belief you invented all those stories of poor Crawley yourself, to make his uncle disinherit him. Aur. Now, I'll be whipped if I wasn't thinking the very same thing of you about Dudley. Cor. S * +h I HI thought you had. Aur. } t0 9 emer - \ if I thought you had. Colonel Croker enters behind, l. u. e. Cor. I'd wring the necks of your noisy canaries. I'd poison your ugly Skye terrier. Pert ! Peevish ! Mischievous ! Malicious ! [advancing.] Heyday! another rumpus ? Aur. Cor. Aur. Cor. Aur. Crok. Have you wenches been at the brandy bottle, too ? ^i»4 »♦♦♦♦♦♦♦•♦-»•♦♦♦■♦-♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■»♦■»♦♦♦♦■♦»♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■♦■♦♦♦■» ♦♦»♦♦♦♦♦■»•♦♦♦♦■»■♦♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦^M' ♦ ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦■»♦ 32 A WINNING HAZARD. Aur. J No, guardy, but Coralie says — ) Cor. ( No, guardy, but Aurora says — $ [Shots heard without, r., Girls scream. Aur. Ob, mercy ! what's that ? They have fought, and Dudley's killed ! Oh, Colonel ! — [Faints in his arms. Crok. Here, I say, don't do that ; they daren't go and get killed on my grounds — confound 'em ! Cor. It's most likely Tom after the rooks. Crok. Of course it is ! [ Shouts in Aurora's ear. ] It's Tom after the rooks! No use, she's gone. What can I do with her — how heavy women are when they faint! [Carries and deposits her in summer house, r.] Now, I'll go and see about this uproar, and if — [Goes up r.] Eh ! why, by the god Mars ! they have been fighting, and my fel- lows are wheeling them up. Cor. Oh, heaven ! then Jack is hurt ! Oh, Colo- nel ! — [Faints in Colonel Croker's arms. Crok. Here, hang it, you must do it, too. Oh, come along and have it out comfortably. [Depos- its her in summer house, l. ] Now for these two mad-brained apes! [Dudley and Jack are brought in on wheelbarrows by two Gardeners, r. u.e., and down r. c. — Exeunt men r. u. e.] Why, you two Tom fools, what have you been about now? Aur. [recovering.} Where am If What is it? Cor. [recovering.] Ah, me ! what means this ? Dud. [faintly. ] Aurora ! Jack, [faintly.] Coralie! Aur. [about to rush to him.] Dudley! Dud. Stay where you are. Id that summer house you broke my arm. I beg your pardon, my heart, but my arm hurts me. From that summer house behold tbe consequences ! Say you're rather sorry for it, and I shall depart in peace. Aur. Oh, Dudley, Dudley, don't talk so. Jack. Don't stir, Coralie. You spoke words on that spot which have led to this fatal result. Only say you don't think I stole the teaspoons and I can die quietly. Cor. Dearest Jack, I do not believe it. Jack. Enough ; Dudley, I withdraw the brandy and the brougham. Dud. And I withdraw the tailor and the tea- spoons. Aur. [at his side.] Dudley, dear Dudley, please live, for my sake. Cor. [by Jack.] Jack ; dear Jack, please don't die, for mine. Dud. [very feebly.] If I should ever reco^- ** will you marry me 1 Jack, [very feebly.] Stop a minute! If I si ever get well, Coralie, will you marry me ? Aur. and Cor. Yes ! Dud. [eagerly.] Aurora said il yes " first. Jack. No, Coralie. Dud. I say she didn't. Jack. I say she did. Dud. You're a — Jack. You're another. Dud, [fiercely.] What? Jack, [fiercely.] What? [ They struggle to get at one anothe Aur. Oh, heaven ! Cor. Pray take care. Crok. Hold hard, you lunatics ! [ Wheelbarrows overturn and upset them. Aur. [crossing to l.] Mercy ! in their state it will be their death. [Dudley and Jack grapple. Dud. S inrtotho* X Did Aurora speak first ? Jack. I t0 9 emer - \ Did Coralie speak first ? Dud. and Jack. No ! Crok. Be quiet, you fools, they both spoke to- gether. Dud. Oh, very well, let's shake ourselves to- gether, then. [Crossing to Aurora. Aur. What ! are you not hurt ? Cor. Not wounded ? Dud. [crossing to Aurora.] The only woun^ I have received is from your eyes, dear, and your lips will cure that. [Kisses her. Jack, [to Coralie.] A very neat sentiment ; couldn't be mended. I say ditto. [Kisses Coralie. Crok. [crossing to c] Come, matters have got square at last— I'll keep my word, boys, you've got my wards between you, you shall have my money between you. Dud. All's right, here, then? [Coming forward.] We hold your verdict as without appeal — we have attempted to amuse you — a hazardous attempt, perhaps, on our parts, but, if we have succeeded, we shall certainly have played "A Winning Hazard." the end. costumes .— m: odern. ♦♦♦♦♦ 320 ♦ +♦ ♦♦♦♦•♦-*•*♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ t-f ♦♦♦-*•♦♦♦ t- ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦+-♦ ♦♦ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 434 653 1 ? Conservation Resources Lie-Free® Tvne I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 434 653 1 *