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Number Nine.1^ 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 IN NINE ACTS. 
 
 ■nm- 
 
 DRAMATIZED BY 
 
 S. R. WHEELER. 
 
 
 WITH CASTS, COSTUMES, AND ALL STAGE 
 BUSINESS. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR, S. R. WHEELER, 
 DEXTER, MICHIGAN. 
 
 18 8 5. 
 

 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, 
 
 By SAMUEL R. WHEELER, 
 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
 TMP92-007549 
 
CAST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Robert Belcher, Proprietor of Seven Oaks Mills. 
 
 Paul Benedict, A Mechanical Engineer. 
 
 James Balfour, A New York City Lawyer. 
 
 Jared Cavendish, A New York City Lawyer. 
 
 Sam Yates, A Seven Oaks Lawyer. 
 
 Solon Story, .Judge of the Court. 
 
 Thos. C. Spencer, Clerk of the Court. 
 
 Chas. Barhydt, Supt. of the Insane Asylum. 
 
 Albert Timms, Prof, of Microscopy. 
 
 Jim Fenton, A Backwoodsman. 
 
 Mike Conlin, An Irishman. 
 
 Solomon Snow, A Clergyman. 
 
 Dr. Radcliffe, Medical Attendant of Poor-house. 
 
 Thos. Buffum, .Supt. of Poor-house. 
 
 Cornelius Phipps, Belcher's Coachman. 
 
 Harry Benedict, ... .A Young Lad — Paul Benedict's Son. 
 
 Mrs. Helen Dillingham, A New York Lady. 
 
 Miss Keziah Butterworth, .... A Seven Oaks Seamstress. 
 
 Mrs. Robert Belcher, Wife of Robert Belcher. 
 
 Mrs. Solomon Snow, Wife of Solomon Snow. 
 
 Servants, Attendants, etc. [ 3 ] 
 
CO TUMES 
 
 Robert Belcher : Elegantly dressed — not changed. 
 James Balfour : Business Suit — not changed. 
 Jared Cavendish : Stylish " 
 
 Mike Conlin : Homespun and coarse — not changed. 
 Paul Benedict : Act 3 to Act 7, very shabby and ragged. 
 
 " " Act 7 to the end, well dressed. 
 
 Sam Yates : Act 6, Scene 2, very shabby and old hat. 
 
 " " "3, well dressed. 
 Jim Fenton : Act 3 to Act 9, coarse, patched clothes. 
 
 " " " 9 to the end. good homespun clothes. 
 
 Harry Benedict : Act 3, very poorly and thinly dressed. 
 
 "9, well dressed. 
 Mrs. Dillingham: Elegant silk dress and veil — not 
 changed. 
 
 Miss Butterworth : Common Seamstress' dress — not 
 changed. 
 
 All others well dressed and not changed. 
 
 PROPERTIES. 
 
 Full length mirror, table containing papers and writing- 
 material, stand, chairs, and a judge's bench, and a few 
 lengths of picket railing to inclose paupers. 
 [4] 
 
SYNOPSIS. 
 
 Number Nine is founded on incidents of every-day life, 
 and is intended to illustrate vividly the contrasts of human 
 character. Kobert Belcher represents, in a high degree, 
 the propensities of an extreme villain. His victim, Paul 
 Benedict, is his antipode in character in all respects. He 
 is a great inventor, but too generous and unsuspicious to 
 protect himself from the crafty. James Balfour, a lawyer 
 of the strictest integrity, and a noble specimen of humanity, 
 always advocating the cause of justice. Jared Cavendish, 
 another lawyer, who does not regard right any more than 
 wrong, unless there was more money in it. Keziah But- 
 terworth, a seamstress, is a very strong-minded woman, 
 and very persistent for the right ; and woe be to any who 
 oppose her efforts in her vindication of justice, whether in 
 the behalf of herself or others. Mrs. Dillingham is a gen- 
 erous, kind-hearted lady, but coquettish towards gentlemen 
 for whom she has no respect. 
 
 This drama develops, in a high degree, the adage that 
 truth is mighty and will prevail. 
 
 TIME IN REPRESENTATION, THREE HOURS. 
 
 [5] 
 
.A. O T I 
 
 Scene I. Robert Belcher's Library at Seven Oaks, a large, 
 full length mirror, stand, table, and two chairs. Robert 
 Belcher, elegantly dressed, walking the room and rubbing his 
 hands, stops suddenly before the mirror, and addresses his im- 
 age reflected from it. 
 
 Belcher. "Robert Belcher, you're a brick! Yes, sir, 
 you are a brick. You, Robert Belcher, sir, are an almighty 
 smart man. You've outwitted the whole of 'em. Look at 
 me, sir. Dare you tell me, sir, that I am not master of the 
 situation ? Ah ! you hesitate ; it is well ! They all come 
 to me, every man of 'em. It is ' Mr. Belcher, will you be so 
 good?' and 'Mr. Belcher, I hop^you are very well,' and 
 'Mr. Belcher, I want you to do better by me.' Ha ! ha ! ha I 
 ha ! My name is Norval. It isn't ? Say that again, and I'll 
 throttle you ! Yes, sir, I'll shake your rascally head off your 
 shoulders ! Down, down in the dust, and beg my pardon ! 
 It is well ; go ! Get you gone, sir, and remember not to 
 beard the lion iD his den ! (Lights a cigar and sits down, 
 but growing drowsy, lays it on the stand and leans back in his 
 chair for a nap. A rap at the door.) Come in." (A scared- 
 looking maid-servant peers in at 2 L. E.) 
 
 Maid. "Please, sir." 
 
 Belcher. (In a voice so sharp that the girl cringed.) 
 "Well?" 
 
 Maid. "Please, sir, Miss Butterworth is at the door and 
 would like to see you." 
 
 Belcher. (To the servant.) "Come inside. (The girl 
 enters, and leans against the door. Belcher addresses her in a 
 low tone.) Go and tell Mrs. Belcher that I am busy, and 
 that she must choke her off. I can't see her to-night. I 
 can't see her." (Exit servant 2 L. E.) 
 
 Enter Mrs. Belcher 2 L. E. 
 
 Mrs. Belcher. "I cannot do anything with Miss But- 
 terworth. She is determined to see you before she leaves 
 the house." 
 
 Belcher. "Bring her in. I'll make short work with 
 her. " (Exit Mrs. Belcher 2 L. E. Belcher rushes to the mir- 
 
 [7] 
 
8 A DRAMA 
 
 ror, brushes his hair fiercely, and then sits down to a pile of pa- 
 pers on the table, and writes hurriedly.) 
 
 Enter Miss Butterworth 2 L. E. 
 
 Belcher. " Ah ! Keziah." 
 
 Miss B. (Speaking quickly and fiercely.) "My name is 
 Butterworth, and it's got a handle to it." 
 
 Belcher. "Well, but, Keziah, you know we used — " 
 
 Miss B. (With increased energy.) "My name is Butter- 
 worth, and it's got a handle to it." 
 
 Belcher. " Well, Miss Butterworth, happy to see you. 
 Hope you are well — take a chair." 
 
 Miss B. "Humph !" (Drops on the edge of a chair, her 
 body inclined forward, and a derisive smile on her countenance, 
 and ivith the demeanor of the utmost fearlessness. ) 
 
 Belcher. (After waiting a few moments for Miss Butter- 
 worth to speak.) "Hem! — haw! — ah! — to what am I in- 
 debted for this visit, Miss — ah ! — Butterworth ? " 
 
 Miss B. (Sharply.) "I'm thinking. (A short pause.) 
 I'm thinking of a man, and he was a man, every inch of 
 him, if there ever was one, and a gentleman, too, if I know 
 what a gentleman is, who came to this town ten years ago, 
 from nobody knows where, with a wife that was an angel, 
 if there is any such thing as an angel. (Speaking more leis- 
 urely after a short pause.) He knew more than any man in 
 Seven Oaks, but he didn't know how to take care of him- 
 self. He was the most ingenious creature God ever made, 
 I do think, and his name was Paul Benedict. He invented 
 something, and then he took it to Robert Belcher, and he 
 put it into his mill, and-he-paid-him-just-as-little-for-it-as-he- 
 could. And he invented something more, and-that-went- 
 into-the-mill ; and then something more, and the patent was 
 used by Mr. Belcher for a song, and the man grew poorer 
 and poorer, while Mr. Belcher grew richer and richer all the 
 time. And then he invented a gun, and then his little wife 
 died, and what with the expenses of doctors and funeral and 
 such things, and the money it took to get his patent, which- 
 I-begged-him-for-conscience-sake-to-keep out-of-Robert-Bel- 
 cher's-hands, he almost starved with his little boy, and had 
 to go to Robert Belcher for money." 
 
 Belcher. " And got it." 
 
 Miss B. "How much, now? A hundred little dollars 
 for what was worth a hundred thousand, unless-everybody- 
 lies. The whole went in a day, and then he went crazy." 
 
 Belcher. "Well, you know I sent him to the asylum." 
 
 Miss B. "I know you did, yes, I know you did, and you 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 9 
 
 tried to get him well enough to sign a paper, which the doc- 
 tor never would let him sign, and which would n't have been 
 worth a straw if he had signed it. The-idea-of-getting-a- 
 crazy-man-to-sign-a-paper ! " 
 
 Belcher. "Well, but I wanted some security for the 
 money I had advanced." 
 
 Miss B "No, you wanted legal possession of a property 
 that would have made him rich, that's what it was, and you 
 did n't get it. and you never will get it. He can't be cured, 
 and he's been sent back, and is up at Tom Buffum's in the 
 poor-house now, and I've seen him to-day." 
 
 Belcher. "Is poor Benedict comfortable ? " 
 
 Miss B. "Comfortable ! Yes, in the way that hogs are." 
 
 Belcher. " Hogs are very comfortable. I believe, in a 
 general way." 
 
 Miss B. (Tears springing to her eyes.) "Bob Belcher, 
 you're a brute. You know you are a brute. He is in a lit- 
 tle cell no-larger-than-a-pig-pen, and no furniture, and no 
 bed. He sleeps on the straw, in the straw, and under the 
 straw, and his victuals are poked at him as though he were 
 a beast. His clothes are in rags, and he mutters about his 
 rifle and other inventions. His little boy is kept in the 
 house, and is treated like a dog, and he knows his father's 
 condition, and goes and looks at him, and the little innocent 
 fellow calls to him, and cries about him whenever he dares, 
 and you sit here, in your great house, with your fine furni- 
 ture and nice clothes, and do n't start to your feet when I 
 tell you this. I tell you, God will damn everybody who is 
 responsible for this, or there is no God." 
 
 Belcher. "Don't you think I am a good-natured man 
 to sit here quietly and hear myself abused ? " 
 
 Miss B. "Well, what are you going to do about it ? 
 No, you're a 6ac?-natured man — a hard-hearted wretch. 
 What in God's name has Paul Benedict done that he should 
 be treated in this way ? I wish you could spend one night 
 in his quarters." 
 
 Belcher. "Thank you. I prefer my present room." 
 
 Miss B. "Yes, you look around on your present quarters, 
 as you call 'em, and think you'll always have 'em. But you 
 won't, mark my words, you won't. Sometime you'll over- 
 reach yourself and cheat yourself out of 'em. See if you don't. " 
 
 Belcher. "It takes a smart man to cheat himself, Miss 
 Butterworth." (Rubbing his hands.) 
 
 Miss B. " There's just where you are mistaken. It takes 
 a fool." 
 
10 A DRAMA 
 
 Belcher. (Laughing, and then in a patronizing way.) 
 " Miss Butterworth, I've given you considerable time, and 
 perhaps you'll be kind enough to state your business. I'm a 
 practical man, and I really do n't see anything that particu- 
 larly concerns me in all this talk. Of course I am sorry for 
 Benedict, and all the rest of 'em, but Seven Oaks isn't a 
 very rich town, and it cannot afford to board its paupers at 
 a hotel, or to give them many luxuries." 
 
 Miss B. (After a few moment's meditation.) "Mr. Bel- 
 cher, I'm a woman." 
 
 Belcher. "I know it, Keziah." 
 
 Miss B. "And my name is Butterworth." 
 
 Belcher. "I know it." 
 
 Miss B. "You do? well, then, here's what I came to 
 say to you : The town-meeting comes to-morrow, and the 
 town's poor are to be sold at auction, and to pass into Tom 
 Buffum's hands again unless you prevent it. I can't make 
 a speech, and I can't vote. I never wanted to until now. 
 You can do both, and if you do n't reform this business, and 
 set Tom Buffum at doing something else, and treat God's 
 poor more like human beings, I shall get out of Seven Oaks 
 before it sinks ; for sink it will if there is any hole big enough 
 to hold it." 
 
 Belcher. (Deliberately.) " Well, I'll think of it." 
 
 Miss B. "Tell me you'll do it." 
 
 Belcher. "I'm not used to doing things in a hurry. 
 Mr. Buffum is a friend of mine, and I've always regarded 
 him as a very good man for the place. Of course, if there 
 is anything wrong, it ought to be righted. But I think 
 you've exaggerated." 
 
 Miss B. "No. You don't mean to do anything. I see 
 it. Good-night." (Exit. 2 L. E.J 
 
 Scene II. Rev. Solomon Snoiv's parlor. Mr. Snoiv reading. 
 
 Mrs. Snow and three daughters engaged with needle-work. 
 Enter Miss Butterworth. 3 L. E. 
 
 MissB. (Aside.) " Here is Rev. Mr. Snow. Who knows 
 but he can be spurred up to do something. (Takes a chair 
 and addresses Mr. Snow.) I believe that a crisis is ap- 
 proaching. In imitation of the language of the great Jef- 
 ferson, I say that I tremble for Seven Oaks when I reflect 
 that God is just. If the inhabitants of Sodom could not 
 escape, where will Bob Belcher and Tom Buffum appear? 
 And the events of to-morrow will develop whether or not 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 1 I 
 
 there is a predominance of humanity in this town. Paul 
 Benedict is at the poor-house in a pen but little larger than 
 a dog kennel, with nothing but filthy straw on which to 
 sleep, and his food, in quantity and quality, in perfect keep- 
 ing with his other conditions. I am at a loss to know why 
 certain things are suffered to exist. The ways of Providence 
 are past finding out. Why such men as Robert Belcher are 
 permitted to live, is a mystery. Mr. Snow, I appeal to you 
 in behalf of suffering humanity." 
 
 Rev. Snow. (Making a bridge in front of him, with his 
 hands.) "Cases of this kind are to be treated with great 
 prudence. "We are obliged to take things as they air. Per- 
 sonally (with rising inflection) I should rejoice to see the 
 insane poor, clothed, and in their right mind." 
 
 Miss B. (Impatiently.) "Let us clothe 'em, then, anyway. 
 And as for their being restored to their right minds, were 
 that possible, they would be far superior to those who have 
 them in charge." 
 
 Rev. Snow. "Personally, Miss Butterworth, excuse me 
 — I should rejoice to see them clothed and in their right 
 minds, but the age of miracles is past. We have to deal 
 with facts of to-day, — with things as they air, — and there are 
 certain prudential considerations which are to be taken into 
 account. It will never do, in a town like ours, to make 
 pauperism attractive — to make our pauper establishments 
 comfortable asylums for idleness. It must, in some way, be 
 made to seem a hardship to go to the poor-house." 
 
 Miss B. (Bitterly.) "Well, Seven Oaks has taken care 
 of that, with a vengeance." 
 
 Mr. Snow. "Excuse me, Miss Butterworth, let me re- 
 peat, that it must be made to seem a hardship to go to the 
 poor-house. Let us suppose, then, that we have accom- 
 plished this very desirable result So far, so good. But 
 here we come in contact with another class of facts ; pau- 
 pers are more healthy than any other class of persons in 
 the community. Their treatment, though coarse and shabby, 
 renders them longer-lived than those who are indulged in 
 luxuries. " 
 
 "Miss B. (Spitefully.) "Suppose we inquire of our 
 paupers, and find out whether they would not rather be 
 treated better and die earlier." 
 
 Mr Snow. "Paupers are hardly in a position to be 
 consulted in that way, and the alternative is one which, 
 considering their moral condition, they would have no right 
 to entertain." 
 
12 A DRAMA 
 
 Miss B. "All you say is well enough, I suppose, but I 
 do n't stop to reason about it, and I do n't want to. Here is 
 si lot of human beings that are treated like brutes — sold 
 every year to the lowest bidder, to be kept. They go hun- 
 gry and naked and cold. They are in the hands of a man 
 that has no more blood in his heart than there is in a turnip, 
 and we pretend to be Christians, and go to church, and cod- 
 dle ourselves with comforts, and pay no more attention to 
 them than we should if their souls had gone where their 
 money went. I tell you it's a sin and a shame. I feel it. 
 And there is a gentleman among 'em, and his little boy, and 
 they must be taken out of that place, or treated better in it. 
 I've made up my mind to that, and if the men of Seven Oaks 
 do n't straighten matters on that horrible hill, then they're 
 just no men at all." 
 
 Rev. Snow. (Smiling Calmly.) ''Oh! I know women; 
 they rt amiable, impulsive, but impracticable." 
 
 Miss B. (Sharply.) "Have you ever been there." 
 
 Rev. Snow, "Yes, I've been there." 
 
 Mrs. Snow. (Breaking in suddenly.) ''And conscience 
 forbid that he should go there again, and bring home what 
 he brought home that time. It took me a long time to get 
 them out of the house." 
 
 Rev. Snow. "Mrs. Snow, my dear! You forget that 
 we have a stranger present." 
 
 Mrs. Snow. "Well, I don't forget those strangers, any- 
 way. (The Misses Snoiv looked at one another and tittered, 
 bid were promptly solemnized by their father.) I think Miss 
 Butterworth is right. It's a burning shame, and you ought 
 to go to the meeting to-morrow and put it down." 
 
 Rev. Snow. "Easily said, my dear ; but you forget that 
 Mr. Belcher is Buffum's friend, and that it is impossible to 
 carry any measure against him in Seven Oaks. I grant that 
 it ought not to be so. I wish it were otherwise, but we 
 must take things as they air" 
 
 Mrs. Snow. (Spitefully.) "I wish Robert Belcher was 
 hanged." 
 
 Miss B. " Amen ! and my name is Butterworth." 
 
 Mrs. Snow. (Emphatically.) "And drawn and quar- 
 tered." 
 
 Miss B. (Also emphatically.) "Amen, again." 
 
 Rev. Snow. "Mrs. Snow! my dear! You forget that 
 you are a Christian pastor's wife, and that there is a stranger 
 present." 
 
 Mrs. Snow. "No, that is just what I don't forget, I see 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 13 
 
 a Christian pastor afraid of a man of the world who cares 
 no more about Christianity than he does about a pair of old 
 shoes, and who patronizes it for the sake of shutting its 
 mouth against him. It makes me angry, and makes me 
 wish I were a man ; and you ought to go to that meeting 
 to-morrow as a Christian pastor, and put down this shame 
 and wickedness. You have influence if you will use it." 
 
 Rev. Snow. "You women are so hasty, so hasty. I had 
 not said I would not go. Indeed, I had pretty much made 
 up my mind to do so. It may be that something can be 
 done, and it will be a satisfaction to me if I can work a re- 
 form." 
 
 Miss B. (Eagerly.) "And you will go to the meeting? 
 and you will speak 1 " 
 
 Rev. Snow. (Looking straight into Miss Buttemcorttis 
 eyes a,nd smiling. ) ' ' Yes. " 
 
 Miss B. "The Lord add his blessing, and to his name be 
 all praise ! Good night." (Rising and making for the door.) 
 
 Mrs. Snow. (Springing up and catching Miss Buttenvorth 
 by the arm.) "Dear, don't you think you ought to put on 
 something more? It's very chilly to-night." 
 
 Miss B. "Not a rag. I'm hot. I believe I should roast 
 if I had on a feather more." 
 
 Mrs. Snow. "Wouldn't you like Mr. Snow to go with 
 you? He can go just as well as not." 
 
 Miss B. "No, no, no, NO. I can get along better with- 
 out him, and I don't mean to give him a chance to take back 
 what he has said. (Aside.) Oh ! what a broken reed he 
 is ! But I hope Mrs. Snow will be something to him, — or 
 starch him, or something, — to make him stand straight for 
 once." (Exit 3 L. E.) 
 
 -A.CT II. 
 
 Scene I. Same as Scene I. in Act I. Belcher again address- 
 ing his image in the mirror. 
 
 Belcher. "Are you Robert Belcher, Esq., of Seven 
 Oaks ? Are you the person who has been insulted by a 
 woman ? Look at me, sir ! Turn not away ! Have you 
 any constitutional objections to telling me how you feel ? 
 Are you, sir, the proprietor of this house ? Are you the 
 owner of yonder mill ? Are you the distinguished person 
 
14 A DRAMA 
 
 who carries Seven Oaks in his pocket ? How are the mighty 
 fallen ! And you, sir, who have been insulted by a tailoress, 
 can stand here and look me in the face, and still pretend to 
 be a man. You are a scoundrel, sir, — a low, mean-spirited 
 scoundrel, sir. You are nicely dressed, but you are a pup- 
 py. Dare to tell me you are not, and I will grind you un- 
 der my foot as I would grind a worm. Don't give me a 
 word — not a word ! I am not in a condition to bear it ! 
 (Having vented his indignation he soon became calm, and 
 proceeded.) Benedict at the poor-house, hopelessly in- 
 sane ! Tell me now, and, mark you, no lies here ! Who 
 developed his inventions ? Whose money was risked ? 
 What did it cost Benedict ? — Nothing. What did it cost 
 Robert Belcher? — More thousands than Benedict ever 
 dreamed of. Have you done your duty, Robert Belcher ? 
 — Ay, ay, sir. I believe you. Did you turn his head ? — 
 No, sir. I believe you ; it is well. I have sjDent money 
 for him — first and last, a great deal of money for him, and 
 any man or woman who disputes me, is a liar — a base, ma- 
 lignant liar. Who is still master of the situation ? Whose 
 name is Norval ? Whose are these Grampian Hills ? Who 
 intends to go to the town-meeting to-morrow, and have 
 things fixed about as he wants them ? Who will make Ke- 
 ziah Butterworth weep and howl with anguish ? Let Rob- 
 ert Belcher alone ! Alone ! Far in azure depths of space 
 (Here he extended both arms heavenward, and regarded his 
 image admiringly.) far, far away ! Well, you're a pretty 
 good looking man after all, and I'll let you off this time ; 
 but don't let me catch you playing baby to another woman ! 
 I think you'll be able to take care of yourself. (Nodding 
 slowly.) By by. Good night. (Retires slowly, takes a chair 
 and resumes his cigar. He picks up a paper and reads a war- 
 rant for a public meeting, thus : ' A public meeting will be 
 held at the Town Ball to-morrow, to see if the town will take 
 steps for the improvement of the condition of the poor, now sup- 
 ported at the public charge.' Soliloquizes.) Miss Butterworth 
 is at the bottom of this movement, and something must be 
 done to forestall the tendency towards Robert Belcher's un- 
 popularity in respect to personal power. (Rises from his 
 chair, walks the room, swings his hands backward and forward, 
 casting furtive glances into his mirror, and then rings the bell. 
 A servant enters 2 L. E.) Tell Phipps to come here. (Exit 
 servant 1 L. E. Enter Phipps 1 L. E.) Well, Phipps, 
 what are you here for ? " 
 
 Phtpps. "I was told you wanted me, sir." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 15 
 
 Belcher. "Well, bring the grays and the light wagon 
 to the door to-morrow morning at seven o'clock." 
 
 Phipps. " Yes, sir." 
 
 Belcher. "And Phipps, gather up all the old clothes 
 about the house that you can find, that you can't use your- 
 self, tie them up in a bundle and put them into the back of 
 the wagon. If Mrs. Belcher asks you any questions, tell 
 her I think of turning Sister of Charity. (Phipps snickers.) 
 And Phipps, make a basket of cold meat and goodies, and 
 put in with the clothes." 
 
 Phipps. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Belcher. "And Phipps, remember, seven o'clock sharp, 
 and no soldiering." 
 
 Phipps. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Belcher. " And Phipps, here is a cigar that cost twenty- 
 five cents. Do it up in a paper and keep it to remember me 
 by. (Phipps giggles in a silly manner.) Now make yourself 
 scarce." (Phipps Exits 1 R. E.) 
 
 Scene II. Tom Buffum s Parlor. Buffum alone. A knock 
 at the door. " Come in" by Buffum. Enter Robert Bel- 
 cher 2 R. E. with bundle of clothing and basket of provisions. 
 
 Belcher. " Good morning, Mr. Buffum. Hope you are 
 well." 
 
 Buffum. (With his wheezing voice.) " Good morning, sir. 
 I'm not sound, but able to breathe. (Wheezing hard.) Any 
 news down town this morning ? " 
 
 Belcher. "Well, Yes. There is a matter on the tapis 
 that interests you and me materially. There is to be a meet- 
 ing at the Town Hall to-day to dispose of the poor for the 
 next year. Keziah Butterworth has been stirring up the 
 public feeling, and an effort will be made at the meeting to 
 make revolution in the management. It is for your inter- 
 est and mine that this plan be frustrated. In all matters of 
 warfare stratagem is a powerful expedient, and the most ef- 
 fective measure I could conjure up was to convey to the 
 minds of the public the impression that I am very much in 
 favor of an amelioration of the condition of our paupers, 
 and to this end I have brought some clothing and provis- 
 ions to be distributed among them, which fact, if published, 
 will tend to our success. We will now pass over to the 
 poor-house." 
 
16 A DRAMA 
 
 Scene III. The poor-house. Eater Belcher and Buffum. 
 Belcher tosses provisions to the paupers, who devour them 
 eagerly. 
 
 Belcher. {Terribly affected at what he sees and smells.) 
 "Buffum, for God's sake let's get out of this." 
 
 . "Ay, ay ! let's get out of this." (Comes trem- 
 blingly from behind the bars. Belcher hastens to escape from 
 the obnoxious scene, but does not in time to evade a recognition 
 by one of the inmates. ) 
 
 — . " Robert Belcher. Oh ! for God's sake, Robert 
 
 Belcher ! " (Greeted his ears in a tone of wild distress, a whine, 
 a howl, an objurgation, all combined.) 
 
 J± O T III. 
 
 Scene I. The Town Hall. Citizens lounging listlessly about. 
 Robert Belcher enters, and is at once surrounded by syco- 
 phants, anxious for his opinions. 
 
 Belcher. " Have it just as you want it. (Shaking his 
 head ostentatiously, and motioning them away.) Don't mind 
 anything about me. I'm nothing but a passenger." (This 
 was said aloud and with a laugh. Peter Vernol was then 
 elected Moderator, and ascended the platform.) 
 
 P. Vernol. "What is the further pleasure of the meet- 
 mg. 
 
 Belcher. (In a flight of oratory.) " I wish to say a few 
 words preliminary to the transaction of the business for 
 which this meeting was called. I wish to speak of our en- 
 terprising town of Seven Oaks. Certain improvements tend 
 greatly to success, among which is to be considered the con- 
 dition of the Public Schools. We cannot spend too much 
 money for them. I am indebted to them for all I am. The 
 glory of America, and its pre-eminence over other nations, 
 is to be found in popular education. Let us, then, encour- 
 age its advancement by employing competent teachers, pay- 
 ing them liberal wages, and see to it that good school-houses 
 are provided. Now, the object of this meeting is to take 
 steps for the improvement of the condition of the poor, now 
 supported at the public charge. Here is one first step. Let 
 us endow our children with such a degree of intelligence 
 that pauperism shall be impossible. In this thing I go hand 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 17 
 
 in hand with the clergy ; and now, whatever may be done 
 to the advancement of popular education, though increased 
 taxation will hear more heavily on me than any other, I 
 pledge myself to support and stand by it. (Great applause.) 
 The object of this meeting is, to let to the lowest bidder the 
 keeping of our paupers during the next year." 
 P. Vernol. "Remarks are now in order." 
 Rev. Snow. (Looking around, discovers Miss Butterworth 
 sitting near the door.) "We are instructed in holy writ, 
 that to do unto others as we would that others should do 
 unto us, is a divine principle. This maxim should be ad- 
 hered to in all our acts. It is a true saying, that he who 
 cannot reason is a fool, he who will not reason is a bigot, 
 and he who dare not reason is a slave ; but he who can, ivill, 
 and dare reason, is a man. The question now arises, Will 
 we be men? Humanity and Christianity cry aloud against 
 the bad treatment reported to be received by the paupers in 
 the Seven Oaks almshouse, especially the insane ones, and 
 I consider it the positive duty of our enlightened citizens to 
 spend more money for the amelioration of their condition ; 
 and we should by all means institute a searching and com- 
 petent inspection of our pauper establishment." (All eyes 
 were turned on Mr. Belcher.) 
 
 Belcher. " I do not forget that we have present here, 
 to-day, an old and well-tried public servant. I see before 
 me Mr. Thomas Buffum, who, for years, has had in charge 
 the poor, not only of this town, but of this county. I do 
 not forget that his task has been one of great delicacy, with 
 the problem constantly before him how to maintain in com- 
 fort our most unfortunate class of population, and at the 
 same time to reduce to its minimum the burden of our tax- 
 payers. That he has solved this problem, and served the 
 public well, I firmly believe. He has been for many years 
 my trusted, personal friend, and I cannot sit here and hear 
 his administration questioned, and his integrity doubted, 
 without entering my protest. (Cheers, during which Mr. 
 Buff um grows red in the face.) He has had a task to perform 
 before which the bravest of us would shrink. We, who sit 
 in our peaceful homes, know little of the hardships to which 
 this faithful public servant has been subjected. Pauperism 
 is ungrateful ; pauperism is naturally filthy ; pauperism is 
 noisy. It consists of humanity in its most repulsive forms, 
 and if we have among us a man who can — who can, I say — 
 stand it, let us stand by him. (Tremendous cheers.) An 
 open hand and free competition is a consistent principle. 
 
18 A DRAMA 
 
 This has been a policy in a business of whose propriety you 
 are the best judges. I say an open hand and free competi- 
 tion in everything. How shall we dispose of our poor ? 
 Shall they be disposed of by private arrangement — sold out 
 to favorites, of whose responsibility we know nothing? 
 {Cries of No, no, no.) If anybody, who is responsible, can 
 do the work cheaper and better than Mr. Buffum, let him 
 enter at once upon the task. But let the competion be free, 
 nothing covered up. Let us have clean hands in this busi- 
 ness, if nowhere else. If we cannot have impartial dealing 
 where the interests of human beings are concerned, we are 
 unworthy of the trusts we have assumed. I give the Rev. 
 Mr. Snow cre'dit for motives that are unimpeachable — unim- 
 peachable, sir. I do not think him capable of intentional 
 wrong, and I wish to ask him here, and now, whether, 
 within a recent period, he has visited the pauper establish- 
 ment at Seven Oaks ? " 
 
 Rev. Snow. " It is a long time since I have entered Mr. 
 Buff urn's establishment." 
 
 Belcher. "I thought so. He has listened to the voice 
 of rumor. Very well. I have to say, I have been there re- 
 cently, and have walked through the establishment. I 
 should do injustice to myself if I failed to hint to the rev- 
 erened gentleman, and all those who sympathize with him, 
 if I should fail to mention that I did not go empty-handed. 
 (Loud cheers.) It is easy for those who neglect their own 
 duties, to suspect that others do the same. I know our 
 paupers are not supported in luxury. We cannot afford it ; 
 but I wash my hands of all responsibility for inhumanity 
 and inattention to reasonable wants. The reverend gentle- 
 man himself knows, I think, whether any man ever came to 
 me for assistance in behalf of any humane or religious ob- 
 ject, and went away without aid. I cannot consent to be 
 placed in a position that reflects upon my benevolence, and 
 least of all, by the reverend gentleman who has reflected 
 upon that administration of public charity, which has had, 
 and still retains, my approval. I therefore move, that the 
 usual sum be appropriated for the support of the poor of 
 Seven Oaks, and that, at the close of the meeting, the care 
 of the poor for the ensuing year be disposed of at public 
 auction to the lowest bidder." 
 
 Dr: Radcliffe. (In a screaming voice.) "Mr Moderator, 
 as I am the medical attendant and inspector of our pauper 
 .establishment, it becomes proper for me, in seconding the 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 19 
 
 motion of Mr. Belcher, as I heartily do, to say a few words, 
 and submit my report for the past year." 
 
 Belcher. "I move that, as the hour is late, the reading 
 of the report be dispensed with." 
 
 P. Vernol. "All in favor of dispensing with the read- 
 ing of the report say ' aye.' (Carried Nem. Con.) 
 
 Dr.Radcliffe. (Determined not to be put down.) "I 
 may at least say that I have made some discoveries during 
 the past year that ought to be in possession of the scientific 
 world It takes less food to support a pauper than it does 
 any other man, and I believe the reason is that he has n't 
 any mind. If I take two potatoes, one goes to the elabora- 
 tion of mental processes, the other to the support of the phys- 
 ical economy. The pauper has only a physical economy, 
 and needs but one potato. Anernia is the normal condition 
 of the pauper. He breathes comfortably an atmosphere 
 which would give a healthy man asphyxia. Hearty food 
 produces inflammatory diseases in a general condition of 
 hypertrophy. The character of the diseases at the poor- 
 house, during the past year has been typhoid. I have sug- 
 gested to Mr. Buffum better ventilation, a change from fari- 
 naceous to nitrogenous food as conducive to a better condi- 
 tion of the mucous surfaces and a more perfect oxidation 
 of the vital fluids. Mr. Buffum " 
 
 "Oh, git out ! " (From a voice at the rear.) 
 
 " Question ! Question ! " (Call a dozen voices.) 
 
 P. Vernol. (Catching a ivink and nod from Mr. Belcher.) 
 "All in favor of appropriating the usual sum, and disposing 
 of the care of the poor for the ensuing year to the lowest 
 bidder, say ' aye. ' ' (Carried amid the protests of Dr. Radclijfe. ) 
 
 (At this time, Miss Butterworth, for the first time, noticed a 
 stranger, from his appearance a backwoodsman, sitting by her 
 side. He had evidently been attracted to the meeting to witness 
 the proceedings. He turned to her with a smile so broad and 
 full that it brought an answer to her own face as he said:) 
 "This 'ere breathin' is worse nor an old swamp. I'm 
 goin'. and good-by to ye ! " 
 
 Scene II. Platform in front of Town Hall. The woodman, 
 discovered with several boys who had been attracted to his 
 side by his good-natured and smiling face. Enter Phipps, 
 Belcher s driver, 3 R. E. cracking and displaying his whip 
 pompously. 
 
 Phipps. (Addressing the boys.) "Gentlemen, this is the 
 
20 A DRAMA 
 
 hippotamus, fresh from his native woods. He sleeps under- 
 neath the banyan tree, and lives on the nuts of the hick-o- 
 ree, and pursues his game with his ears laid over his back 
 and one eye open, and has been known, when excited by 
 hunger, to eat small boys, spitting out their boots with great 
 violence. Keep out of his way, gentlemen, and observe his 
 wickedness at a distance." (Phipps was loudly cheered by the 
 boys. The ivoodman was also amused, and turning to Phipps 
 he said:) 
 
 " Well, you 're a new sort of a monkey, any way. I never 
 hearn one talk afore." 
 
 Phipps. " You never will again, if you give me any more 
 of your lip." (The woodman walked quickly toward Phipps 
 in a menacing attitude, and the sawney made a hasty exit 3 
 P. E. , and the boys shouted at him in derision, and when they 
 found he tvas not coming back, they gathered around the ivood- 
 man, asking questions, which he answered good-naturedly . He 
 seemed to be pleased with their society, as if he was only a big boy 
 himself. At this time Miss Butterworth entered 1 L. E. with 
 tears in her eyes, and in distress. He approached her without 
 the slightest awkwardness. Exit. Boys 3 L. E.) 
 
 Woodman. "Has anybody teched ye, mum ?" 
 
 Miss B. "Oh, no, sir." 
 
 Woodman. "Has anybody spoke ha'sh to ye ? " 
 
 Miss B. "Oh, no, sir." (Taking his sympathy good-na- 
 turedly. ) 
 
 Woodman. "Because, I'm spilin' to do something for 
 somebody, and I would n't mind thrashin' anybody ye'd 
 p'int out." 
 
 Miss B. "No, you can do nothing for me. Nobody can 
 do anything in this town for anybody until Robert Belcher 
 is dead." 
 
 Woodman. "Well, I shouldn't like to kill 'im unless it 
 was an accident in the woods — a great ways off — for a tur- 
 key or a hedgehog — and the gun half cocked. (Miss But- 
 terworth smiled through her tears, but felt uneasy at being ob- 
 served in conversation ivith a stranger, and the woodman con- 
 tinued talking, thinking that a mention of his name would make 
 him an acquaintance.) I'm Jim Fenton. I trap for a livin' 
 up in the woods, at Number Nine, and have just brung in 
 my skins." 
 
 Miss B. "My name is Butterworth." 
 
 Jim. "I know'd it. I axed the boys. Good-by. Here's 
 the store, and I must shoulder my sack and be off. I do n't 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 21 
 
 see women much, but I'm fond of 'em, and they're pretty apt 
 to like me." 
 
 Miss B. " Good-by. I think you are the best man I have 
 seen to-day (hesitates), and that is n't saying much." (They 
 part, and Jim stands still, looking at her till she disap>pears.) 
 
 Jim. " That's what I call a genuine creetur, a genuine 
 creetur." (Exit 1 L. E.) 
 
 Scene III. The highway. A small boy sitting by the road- 
 side. He is thinly dressed, and shivers with the cold. Enter 
 Jim Fenton, 2 L. E. 
 
 Jim. (Tenderly.) " Well, bub, how fare ye ? " 
 Boy. "I'm pretty well, I thank you, sir." 
 Jim. "I guess not. You're as blue as a whetstone. You 
 haven't got as much on you as a picked goose." 
 
 Boy. " I can't help it, sir. " (And burst into tears.) 
 Jim. "Well, well, I didn't mean to grieve you, boy. 
 Here, take this money, and buy somethin' to make you 
 happy. Don't tell your dad you've got it. It's your'n." 
 Boy. (Reluctantly.) "I don't wish to take it, sir." 
 Jim. "Now, that's good ! Do n't wish to take it! Why ? 
 What's your name ? You're a new sort of a boy." 
 Boy. "My name is Harry Benedict." 
 Jim. (Surprised.) "Harrv Benedict ? And what's vour 
 pa's name ? " 
 
 Harry. " His name is Paul Benedict." 
 Jim. "Where is he now ? " 
 Harry. '• He is in the poor-house." 
 Jim. "And you, too ?" 
 Harry. * ' Yes, sir. " ( Weeping violently. ) 
 Jim. "Well, well, well, well ! If that ain't the strangest 
 thing I ever hear'n on ! Paul Benedict, of Seven Oaks, in 
 Tom Buffum's boarding-house ! " 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir, and he's very crazy, too." 
 Jim. (Lays his pack and rifle down together, sits down on a 
 stone, and calls the boy to him and folds him to his warm breast. ) 
 1 ' Harry, my boy, your pa and me was old friends. We have 
 hunted together, fished together, sat together, and slept to- 
 gether many's the day and night. He was the best shot 
 that ever came into the woods. I've seed him hit a deer at 
 a hundred rods many's the time, and he used to bring up 
 the nicest tackle for fishin', every bit of it made with his 
 own hands. He was the curisist creetur I ever seed in my 
 
22 A DRAMA 
 
 life, and the best, and I'd do more fur 'im nor fur any livin' 
 live man. Oh, I tell ye, we used to have high old times. 
 It was wuth livin' a year in the woods jest to have him with 
 me fur a fortni't. I never charged 'im a red cent fur nothin', 
 and I've got some of his old tackle now that he give me. 
 Him an' me wuz like brothers, and he used to talk about re- 
 ligion, and tell me I ought to shift over ; but I never could 
 see 'zactly what I ought to shift over from, or shift over to, 
 but I let 'im talk 'cause he liked to. He used to go out be- 
 hind the trees nights, and I hear'n 'im sayin' somethin' — 
 somethin' very low, as I am talkin to ye now. Well, he wuz 
 prayin,' that's the fact about it, I s'pose ; and ye know, I 
 felt just as safe when that man was 'round ! I don't b'lieve 
 I could 'a been drowned when he was in the woods any 
 more'n if I'd been a mink. (After a pause.) An' Paul Ben- 
 edict is in the poor-house ! I vow, I don't 'zactly see why 
 the Lord let that man go up the spout. But perhaps it'll 
 all come out right. Where's your ma 1 " 
 
 Harry. (With a great, shuddering gasp.) "My ma is 
 dead." (Weeping again.) 
 
 Jim. "Oh, now don't, now don't! (Tenderly pressing 
 the distressed lad to his heart.) Don't ye do it ; it don't do 
 no good. It jest takes the spunk all out o' ye. Ma's have 
 to die like other folks, or go to the poor-house. You 
 wouldn't like to have yer ma in the poor-house. She's all 
 right. God Almighty's bound to take care o' her. Now ye 
 jest stop that sort o' thins;. She's better off with him nor 
 she would be with old Tom Buffum — any amount better off. 
 Doesn't Tom Buffum treat yer pa well ? " 
 
 •Harry. "Oh, no, sir. He doesn't give him enough to 
 eat, and he does n't let him have things in his room, because 
 he says he'll hurt himself, or break them all to pieces, and 
 he does n't give him good clothes, nor anything to cover 
 himself up with when it is cold." 
 
 Jim. (His great form shaking with indignation.) "Well, 
 boy, do you want to know what I think of Tom Buffum ? " 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Jim. "It won't do fur me to tell ye, 'cause I'm rough ; 
 but if there's anything awful bad — oh, bad as anything can 
 be — in skeezacks, I should say that Tom Buffum was an 
 old skeezacks. (Jim is feeling his way with the boy.) I should 
 say that he was an infernal old skeezacks. That isn't very 
 bad, is it ? " 
 
 Harry. "I don't know, sir." 
 
 Jim. " Well, a d— d rascal How's that ? " 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 23 
 
 HAERy. (Astonished.) "My father never used such 
 words." 
 
 Jim. "That's right, and I take it back. I ought not to 
 have said it ; but unless a feller has got some sort o' religion, 
 he has a mighty hard time namin' people in this world. 
 (Hears a peculiar noise, like a cry of distress. ) What's that ? " 
 
 Harry. "That's one of the crazy people. They do it 
 all the time." 
 
 Jim. (Reflecting on what he had heard at the town-meeting, 
 and recalling the distress of Miss Butterworth.) "Look 'ere, 
 boy. Can ye keep right here (tapping him on the breast) 
 whatsomever I tell ye ? Can ye keep yer tongue still '? — 
 hope ye'll die if ye don't ? " 
 
 Harry. (Inspired with hope by Jim's manner.) "I'll 
 never say anything if they kill me." 
 
 Jim. "Well, I'll tell ye what I'm goin' to do. I'm goin' 
 to stay to the poor-house to-night, if they'll keep me, an' I 
 guess they will, an' I'm goin' to see yer pa, too, and some- 
 how, you an' he must be got out o' this place. (The boy 
 throws his arms around Jim's neck, and hugs and kisses him 
 passionately again and again, apparently powerless to give any 
 other expression to his emotions. Jim, filled ivith emotion, pro- 
 ceeds.) Oh, God! don't, boy! That's a sort o' thing I 
 can't stand ; I ain't used to it. (Pausing as if to realize how 
 sweet it tvas to hold the trusting child in his arms, and to be 
 thus caressed.) Ye must be mighty keerful, and do just as I 
 bid ye. If I stay to the poor-house to-night, I shall want to 
 see ye in the mornin', and I shall want to see ye alone. Now, 
 ye know there's a big stump by the side of the road, half 
 way up to the old school-house." 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Jim. "Well, I want ye to be there ahead o' me, an' then 
 I'll tell ye jest what I'm goin' to do, an' jest what I want to 
 have ye do." 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Jim. "Now, mind, ye mustn't know me when I'm about 
 the poor-house, an' you must n't say a word of this to any- 
 body. Do n't ye begin to feel better now ? " 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Jim. "Ye can kiss me now, if ye want to. I didn't want 
 to choke ye off. That was all in fun, ye know. (Harry 
 kisses him. ) An' now make tracks fur yer old boardin' -house. 
 (Harry starts off on a run, and Jim watches him, until he dis- 
 appears.) Well, Jim Fenton, you've been spilin' for some- 
 thin' to do, and now ye've got it." (Exit 2 L. E.) 
 
24 A DRAMA 
 
 Scene IV. Tom Buffum's parlor. A rap at the door. 
 Buffum goes to the door. Enttr Jim Fenton 2 L. E. 
 
 Jim. "Well, Mr. Buffum, how fare ye? (Shakes hands 
 ivith Buffum, who attempts to respond, but ends in a wheeze.) 
 Have ye got room fur 'nother boarder to-night '{ Faith ! I 
 never expected to come to the poor-house, but here I am. 
 I'll take entertainment for man or beast. Somebody's got 
 to keep me to-night, and ye're the man to bid low." (Buffum 
 picks his teeth furiously .) 
 
 Buffum. (In a wheezy ivhisper.) "You go in and see 
 the women." 
 
 Scene V. Mrs. Buffum's sitting-room, occupied by herself and 
 daughters. Enter Jim and Buffum 1 L. E. 
 
 Jim. "Well, Mrs. Buffum, how do ye prosper, and the 
 girls I I'm on my way to Number Nine, and as distance 
 lends enchantment to the view, I thought I would reflect 
 on twenty miles, and hang out over night in these parts 
 somewhere, and Mr. Buffum recommended me to you." 
 
 Mrs. uffum. "If you can take up with what we've 
 got." 
 
 Jim. "In course, an' I can take up with what ye have n't 
 got." 
 
 Mrs. Buffum. "Our accommodations is very crowded." 
 
 Jim. " So is mine to hum. I allers sleep hangin' on a 
 garnbrel 'tween two slabs. (The women laugh, during which 
 Jim lifts off his pack, places his rifle in the corner of the room, 
 and sits down. Do ye have many callers, here, Mrs. Buffum." 
 
 Mrs. Buffum. "Yes, visitors to the poor-house, but not 
 for us. Dr. Radcliffe, the medical attendant, comes in some- 
 times, but attractions here do not seem to come up to the 
 standard of alluring society." 
 
 Jim. "Well, I declare society then is a cur'ous critter. 
 If purty faces and nice forms don't draw, what does. I 
 could live and die here if it took a hundred year. It's awful 
 what taste some folks hev got. (He hears some noise among 
 the paupers.) This hollerin' ye got here reminds me of Num- 
 ber Nine There's some pretty tall hollerin' there nights. 
 Do ye see how my ha'r sticks up ? I can't keep it down. 
 It riz one night just about where you see it now, and it's 
 been thai* ever since. I've tried taller an' everything, an' 
 it do n't do no good. I 'spose Mr. Buffum, snorin' as he 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 25 
 
 does now, settin' on it for a fortni't wouldn't do no good." 
 (A slight rumble in Buffum' s throat.) 
 
 iss Buffum. (Very much interested.) "Why, what 
 made it rise so ? " 
 
 Jim. " Now, ain't yer purty eyes wide open !" 
 
 Miss B. (Blushing.) "You're just fooling, you know 
 you are." 
 
 Jim. "I ain't foolin' nuther, and when ye hear all about 
 it ye'll give in." 
 
 Miss B. "Now, Jim Fenton, you shall go along and tell 
 your story, and not keep us on tenter-hooks all night. " 
 
 Jim. "I don't want to scare the dear little heart out o' 
 ye ; but if ye will hear it, I suppose I must tell ye. Ye see, 
 I'm alone purty much all the time up thar. I don't hev no 
 sich good times as I'm havin' here to-night, with purty gals 
 'round me. Well, one night I hearn a loon, or I thought I 
 did, an' then I thought it was a painter ; but it did n't sound 
 'zactly like a painter, nuther. Well, I could n't sleep, so I 
 thought I'd git up. So I went to my cabin door an' flung 
 it open. Jest then I hearn the infarnal critter nigher, and I 
 begun to hear the brush crack. I know'd then that I'd got 
 to meet some new kind of a critter, an' went an' got my 
 rifle. The thing wuz a man, or sumthin' that looked like 
 one. It stopped about three rods off. He had long, white 
 hair, an' sumthin' in his hand that shined like. I drew up 
 my rifle, an' sez I, Whosomever ye be, stop, or I'll plug ye. 
 What do ye 'spose he did ? He jest took that shinin' thing 
 an' swung it 'round his head. Then he put suthin' to his 
 mouth, an' jest blowed till the woods rung an' rung again. 
 An' then sez I to myself, Jim Fenton, ye're a goner. But 
 he didn't know that I wuz skeered, an' I sez to him, That's 
 a good deal of a toot ! Who be ye callin' to dinner I An' 
 sez he, 'It's the last day — I'm the angel Gabr'el.' Well, sez 
 I, if ye're the angel Gabr'el, cold lead won't hurt ye, so 
 mind yer eyes ! At that I drew a bead on 'im, an' do ye 
 b'lieve it, I knocked that tin horn into flinders, an' he went 
 off into the woods like a streak o' lightnin'. An' my ha'r 
 hain't never cum down. " (Buffum gives signs of life by a 
 wheezy chuckle, which grows more and more audible, until it 
 bursts into a full demonstration, which is half laugh and half 
 cough.) 
 
 Miss B. "Why, father ! what are you laughing at? " 
 
 Buffum. "It was old Tilden," 
 
 Mother and Daughters. "I wonder if it was." 
 
 Buffum. " Did you ever see him again ? " 
 
26 A DRAMA 
 
 Jim. " I seen 'im onc't, in the spring, I s'pose, what there 
 was left of 'im, but there was n't much left but an old shirt 
 an' some bones, an' I guess he wan't no great shakes of an 
 angel. I buried 'im where I found 'im, an' said nothin' to 
 nobody." 
 
 Buffum. "That's right. It's just as well." 
 
 Mrs. Buffum. " The truth is, that folks made a great 
 fuss about his getting away and never bein' found. I thought 
 it was a good riddance. He was always arter our dinner 
 horn, and blowing and thinkin' he was the angel Gabriel. 
 Well, it's a comfort to know that he's buried, and no more 
 expense." • 
 
 Jim. ''I'd like to see some o' the crazy people. They 
 must be a jolly set. When ye feed the animals in the 
 mornin', I'd kind o' like to go round with ye." 
 
 Mrs. Buffum. "I don't think you ought to doit. Only 
 those who understand them, and are used to them, ought to 
 see them. You see, we can't give 'emmuchfurnitur'. They 
 break it, and they tear their bedclothes to pieces. All we 
 can do is to keep them alive. As for keepin' their bodies 
 and souls together, I don't s'pose they've got any souls. 
 They are nothin' but animals, as you say, and I do n't see 
 why anybody should treat an animal like a human bein'. 
 They have n't no sense of what you do for 'em. 
 
 Jim. "Oh, ye needn't be afraid of my blowin'. I never 
 blow'd about old Tilden, as ye call 'im, an' I never expect 
 to." 
 
 Buffum. "That's right. It's just as well." 
 Mrs. Buffum. "Well I s'pose the doctor '11 be up in the 
 mornin', and we shall clean up a little, and put in new straw, 
 and perhaps you can go around with him." (All retire.) 
 
 Scene VI. The poor-house hall. Jim Fenton and Dr. Rad- 
 cliffe in conversation. 
 
 Jim. "Doctor, they didn't treat you very well to the 
 town-hall, yesterday. I said to myself, Jim Fenton, what 
 would ye done if ye had know'd as much as that doctor, an' 
 had worked as hard as he had, an' then been jest as good as 
 stomped on by a set of fellows that did n't know a hole in 
 the ground ? Sez I, answerin' myself, Ye'd 'a made the 
 fur fly, an' spit blood." 
 
 Dr. R. " Ah, violence resteth in the bosom of fools." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 27 
 
 Jim. "It would n't 'a rested in my bosom long. I'd 'a 
 made a young 'arthquake thar in two minits." 
 
 Dr. R. " The vulgar mind does not comprehend science." 
 
 Jim. " Now, jest tell me what science is. I have n't been 
 bro't up to know about these things. Ye see, I ain't edi- 
 cated, an' I made up my mind if I ever found a man as 
 know'd what science was, I'd ask 'im." 
 
 Dr. R. "Science, sir, is the sum of organized and sys- 
 tematized knowledge." 
 
 Jim. "Now that seems reasomble ; but what is it like ? 
 What do they do with it? Can a feller git a livin' by it? " 
 
 Dr. R. (With a bitter smile.) "Not in Seven Oaks." 
 
 Jim. " Then what's the use on't ? " 
 
 Dr. R. "Pardon me, Mr. Fenton. You'll excuse me 
 when I tell you that you have not arrived at that mental al- 
 titude — that intellectual plane — " 
 
 Jim. "No, I live on a sort o' medder." 
 
 (The case being hopeless, the doctor opens the insane ward.) 
 
 Jim. (Approaching.) "Phew ! This is worser nor the 
 town-meetin'. (Looking about him with extreme pity on his 
 countenance.) This is a damnable shame ! 'Scuse me, doc- 
 tor ; but if ye have any hard words about ye, let me take 
 'em. How's the balance ? " 
 
 Dr. R. "There are different phases of insanity here. 
 Near where we now are is a case of Shakspearean madness, 
 and many of her freaks have a romantic interest attached, 
 from the fact that it did not escape the interest of the great 
 bard." 
 
 Jim. " I notice, myself, that she's grated and barred." 
 (The doctor stares at Jim tvith an amused look. They pass on 
 to a woman sitting quietly in the corner, on the straw.) 
 
 Jim. " How fare ye this mornin' ? " (Speaking kindly.) 
 
 Inmate. "I'm just on the verge of eternity." 
 
 Jim. "Don't be too sure o' that, now. Yer sfood fur ten 
 year yet." 
 
 Inmate. "No! I shall die in a minute." 
 
 Jim. (To the doctor.) " Does she mean that ? " 
 
 Dr. R. "Yes ; and she has been on the verge of eter- 
 nity for fifteen yettrs. That's rather an interesting case, 
 too. I've given it a great deal of study. It's hopeless, of 
 course ; but it's a marked case, and full of suggestions to a 
 scientific man. We have a case where the patient desires 
 all whom she sees, to kill her. A visitor once aimed a heavy 
 blow at the wall, within three inches of her head, and she 
 never winked. It was a very interesting experiment, as it 
 
2S A DRAMA 
 
 illustrated the genuineness of her desire for death. Other- 
 wise, the case is much like many others." 
 
 Jim. "Very interestin', very ! Didn't ye never think o' 
 makin' her so easy an' comfortable that she wouldn't want 
 anybody to kill her ? I should think that would be an inter- 
 estin' experiment." 
 
 Dr R. (Shaking his head.) "Mr. Fenton, excuse me, 
 sir ; but it's very evident that you've not had a medical ed- 
 ucation." 
 
 Jim. "There's where yer weak. I'm a reglar M. D. 
 three C's double X an' two I's. That's the year I was born 
 in, an' that's my perfeshun. I studied with a Ingin, an' I 
 know'd more 'arbs, an' roots, an' drawin'-leaves than any 
 doctor in a hundred mile, an' if I can be of any use to ye, 
 doctor, there's my hand." 
 
 Dr. R. "Mr. Fenton, did you ever see a medulla ob- 
 longata ? " 
 
 Jim. " Well, I've seen a good many garters in the stores, 
 and I guess they were mostly oblong." 
 
 Dr. R. " Did you ever see a solar plexus ? " 
 
 Jim. "Dozens of 'em. I always pick a few in the fall, 
 but I do n't make much use on 'em." 
 
 Dr. R. "Perhaps you've seen a pineal gland." 
 
 Jim. " I make 'em. I whittle 'em out, evenin's, ye 
 know." 
 
 Dr. R. "If you were in one of those cells, I should 
 think you were as mad as a March hare." (hi the next cell 
 Jim jiyuls his old friend sitting on the straiv.) 
 
 Jim. (Slipping up to the cell, and speaking softly.) " Paul 
 Benedict, give us your benediction." 
 
 Paul B. (Looking up quickly.) "Jim!" 
 
 Jim. (Whinnering.) "Good God ! he knows me. Yes, 
 Mr. Benedict, I'm the same rough old fellow. How fare 
 
 ye." 
 
 Paul B. "I'm miserable." 
 
 Jim. "Well, ye don't look as ef ye felt fust rate. How 
 
 did ye git in here 1 " 
 
 Paul B. " Oh, I was damned when I died. It's all right, 
 
 I know, but it's terrible. " 
 
 Jim. "Why, ye don't think ye're in hell, do ye ? " 
 Paul B. "Don't you see ? " (Looking around him.) 
 Jim. "Oh, yes, I see. I guess ye're right." 
 Paul B. "But where did you come from, Jim? I never 
 
 heard that you were dead " 
 
 Jim. " Yes, I'm as dead as you be." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 29 
 
 Paul B. " Well, what did you come here for? " 
 
 Jim. " Oh, I thought I would call round." 
 
 Paul B. "Did you come from Abraham's bosom? " 
 
 Jim. "Straight." 
 
 Paul B. "I can't think why you should come to see me 
 in such a place as this. " 
 
 Jim. "Oh, I got kind o' uneasy. Don't have much to 
 do over thar, ye know. " 
 
 Paul B. "How did you get across the gulf? " 
 
 Jim. "I jest shoved over in a birch, an' ye mus' be per- 
 lite 'nough to return the call. (Benedict looks down upon his 
 torn clothing.) Oh, never mind yer clothes. I dress jest the 
 same there that I did in Number Nine ,an' nobody sez a word. 
 The fact is, they ain't very pertickler there, anyway. I'll 
 come over an' git ye, ye know, an' interjuce ye, an' ye shall 
 have jest as good a time as Jim Fenton can give ye ' 
 
 Paul B. " Shall I take my rifle along ? " 
 
 Jim. " Yes, an' plenty of am'nition. There ain't no game 
 to speak on, — only a few pa'tridges, — but we can shoot at a 
 mark all day, if we want to. " 
 
 Paul B. (Tottering to his feet.) "Jim, you always was 
 a good fellow. (Dropping his voice to a whisper. ) I'll show 
 you my improvements. Belcher mustn't get hold of them. 
 He's after them. I hear him around nights ; but he shan't 
 have them. I've got a new tumbler, and — " 
 
 Jim. "Well, never mind now. It'll be jest as well when 
 ye come over to spend the day. Now, look a here ! Do n't 
 say nothin' to nobody about this. When I come arter ye, we 
 will have a high old time. Now jest lay down an' rest, an' 
 keep yer thoughts to yerself till I come ag'in. Do n't tell no- 
 bod} r I've been here. I'll settle with the old boss if he makes 
 a row. Jim Fenton always means what he says." 
 
 Paul B. "Yes, Jim." 
 
 Jim. " An' when I come here— most likely in the night — 
 I'll bring a robe to put on ye, an' we'll go out still." 
 
 PaulB. "Yes, Jim." 
 
 Jim. " Sure ye understand ? " 
 
 PaulB. "Yes, Jim." 
 
 Jim. "Well, good-by. Give us yer hand. Here's 
 hopin'." 
 
 Scene VII. Poor-house hall. Enter Dr. Radclijfe and Jim 
 
 Fenton. 
 
 Jim. "Well, doctor, this sort o' thing is too many fur 
 
30 A DRAMA 
 
 me. I gi'n it up. It's very interestin', I s'pose, an' it seems 
 to me it's gettin' out o' order. Do ye see my ha'r, doctor ? 
 (Exposing his heavy shock.) 
 
 Dr. R. "Yes, I see it." (Wants to shake Jim off.) 
 
 Jim. "Well, doctor, that's all riz since I came in here." 
 
 Dr. R. "Are you sure ? " 
 
 Jim. " I'd jest combed it when ye come this mornin'. 
 D'ye ever see anything like it? How 'm I goin' to git it 
 down? " 
 
 Dr. R. " Very singular." 
 
 Jim. "Why, doctor, I feel like a hedgehog. What am I 
 goin' to do ? " 
 
 Dr. R. "Why, this is very interesting. (Takes out note- 
 book.) What is your name 1 " 
 
 Jim. "JimFenton." 
 
 Dr. R. "Age?" 
 
 Jim. " Thirty or forty. Somewhere along there." 
 
 Dr. R. " H'm. (Writing out the whole reply.) Occupa- 
 tion ? " 
 
 Jim. " M. D. three C's double X an' two IV 
 
 Dr. R. "H'm. What do you do ? " 
 
 Jim. "Trap, mostly." 
 
 Dr. R. " Religious V 
 
 Jim. "When I'm skeered." 
 
 Dr. R. "Nativity?" 
 
 Jim. "Which]" 
 
 Dr. R. "What is your parentage? Where were you 
 born ? " 
 
 Jim. "Well, my father was an Englishman, my mother 
 was a Scotchman, I was born in Ireland, raised in Canady, 
 an' hev lived for ten year in Number Nine. 
 
 Dr. R. "How does your head feel now ? " 
 
 Jim. " It feels as though every ha'r was a pin. Do you 
 s'pose it'll strike in, doctor l " 
 
 Dr R. (Looks Jim over as though he were a bullock, but 
 goes on with his investigations.) " Weight, about two hun- 
 dred pounds ; hight, six feet two ; temperament, bilious, 
 sanguine. Some time when you're in Seven Oaks, come 
 and see me." 
 
 Jim. " An' stay all night ? " 
 
 Dr. R. "I'd like to see the case again. Shall not detain 
 you long. The matter has a certain scientific interest." 
 
 Jim. "Well, good-by, doctor. I'm off for Number Nine. 
 I'm much obleeged for lettin' me go round witli ye, but I 
 never want to go ag'in. (Exit Dr. R., 2 R. E. Jimsolilo- 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 31 
 
 quizes.) It bothers me amazin'ly that the Lord lets one set 
 o' people make it so thunderin' rough for another set. An' 
 there's another thing that bothers me. How do they expect 
 that a sick feller is goin' to git well when they put 'im 
 where a well feller 'd git sick? If I was a hopeless case 
 there, I'd want to be killed too. (Enter Tom Buffum.) A 
 jolly lot you've got over there. If I had sech a family as 
 them, I'd take 'em round for a show, an' hire Belcher's man 
 to do the talkin'. ' Walk up, gentlemen, walk up, an' see 
 how a Christian can treat a feller bein' ! Here's a feller 
 that's got sense enough left to think he's in hell ! ' 
 
 Buffum. " Well, I keep my paupers as well as I can af- 
 ford to." 
 
 Jim. "Oh, I know it ; but it seems rough to a feller like 
 me to see people shut up in the dark, when there's good 
 breathin', an' any amount of sunshine to be had free gratis 
 fur nothin'." 
 
 Buffum. "Well, they don't know the difference." 
 
 Jim. "Arterawhile I guess they don't. Now, what's 
 the damage, for I've got to go 'long ? " 
 
 Buffum. " I shan't charge you anything. You have n't 
 said anything about old Tilden, so it's all right." 
 
 .A.OT IV. 
 
 Scene I. Harry Benedict sitting by a stump, by the roadside. 
 Enter Jim Fenton, 2 L. E. 
 
 Jim. " Mornin', Harry. (Sitting down and taking Harry 
 in his arms.) Harry, I've had ye in my arms all night, — a 
 little, live thing, — an' I've been a' longin' to git ye ag'in. If 
 ye want to, very much, ye can put yer arms round my neck 
 an' hug me like a little bear. (Harry hugs him with all his 
 strength ) There, that's right, that's right, I shall feel it 
 till I see ye ag'in. Hev ye been thinkin' about what I telled 
 ye last night ?" 
 
 Harry. (Eagerly.) "Oh, yes ! all the time." 
 
 Jim. ''Well, now, do ye know the days — Sunday, Mon- 
 day, Tuesday, an' the rest of 'em ? " 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir, all of them. " 
 
 Jim. "Now remember, to-day is Wednesday. It will be 
 seven days to next Wednesday, then Thursday will be eight t 
 
32 A DRAMA 
 
 Friday, nine, Saturday, ten. Ye always know when Satur- 
 day comes, do n't ye ? " 
 
 Harry. "Yes, because it is our school holiday." 
 Jim. " Well, then, in ten days I shall come ag'in. 
 Saturday night do n't ye go to bed, an' ye must git out o' 
 the house before ten o'clock, an' come straight to this old 
 stump. Can ye git away an' nobody see ye ? " 
 
 Harry. "Yes. They don't mind anything about me. 
 I could stay out all night, and they wouldn't know where 
 
 1 was." 
 
 Jim. " Well, now don't get mixed." 
 
 Harry. "I tell you, Mr. Fenton, I won't make a mis- 
 take." 
 
 Jim. " When I come, I shall bring a boss an' wagin, an' 
 shall come here to this stump, an' ye shall hold the hoss 
 while I go an' git yer pa, and then we'll wopse 'im up in 
 some blankets, and make a clean streak for the woods, an' 
 Bob Belcher '11 have a nice time finding Paul Benedict, only 
 he won't. He didn't care anything about old Tilden, but to 
 lose your pa, without knowin' where to look for 'im is a 
 cons'mation that the old scoundrel don't wish. Now git 
 back to Tom Buffum's the best way ye can." 
 
 Harry. "Yes, Mr. Fenton." (Kisses Jim, and starts on 
 a run, and disappears 2 R. E.) 
 
 Jim. (Looks after Harry, till he disappears, and then so- 
 liloquizes.) " He's got the real hunter in 'im, just like his 
 father ; but there's more in 'im nor there ever was in his 
 father. Takes arter his ma, I guess. But any man who 
 can string things together the way Benedict did this morn- 
 in' can be cured. Startin' in hell, he was all right an.' 
 everything reasonable. The startin' is the principal p'int, 
 an' ef I can get him to start from Number Nine, I'll fitch 'im 
 around. He always was ter hum in'the woods, an' when I 
 git 'im thar, an' git 'im fishin', an' huntin', an sleepin' on 
 hemlock, an' eatin' venison, and corn dodgers, it'll come to 
 'im that he's been there afore, an' he'll look round to find 
 Abram, an' he won't see 'im, an' his craze '11 kind o' leak 
 out of 'im afore he knows it." (Exit Jim for Number Nine, 
 
 2 R. E.) 
 
 Scene II. Mike Conlins house, half way between Seven Oaks 
 and Number Nine. Mike Conlin sitting by the fire, smoking a 
 clay pipe. Enter Jim Fenton, 1 L. E. 
 
 Jim. " Mike, how fare ye ? " 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 33 
 
 Mike. " Comfortable, I thank ye, sir." 
 
 Jim. " Mike, there's a crazy pauper in the poor-house, at 
 Seven Oaks, an' I'm goin' to steal 'im out, and I want your 
 connivance in the transaction. What do ye say ? " 
 
 Mike. "Jim, did ye iver know an Irishman to stan' 
 back from doin' good to a feller creetur ? But who is it ? " 
 
 Jim. " It's Paul Benedict, an' he's crazier nor a loon, an' 
 sick too." 
 
 Mike. "Paul Benedict crazy, an' in Tom Buff urn's hog- 
 pen, the devil's own instertution ? Well, Jim, wot kin I do 
 ter help ye ? " 
 
 Jim. " I want yer hoss an' wagin a week from next Sat- 
 urday, an' I'll come here in the night with Benedict an' his 
 boy, an' I'm goin' to take 'em to Number Nine an' cure Ben- 
 edict, an' I want ye to help doctor 'im, an' I don't b'lieve 
 the Lord'll let sich a man die. An' when he's cured, ye'll see 
 ole Belcher hauled over coals hotter nor the divil's own 
 fryin'-pan. Mind wot I tell ye. Now do n't forget. A 
 week from next Saturday, after supper, git yer hoss to yer 
 wagin, an' before Sunday mornin' there'll be an interestin' 
 bugglery at the Seven Oaks poor-house. 
 
 Scene III. Jim Fenton at the stump in Seven Oaks, where 
 he meets Harry Benedict. He ivhistles, and the little fellow 
 comes. 
 
 Jim. "Now, Harry, ye jest stan' by the ole hoss's head till 
 I git back to ye. (Jim goes to the outside door of the cells 
 where the paupers are, and calls in a soft voice) Paul Benedict, 
 give us yer benediction." 
 
 Paul B. (From within.) "Jim." 
 
 Jim. "Don't make no noise, not even if I sh'd make a 
 great deal. (Grasping the bars, he tears everything down with 
 a great clatter. Great howling and groans by the other pau- 
 pers. Jim enters 3 L. E. with Benedict.) Here's the robe 
 that Abraham sent ye." (Throws the robe over his shoulders, 
 and the conversation continues.) 
 
 Paul B. (Feebly.) " They were pretty angry about my 
 going." 
 
 Jim. "Yes, but I wuz too many fur 'em." 
 
 Paul B. " Does Father Abraham know I'm coming ? " 
 
 Jim. "Yes, an' he'd a' sent afore, but he's jest wore out 
 
 with company. He's a mighty good-natured man, an' they 
 
 take the advantage of 'im. But I've posted 'im about ye, 
 
 an' ye're all right. " 
 
 3 
 
34 A DRAMA 
 
 Paul B. " Is it very far to the gulf ? " 
 Jim. "Yes, it's a good deal of a drive ; but ye can lay 
 right down an' sleep, an' I'll let ye know when we gitthar." 
 
 Scene IV. The poor-house on Sunday morning. Enter Tom 
 Buffum, having learned that Benedict was missing. 
 
 Bufpum. (To an attendant.) "Where's that boy ? " 
 
 Attendant. "His bed has not been occupied." 
 
 Bufpum. "Go out, all of you, and find them, and bring 
 them back, and say nothing about it. (Exit all, right and 
 left.) If Benedict is not found, the devil will be to pay 
 when Bob Belcher finds it out. For some reason, he do n't 
 want to lose him ; but why, no one knows. My reputation 
 as a pauper guardian suffered bad enough when old Tilden 
 got away ; but no one, not even Belcher, cared for the es- 
 cape of that old idiot. But from this calamity the Lord de- 
 liver me." (Enter Belcher, 1 B. E.) 
 
 Belcher. (Much excited.) "Is it true, Mr. Buffum, that 
 Paul Benedict and his boy are missing from the poor-house 1 " 
 
 Buffum. (Also excited.) "Yes. I have sent out several 
 men and boys to search for them, and all have come back 
 and reported their failure to find them. " 
 
 Belcher. " Have you any theory relating to their es- 
 cape ? " 
 
 Buffum. " I believe Benedict's boy is at the bottom of 
 it. He is the cutest little chap I ever met, and woe be to 
 us if his father ever makes his appearance amongst us a 
 well man." 
 
 Belcher. "I will give one hundred dollars to have them 
 returned to the poor-house, dead or alive. Buffum, this 
 bespeaks great want of vigilance in you. Paul Benedict's 
 disappearance will prove disastrous to me." 
 
 ^OT "V 
 
 Scene I. Jim Feuton's cabin at Number Nine. Paid Bene- 
 dict lying on a bed of hemlock boughs, in a high fever, and 
 Jim Fenton nursing him. 
 
 Jim. ( Talking to himself. ) ' ' Now's the time when a feller 
 wants some sort o' religion, or a woman, an' I hain't got 
 nothin' only a big dog an' a little boy, an' no doctor nearer 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 35 
 
 nor forty mile. (Enter Harry, 1 B. E., and Jim goes to pre- 
 pare slipper. While thus engaged, enter Mike Conlin 1 L. E.) 
 Mike Conlin, I'm glad to see ye." 
 
 Mike. ' ' Och ! divil a bit wud ye be glad to see Mike 
 Conlin, if ye know'd he he'd come to arrist ye. Jim, ye are 
 me pris'ner. Ye've bin stalin' a pauper— a pair of 'em, 
 faith— an' ye must answer fur it wid yer life to owld Belcher. 
 Come along wid me. None o' yer nonsinse, or I'll put a 
 windy in ye." 
 
 Jim. " Old Belcher sent ye, did he ? " 
 
 Mike. "Begorry he did, an' I've come to git a reward. 
 Now, if ye'll be dacent, ye shall hev part uv it." 
 
 Jim. " Did ye tell 'im anything, Mike ? " 
 
 Mike. "Divil a bit." 
 
 Jim. "An' ye know'd I'd lick ye if ye did. Ye know'd 
 that, did n't ye ? " 
 
 Mike. " I know'd ye'd thry it faithful, an' if ye didn't 
 do it there'd be niver a man to blame but Mike Conlin." 
 
 (Jim gets supper for Mike, and when Mike has finished eat- 
 ing, he arid Mike go to see Benedict. Mike scans him, and all 
 the appointments, and then he and Jim retire.) 
 
 Jim. "Mike, that man an' me wuz like brothers. I 
 found 'im in the devil's own hole, an' any man as comes 
 atween me an' 'im must look out fur 'imself furever arter. 
 Jim Fenton's a good-natered man when he aint riled ; but 
 he'd sooner fight nor eat when he is. Will ye help me, or 
 won't ye?" 
 
 Mike. (Opening his pack. ) ' ' There, ye bloody blaggard, 
 is a tum'ler o' jelly. Lick that, will ye ? Mash these crack- 
 ers, an' pitch into this rooster. Knock the head off this bot- 
 tle o' brandy, Jim, an' spill 'is blood. An' here's a package 
 o' tay, Jim. Down wid it ; it's insulted ye. See this chunk 
 o' maple sugar, the brown rascal. An' here's a lot o' other 
 things that nobody but a woman like me 'wife wud think of. 
 Ye owld spalpeen, wot d 'ye think now ? " 
 
 Jim. (Having watched Mike with tearful eyes.) "Mike, 
 will ye furgive me ? I wuz afeered the money 'd be too 
 many fur ye ; but barrin yer big fut an' ugly nose that's on 
 ye, ye're an angel." 
 
 Mike. " Niver ye mind me fut. Me inimies don't like 
 it, an' they can give a good raison fur it ; an' as fur me nose, 
 it'll look worser nor it duz now when Jim Fenton gits a 
 crack at it." 
 
 Jim. "Mike, ye hurt me. Here's me hand, an' honors 
 are easy." (They shake hands.) 
 
36 A DRAMA 
 
 Mike. " Ye see, afther ye come away that night wid 
 Benedict an' his boy, I jest lay down and got a bit uv a 
 shnooze, an' in the mornin' I started fur me owld horse. It 
 wuz a big thramp to where ye lift 'im, an' comin' back 
 purty slow, I picked up a few shticks an' put intil me wagin 
 fur me owld woman. I did n't git home much afore darruk, 
 an' the owld hoss wasn't much more nor in the shtable, an' 
 I atin' me supper, quiet like, afore owld Belcher druv up to 
 me house wid his purty man on the seat wid 'im. An' sez 
 he, ' Mike Conlin ! Mike Conlin ! Come to the dour wid 
 ye ! ' An' I went to the dour, an' he sez, sez he, ' Hev ye 
 seen a crazy owld feller wid a boy ? ' An' sez I, There's no 
 crazy owld feller wid a boy bin by me house in the daytime. 
 If they wint by at all at all, it wuz when me family wuz 
 ashlape. Thin he got out uv his wagin an' cum in, an' he 
 looked round in all the corners, careless like, an' thin he 
 wint to the barrun, an' looked all about purty careful, an' 
 he sez, sez he, ' What ye bin doin' wid the owld hoss on a 
 Sunday, Mike ? ' An' I sed I'd jest bin pickin' up a few 
 shticks fur me owld woman. An' sez he, ' Mike, if ye'll find 
 these fellers I'll give ye five hundred dollars. ' An' sez I, Mike 
 Conlin's no better nor a pauper himself. If ye'll give a hun- 
 dred dollars, I'll thry it,' an' begorry, Jim, I've got it right 
 thar. (Slapping his pocket ) An' sez he, ' Take along sum- 
 thin' fur 'em to eat,' an' faith, I've dun that same, an' found 
 me men, an' now I'll shtay wid ye fur a week, an' 'arn me 
 hundred dollars. " 
 
 (They turn to Benedict, and watch him a short time. He is 
 very bad, and in an apparently hopeless condition. Jim and 
 Mike turn away, and sit down on a log. ) 
 
 Jim. (Discouraged.) "Mike, sumthin' must be did. 
 We've did our best, an' nothin' comes on it, an' Benedict's 
 nearer Abraham's bosom nor I ever meant he should come, 
 in my time. I ain't no doctor ; ye ain't no doctor. We've 
 nussed 'im the best we know'd, but I guess he's a goner. 
 It's too thunderin' bad, fur I'd set my heart on puttin' 'im 
 through. " 
 
 Mike. " Well, I've got me hundred dollars, an' ye'll get 
 you're pay in the next wurrild." 
 
 Jim. "I don't want no pay, an' what do ye know about 
 the next world anyway ? " 
 
 Mike. "The praste sez there's one anyway." 
 
 Jim. "The priest be hanged. What does he know 
 about it 1 " 
 
 Mike. " That's his business. It's not fur the likes o' me 
 to answer fur the praste." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 37 
 
 Jim. "Well, I wish he was here in Number Nine, an' we'd 
 see what we could git out of him. I've got to the end of 
 my rope. (Sits a short time in deep reflection.) Mike, go 
 and send the boy to me. (Exit Mike after Harry. In a 
 few moments, he enters.) Little feller, I need comfortin'. 
 It's a comfort to have ye here in me arms, and I don't never 
 want to have you go way from me. Yer pa is awful sick, 
 and perhaps he ain't never goin' to be no better. I'm afraid 
 the rain an' the ride, coming from the poor-house, wuz too 
 many fur him, but I've did the best I could, and I meant 
 well to both on ye, an' now I can't do no more, and there 
 ain't no doctor here, and there ain't no minister. Ye've 
 allers been a purty good boy, hain't ye 1 Now don't ye 
 'spose ye can go out here a little ways behind a tree an' 
 pray I It seems to me, if I was the Lord, I should pay 
 'tention to what a little feller like you was sayin'. There 
 ain't nobody here but you to do it, now, ye know ; I can 
 nuss yer pa, and fix his vittles, and set up with 'im nights, 
 but I can't pray. I wasn't brung up to it. Now, ef ye'll 
 do this, I won't ax ye to do nothin' else. (Harry btirsts into 
 a fit of uncontrollable weeping, throivs his arms around Jim's 
 neck, and sobs away his almost hysterical passion, and then 
 quietly goes away. Jim takes off his cap and bows his head 
 as if he were in church. In a few minutes, the lad reappears 
 and approaches Jim, and Jim says to himself, Now if that 
 won't do it ther' won't nothin'. As Harry comes up, Jim 
 embraces him. ) My boy, ye've did the right thing. It's better 
 nor all the nussin', an' ye must do that every mornin' — every 
 mornin', an' do n't ye take ' no ' for an answer. Now jest 
 go in with me an' see your pa." 
 
 Scene II. Benedict lying on his bed of boughs. He seems 
 much better, opens his eyes, looks about him, then gazes at 
 Jim, and recognizes him with a smile, and Jim fcdls on his 
 knees, and hides his face in the blankets. Enter Mike with 
 his head bowed away from the scene. Jim rushes up to him, 
 leaving the boy passionately kissing his father, seizes Mike by 
 the shoidders, and shakes him as if he meant to kill him. 
 
 Jim. " Mike, by the great horned spoons, the little 
 feller has fetched 'im. Get your pa'tridge broth and yer 
 brandy quicker nor lightnin'. Don't talk to me no more 
 about yer priest. I've got a trick worth two o'that." 
 
38 A DRAMA 
 
 Scene III. Jim and Mike outside the cabin two days after 
 the events of last scene. 
 
 Jim. "Well, Mike, ye've been a godsend. Ye've did 
 more good in a week nor you'll do ag'in in a thousand year. 
 Ye've 'arned yer hundred dollars, an' ye hain't found no 
 pauper, an' ye can tell 'em so. Paul Benedict ain't no 
 pauper, an' he ain't no crazy man, either." t 
 
 Mike. "Be gorry ye're right. I kin tell 'em all ye say 
 without lyin'." 
 
 Jim. ''An' thank ver old woman fur me, an' tell her 
 she's the queen of the huckleberry bushes, an' a jewel to 
 the side o'the road she lives on." 
 
 Mike. "Divil a bit will I do it. She'll be so grand I 
 can't live wid 'er." 
 
 Jim. "An' when ye've had yer quarrel, tell her there'll 
 always be a place for her in Number Nine." 
 
 .A.OT AT"! 
 
 Scene I. Robert Belcher's Library. Belcher addresses his 
 image in the mirror. 
 
 Belcher. "Kobert Belcher, Esq., are you played out 
 in Seven Oaks? Who says played out? Am I the subject 
 of that insulting remark ? Do you dare to beard the lion in 
 his den ? Withdraw the dagger that you've aimed at my 
 credit, or I will not hold myself responsible for the conse- 
 quences. Played out with a million dollars in your pocket ? 
 Played out with wealth rolling in mighty waves ? Whose 
 name is Norval, still \ Whose are those Grampian Hills 1 
 In yonder silent heavens the stars still shine, pointing out 
 in boundless space the worlds of golden promise. Will you 
 leave Seven Oaks ? Will you go to yonder metropolis and 
 there, in honor and pleasure, reap the reward of your en- 
 terprise ? Yes ! I will leave Seven Oaks howling in pain. 
 I will leave these scurvy ministers to whine for their sala- 
 ries, and whine to empty air. Ye fresh fields and pastures 
 new I bid adieu. I spurn the dust of Seven Oaks from my 
 feet. I hail the glories of the distant mart. New York 
 City shall be my abiding place. I make my bow to you, sir. 
 You ask my pardon ? It is well, sir." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 39 
 
 Scene II. Belcher s parlor in New York City. Belcher sits 
 smoking. Enter servant. 
 
 Belcher. "Well?" 
 
 Servant. "Please, sir, there's a man outside wishes to 
 see you." 
 
 Belcher. " Show him up." 
 
 Servant. (Hesitating.) "He doesn't smell very well, sir." 
 
 Belcher. " What does he smell of ? " 
 
 Servant. "Rum, sir, and several things." 
 
 Belcher. "Send him away, then." 
 
 Servant. "I tried to, sir, but he says he knows you, 
 and wants to see you on particular business." 
 
 Belcher. Send him in." (Enter Sam Yates. He looks 
 as though he had just come out of the gutter, but through all, 
 appears the wreck of a good face and a head still grand in its 
 outHne.) 
 
 Belcher. (In disgust.) "Well, you look as if you were 
 waiting to be damned." 
 
 Yates. (Solemnly.) " I am, sir." 
 
 Belcher. "Very well; consider the business done, so 
 far as I am concerned, and clear out." 
 
 Yates. " I am the most miserable of men, Mr. Belcher." 
 
 Belcher. " I believe you ; and you'll excuse me if I say 
 that your appearance corroborates your statement. " 
 
 Yates. "And you do n't recognize me? Is it possible ! 
 (And maudlin tears come into his eyes.) You knew me in 
 better days, sir." (His voice trembles.) 
 
 Belcher. "No; I never saw you before. That game 
 won't work, and now be off." 
 
 Yates. (Wiping his eyes with his coat sleeve.) " And you 
 don't remember Yates — Sam Yates — and the happy days we 
 spent together in childhood 1 " 
 
 Belcher. "Do you pretend to say that you are Sam 
 Yates, the lawyer ? " 
 
 Yates. The same, at your service." 
 
 Belcher. "What brought you to this ? " 
 
 Yates. "Drink and bad company, sir." 
 
 Belcher. " And you want money ? " 
 
 Yates. "Yes." (with a fierce hiss.) 
 
 Belcher. " Do you want to earn money ? " 
 
 Yates. " Anything to get it." 
 
 Belcher. "Anything to get drink, I suppose. You said 
 ' anything.' Did you mean that? " 
 
 Yates. (Knowing that the last question meant a great 
 
40 A DRAMA 
 
 deal.) "Lift me out of the gutter, and keep me out, and 
 command me. " 
 
 Belcher. "I have a little business on hand that you 
 can do, provided that you will let drink alone — a business 
 that I am willing to pay for. Do you remember a man by 
 the name of Benedict — a shiftless, ingenious dog, who 
 once lived in Seven Oaks ? " 
 
 Yates. " Yes, very well." 
 
 Belcher. "Should you know him again, were you to 
 see him ? " 
 
 Yates. "I think I should." 
 
 Belcher. "Do you know you should? I don't want 
 any thinking about it. Could you swear to him ? 
 
 Yates. "Yes; I don't think it would trouble me to 
 swear to him." 
 
 Belcher. "If I were to show you some of his hand- 
 writing do you suppose that would help you any ? ' 
 
 Yates. ''It might." 
 
 Belcher. "Idontwant any 'mights.' Do you know it 
 would ? " 
 
 Yates. "Yes." 
 
 Belcher. "Do you want to sell yourself — body, soul, 
 brains, legal knowledge, everything — for money ? 
 
 Yates. "I've sold myself already at a smaller price, and 
 I don't mind withdrawing from the contract for a better." 
 
 Belcher. "To-morrow morning I want you to come 
 here clean, and dressed in the clothes that this paper will 
 give you. (Handing Yates an order on a clothier, for a good 
 suit of clothes.) If you drink one drop before that time, I 
 will strip the clothes from your back. Come to this room 
 and get a decent breakfast. Remember that you can't fool 
 me, and that I'll have none of youi nonsense. If you are 
 to serve me, and get any money out of it, you must keep 
 sober." 
 
 Yates. "I can keep sober — for a while — anyway." 
 
 Belcher. " Now, be off ; and remember, that if you are 
 true to me, I can be of use to you. If you are not, I will 
 kick you into the street." 
 
 Yates. (Tottering to his feet.) " I'm ashamed to say that 
 you may command me. I should have scorned it once, but 
 my chance is gone, and I could be loyal to the devil himself 
 — for a consideration." (Exit Belcher 2 L. E., and Yates, 2 
 R. E.) 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 
 
 41 
 
 Scene III. Belcher's Library, and Belcher sitting in a chair 
 smoking. Enter Sam Yates, well dressed. 
 
 Belcher. "Well, where did you get your clothes? 
 Come, now, give me the name of your tailor. I'm green in 
 the city, you see. (Yates tries to smile, but it is a failure.) 
 What did you take for a night cap last, eh ? " 
 
 Yates. " I give you my word of hoDor, sir, that I have 
 not taken a drop since I saw you." 
 
 Belcher. " Word of honor ! Ha! ha! ha! Do you 
 suppose I want your word of honor ? Do you suppose I 
 want a man of honor, anyway 1 If you come here to talk 
 about honor, you are no man for me. That's a sort of non- 
 sense that I have no use for." 
 
 Yates. (Desperately.) "Very well; my word of dis- 
 honor." 
 
 Belcher. "Now you talk. There's no use oi such a 
 man as you putting on airs, and forgetting that he wears 
 my clothes and fills himself at my table." 
 
 Yates. "I do not forget it, sir, and I see that I am not 
 
 likely to." . 
 
 Belcher. "Not while you do business with me ; and 
 now sit down and hear me. The first thing you do is to 
 ascertain whether Paul Benedict is dead. It isn't necessary 
 that you should know my reasons. You are to search every 
 insane hospital, public and private, in the city, and every 
 almshouse. Put on your big airs and play philanthropist. 
 Find all the records of the past year— the death records of 
 the city— everything that will help to determine that the 
 man is dead, as I believe he is. This will give you all you 
 want to do for the present. The man's son is in the city, 
 and the boy and man left the Seven Oaks poor-house to- 
 gether. If the man is alive, he is likely to be near him. If 
 he is dead, he probably died near him. Find out, too, if 
 you can, when his boy came to live with Balfour over the 
 way, and where he came from. You may stumble upon 
 what I want very soon, or it may take you all winter. If 
 you should fail then. I shall want vou to take the road to 
 Seven Oaks, and even to Number Nine, looking into all the 
 almshouses on the way. The great point is to find out 
 whether he is alive or dead, and to know, if he is dead, 
 where and exactly when he died. In the meantime, come 
 to me every week with a written report of what you have 
 done, and get your pay. Come always after dark, so that 
 none' of Balfour's people can see you. Begin the business, 
 
42 A DRAMA 
 
 and carry it on in your own way. You are old and sharp 
 enough not to need any aid from me, and now be off." 
 {Exit Yates 2 R. E., with the roll of bills given him by Bel- 
 cher.) 
 
 _A_ T YII 
 
 Scene I. Jim Fenton's cabin at Number Nine. Benedict 
 and Jim, conversing. Eider Sam Yates 2 R. E. 
 
 Yates. "Gentlemen, how do you do? Are either of 
 you gentlemen Jim Fenton ? " 
 
 Jim. " That's me. Them as likes me calls me Jim, and 
 them as don't like me, — wall, they don't call me." 
 
 Yates. "Well, I've called, and I call you Jim." 
 
 Jim. "All right; let's see yer tackle. {Jim takes the rod 
 and looks it over.) When ye come from Seven Oaks, you 
 didn't think o' goin' a fishing. This 'ere tackle wasn't 
 brung from the city, an' ye ain't no old fisherman. Ye got 
 this at Seven Oaks." 
 
 Yates. {Flushing.) "No, I thought I would find tackle 
 here, so I didn't burden myself." 
 
 Jim. "That seems reasonable, but it ain't. Ye never 
 fished with anything but a birch pole in yer life." {Yates 
 laughed, but Jim was angry.) 
 
 Yates. "Jim, introduce me to your friend here." 
 (Turning to Mr. Benedict.) 
 
 Jim. "Well, I call him Number Ten, and his name is 
 Williams, an' now if ye ain't too tired, perhaps ye'll tell us 
 what they call ye to home." 
 
 Yates. "Well, I'm Number Eleven, and my name's 
 Williams, too." {Turns laughingly to Benedict, shakes his 
 hand, and hopes for a better acquaintance Jim ivas puzzled, 
 and believed the man ivas there for a purpose, and that purpose 
 had nothing to do with sport.) 
 
 Jim. "If yer name is Williams, jest tell us what brung 
 yer here." 
 
 Yates. " A pair of horses and a birch canoe." 
 
 Jim. " Oh ! I didn't know but 'twas a mule and a ban- 
 danner hankercher. Whar ye goin' to sleep to-night ? " 
 
 Yates. " In a canoe, I suppose, if some hospitable man 
 doesn't invite me to sleep in his cabin." 
 
 Jim. "An' if ye sleep in his cabin, what be ye goin' to 
 do to-morrer ? " 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 43 
 
 !) 
 
 Yates. "Git up." 
 
 Jim. "An' clear out ? 
 
 Yates. "Not a bit of it." 
 
 Jim. " Well, I like to see folks make themselves to 
 home ; but ye don't sleep in no cabin o' mine till I know 
 who ye be, an' what ye're arter." 
 
 Yates. " Jim, did you ever hear of entertaining angels 
 unaware 1 " 
 
 Jim. "No, but I've hearn of angels entertainin' their- 
 selves on tin-ware, an' I've had 'em here." 
 
 Yates. " Do you have tin-peddlers here ? " 
 
 Jim. "No, but we have paupers sometimes." (Looking 
 Yates directly in the eye.) 
 
 Yates. " What paupers ? " 
 
 Jim. " From Seven Oaks." 
 
 Yates. "And do they bring tin-ware ? " 
 
 Jim. " Sartin they do ; leastways one of 'em did, an' I 
 never seen but one in the woods, an' he come here one night 
 tootin' a tin horn, an' blowin' about bein' the angel Gabr'el." 
 
 Yates. "What became of him." 
 
 Jim. "I skeered 'im, an' he went off into the woods per- 
 tendin' to catch a bullet. That's the kind of ball I allers 
 use when I have a little game with a rovin' angel that comes 
 kadoodlin' round me" 
 
 Yates. "Did you ever see him afterwards ? " 
 
 Jim. "Onc't ; that is, his bones. But I guess he'd gone 
 off to play angel somewhere else." 
 
 Yates. (With eagerness.) "Jim, can you show me his 
 bones, and swear to your belief that he was an escaped 
 pauper ? " 
 
 Jim. "Easy." 
 
 Yates. "Was there a man lost from the poor-house 
 about that time 1 " 
 
 Jim. "Yes, an ther' was a row about it, an' arterward 
 old Buffum was took with knowin' less than he ever know'd 
 afore. He always did make a fuss about breathin', so he 
 give it up." 
 
 Yates. "Well, the man you buried is the man I'm aft- 
 er." 
 
 Jim. "Yes, an' old Belcher sent ye. I know'd it. I 
 I smelt the old feller when I hearn yer paddle. When a 
 feller works for the devil, it ain't hard to guess what sort of 
 a angel he is. Ye must feel mighty proud of yer belong- 
 ins." 
 
44 A DRAMA 
 
 Yates. "Jim, I'm a lawyer; it's my business. I do 
 what I'm hired to do." 
 
 Jim. "Well, I don't know nothin' about lawyers, but I'd 
 rather be a natural born cuss nor a hired one." 
 
 Yates. "Jim, I see that I'm not welcome, but I bear 
 you no ill will. If you will sign a certificate of the state- 
 ments you have made to me, I will leave you at once. I do 
 not respect Robert Belcher any more than you do. I shall 
 evade making a direct report to him, and give up the busi- 
 ness that he employed me to do. I shall settle down in 
 Seven Oaks and practice my profession. I am out of the 
 gutter, and will keep out. (Jim signs paper.) Good-day." 
 {Exit 2 B. E.) 
 
 .A.CT VIII. 
 
 Scene I. Office of Lawyer Cavendish. Enter Robert Belcher 
 1 R. E. 
 
 Cavendish. " Good morning, sir. Sit down." (Assum- 
 ing an extreme judicial bearing.) 
 
 Belcher. "I am Robert Belcher, of this city, and have 
 called on you, Mr. Cavendish, in relation to some legal busi- 
 ness. " 
 
 C. "Well, Mr. Belcher, what can I do for you ? " 
 
 B. "lam likely to have a little scrimmage, and I shall 
 want your help, Mr. Cavendish. (Handing a check to the 
 lawyer, who merely glances at it and drops it into a drawer as 
 if it were a dime.) It's a thousand dollars " 
 
 C. "I see — a retainer— thanks ! (Eyeing Belcher with his 
 hawk eyes, and working his scalp backward and forivard.) 
 What is the case, General ? " 
 
 B. (Draws from his pocket a forged assignment, and j)asses 
 it into the hands of Mr. Cavendish.) Is that a legally-con- 
 structed document ? " 
 
 C. (Reads it car ef idly, looks on the back, scans the signa- 
 tures, and passes it back to Mr. Belcher.) The construction 
 is absolutely perfect. Of course, I know nothing about the 
 signatures. Is the assignor living ? " 
 
 B. " That's precisely what I don't know. I supposed 
 him to be dead for years. I have now reason to suspect 
 that he is living." 
 
 C. "Have you been using these patents ? " 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 45 
 
 B. "Yes, and I've made piles of money on them ? " 
 
 C. "Is your right contested ? ' ' 
 
 B. No ; but I have reason to believe that it will be." 
 
 C. (Sharply. ) ' ' What reason ? " 
 
 B. (Puzzled.) "Well, the man has been insane, and has 
 forgotten, very likely, what he did before his insanity. I 
 have reason to believe that such is the case, and that he in- 
 tends to contest my right to the inventions which this paper 
 conveys to me." 
 
 C. " What reason now ? " 
 
 B. I know the man. " 
 
 C. " Who is his lawyer ? " 
 
 B. "Balfour." 
 
 C. (Startled.) "Let me see that paper again. (Looks it 
 through, and tln-n says, dryly) I know Balfour. He is a 
 shrewd man, and a good lawyer, and unless he has a case, or 
 thinks he has one, he will not fight this document. What 
 deviltry there is in it, I do n't know, and I do n't want you 
 to tell me. I can tell you that you have a hard man to fight. 
 Where are these witnesses? " 
 
 B. "Two of them are dead, one of them is living, and is 
 now in the city." 
 
 C. " What can he swear to ? " 
 
 B. "He can swear to his own signature, and to all the 
 rest. He can relate and swear to all the circumstances at- 
 tending the execution of the paper." 
 
 C. "And you know that these rights were never pre- 
 viously conveyed?" 
 
 B. "Yes, I know they never were." 
 
 C. "Then, mark you. General, Balfour has no case at 
 all — provided this isn't a dirty paper. If it is a dirty paper, 
 and you want me to serve you, keep your tongue to your- 
 self. You've recorded it, of course." 
 
 B. (In undisguised alarm.) "Recorded it ? " 
 
 C. "You don't mean to tell me that this paper has been 
 in existence more than six years, and has not been recorded ? " 
 
 B. "I didn't know it was necessary." 
 
 C. " It is n't worth that ! (Snapping his finger. He then 
 takes the check from the drawer, and hands it back to Belcher. ) 
 There's no case, and I don't want your money." 
 
 B. (Fiercely.) "But there is a case. Do you suppose 
 I am going to be cheated out of my rights without a fight I 
 I'm no chicken, and I'll spend half a million before I will 
 give up my rights." 
 
 C. (Laughing.) "Well, go to Washington, and attend 
 
46 A DRAMA 
 
 to the matter. If no one has been ahead of you, you're all 
 right as far as this is concerned. But Balfour is no chicken, 
 and knows what he's about. Why has he not been down 
 upon you before this ? Simply because he saw that you 
 were making money for his client, and he preferred to take 
 it all out of you in a single slice. I know Balfour, and he 
 carries a long head. Chicken ! " 
 
 B. (Much excited.) " Before they get through with Gen- 
 eral Belcher, they will be disgusted with the campaign, curse 
 
 them ! " 
 
 C. "There is no use of this sort of thing, General. Go 
 to Washington, and if you find that no one has been before 
 you on the records, come to me, and when you come you 
 may as well multiply that check by ten. When I undertake 
 anything of this kind, I like to provide myself against all 
 contingencies." 
 
 B. "You lawyers put the lancet in pretty deep. " 
 
 C. (Sneeringly.) "Our clients never do ." 
 
 Scene II. Belcher in his library. Enter servant with letter. 
 Belcher breaks the seal, and reads : — 
 
 " To Robert Belcher, Esq. :— 
 
 " In behalf of my principal, Mr. Paul Benedict, I 
 respectfully request you to pay over to him an equitable share 
 of the profits upon his patented inventions, and to enter into 
 a definite contract for the further use of them. 
 
 "James Balfour." 
 
 Belcher. (Laughs derisively, and soliloquizes.) "Milk 
 for babes. (Laughs again.) Balfour is a coward, or else he 
 feels his case to be a weak one. Does he think the General 
 is a fool ?" (Writes a few moments, and then reads what he 
 has written. ) 
 
 " To James Balfour, Esq. : — 
 
 ''Your letter of this date received, and contents 
 noted. Permit me to say in reply, — 
 
 "1. That I have no evidence that you are Paul Benedict's 
 attorney. 
 
 " 2. That I have no evidence that Paul Benedict is living, 
 and that I do not propose to negotiate in any way, or on any 
 business, with a fraud, or a man of straw. 
 
 "3. That I am the legal assignee of all the patents origi- 
 nally issued to Paul Benedict, which I have used, and am 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 
 
 47 
 
 now using. I hold his assignment in the desk on which I 
 write this letter, and it stands duly recorded in Washington, 
 though, from ignorance of the law, it has only recently been 
 placed upon the books in the Patent Office. 
 
 "Permit me to say, in closing, that, as I bear you no mal- 
 ice, I will show you the assignment at your pleasure, and 
 thus relieve you from the danger of entering upon a con- 
 spiracy to defraud me of rights which I propose, with all the 
 means at my disposal, to defend. 
 
 "Yours, Robert Belcher. 
 
 (He reads over the letter, then rings the bell. Enter servant. 
 He hands the servant the letter, with orders to deliver it to Mr. 
 Balfour. Disposes himself into an easy attitude for a smoke. 
 In a feiv moments Mr. Balfour enters. ) 
 
 Balfour. "You were kind enough to offer to show me 
 the assignment of Mr. Benedict's patents. I have called to 
 
 see it." 
 
 Belcher. "I have changed my mind." 
 
 Balfour. "Do you suspect me of wishing to steal it? ' 
 
 Belcher. "No ; but the fact is, I wrote my note to you 
 without consulting my lawyer." 
 
 Balfour. "I thought so. Good-day, sir." 
 
 Belcher. "No offense, I hope." 
 
 Balfour. " Not in the least." {Exit Balfour. Belcher 
 sees that he has made a mistake.) 
 
 _A_OT HXZ. 
 
 Scene I. The court room. Sitting within the bar is James 
 Balfour, calmly examining his papers. He looks up among the 
 assembled jurors, witnesses, and idlers, and beckons Paul Bene- 
 dict, his client, to his side. Within the bar cdso sits Robert 
 Belcher and his counsel, Mr. Cavendish. Mr. Balfour gathers 
 his papers before him, and rises to make the opening for the 
 prosecution. 
 
 Balfour. "May it please the Court, and gentlemen of 
 the jury, I have to present you a case, either issue of which 
 it is not pleasant for me to contemplate. Either my client 
 or the defendant will go out of this court, at the conclusion 
 of this case a blackened man ; and as I have a warm friend- 
 ship for one of them, and bear no malice to the other, I am 
 
48 A DRAMA 
 
 free to confess that while I seek for justice, I shrink from 
 the results of its vindication." (Interrupted by Cavendish.) 
 
 Cavendish. {Spitefully.) "I beg the gentleman to spare 
 his hypothetical sentiment. It is superfluous, so far as my 
 client is concerned, and offensive." 
 
 Balfour. {Calmly.) I take no pleasure in making my- 
 self offensive to the defendant and his counsel, but if I am 
 interrupted again I shall be compelled to call things by their 
 riffht names. I see other trials at the conclusion of this 
 action. There is something more than money involved in 
 the issue of this action, and I repeat, that either my client 
 or the defendant will go out of this court wrecked in char- 
 acter, blasted in reputation, utterly ruined. The terms of 
 the bill and the answer determine this result. The plaintiff 
 in this case brings an action for damages, in the sum of half 
 a million of dollars, for the infringements of various patent 
 rights. I shall prove to you that these patents were issued 
 to him as the first and only inventor ; that he has never as- 
 signed them to any one ; that they have been used by the 
 defendant for from seven to ten years, to his great profit ; 
 that he is using them still without a license, and without 
 rendering a just consideration for them. I shall prove to 
 you that the plaintiff was driven to insanity by the perplex- 
 ities he suffered through the persecutions of the defendant, 
 and that even after he became insane, the defendant tried 
 to secure the execution of the assignment which he had 
 sought in vain during the sanity of the patentee. The an- 
 swer to the complaint alleges the disappearance and death of 
 Benedict, declaring the plaintiff to be an imposter, averring 
 the assignment of all the patents in question to the defend- 
 ant, and denies the profits. First, therefore, I offer in evi- 
 dence certified copies of the patents in question." {The 
 documents are examined by Mr. Cavendish and the Court. Paul 
 Benedict is then called as the first witness. He takes the stand.) 
 
 Balfour. " What is your name 1 " 
 
 Witness. '' Paul Benedict." 
 
 Balfour. " Where were you born 1 " 
 
 Benedict. "In the city of New York." 
 
 Balfour. "Are you the inventor of the machines, im- 
 plements, and processes named in the documents from the 
 Patent Office." (Handing him the papers. Benedict rtads 
 them. ) 
 
 Benedict. "I am, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Are you the only owner of these patent 
 rights ? " 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 49 
 
 Benedict. "lam, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "What is your profession ? " 
 
 Benedict. " I was trained for a mechanical engineer." 
 
 Balfour. "What has been your principal employ- 
 ment ? " 
 
 Benedict. ''Invention.'' 
 
 Balfour. "When you left New York, where did you 
 go?" 
 
 Benedict. " To Seven Oaks." 
 
 Balfour. "How many years ago was that ? " 
 
 Benedict. "Eleven or twelve, I suppose." 
 
 Balfour. "Now I want you to tell the Court in a plain, 
 brief way, the history of your life in Seven Oaks, giving in 
 sufficient detail an account of all your dealings with the de- 
 fendant in this case, so that we may understand how your 
 inventions came into Mr. Belcher's hands, and why you have 
 never derived any benefit from them." (Benedict hesitates. 
 Cavendish notices it, and is on his feet in an instant. ) 
 
 Cavendish. " May it please the court, there is a question 
 of identity that comes up at this point, and I beg the privi- 
 lege of asking it here." (The Judge looks at Mr. Balfour.) 
 
 Balfour. ' ' Certainly. ' ' 
 
 Cavendish. "I would like to ask the witness whether 
 he is the Paul Benedict who left the city about the time at 
 which he testifies that he went away, in consequence of his 
 connection with a band of counterfeiters. Did you, sir, in- 
 vent their machinery, or did you not ? " 
 
 Benedict. (His face all aflame.) "I did not." (Caven- 
 dish gives a significant glance at his client, whose face blooms a 
 brutal smile, ami then sits down. ) 
 
 Balfour. (Very composedly.) " Is that all ? " 
 
 Cavendish. (Mieeringly.) " All for the present. " 
 
 Balfour. "May it please the Court, I hope I may be 
 permitted to say that the tactics of the defendant are worthy 
 of his cause. (Turns to Mr. Benedict.) I trust the witness 
 will not be disturbed by the insult that has been gratuitously 
 offered him, and will tell the history that I have asked him 
 to tell." 
 
 Benedict. "When I first went to Seven Oaks, I was 
 very poor, as I have been ever since. I visited Mr. Bel- 
 cher's mill, and saw the chance for improvements in his 
 machines and processes, and informed him of the advan- 
 tage my inventions would be to him. He furnished me 
 with money for my work, and to pay for the patent rights, 
 
 and gave me a verbal promise that I should share in the 
 
 4 
 
50 A DRAMA 
 
 profits that inight accrue from their use. He kept me at 
 work until he had secured everything he wished for. In 
 the meantime, I suffered for the lack of the necessaries of 
 life, and was fed continually on promises. He declared that 
 the patents were nearly useless to him, and demanded, as a 
 consideration for the money he had advanced me, the as- 
 signments of all my patents to him. My little boy was born 
 during these troubles, and on account of the privations she 
 suffered, my wife never saw a well day again. She died at 
 last, and in the midst of my deepest troubles, Mr. Belcher 
 pursued me with his demands for the assignment of my 
 patents. He still held me to him by the bestowal of small 
 sums, which necessity compelled me to accept. He always 
 had a remarkable power over me, and I felt that he would 
 lead me to destruction. I saw nothing but starvation before 
 me and my child, and went down into a horror of great 
 darkness." (A cold shiver tvais over him.) 
 
 Balfour. " What then ? " 
 
 Benedict. "I hardly know. For years I was insane. 
 I went to the hospital, and was there supported by Mr. 
 Belcher. He even followed me there, and endeavored to get 
 my signature to an assignment, but was positively forbidden 
 by the superintendent of the asylum. Then, after being 
 pronounced incurable, I was sent back to the Seven Oaks' 
 almshouse, where, for a considerable time, my boy was 
 kept ; and from that horrible place, I escaped. I remember 
 it all as a long dream of torture. My cure came in the woods, 
 at Number Nine, where I have ever since lived, and where 
 twice I have been sought and found by paid emissaries of 
 Mr. Belcher, who did not love him well enough to betray 
 me. And, thanks to the ministry of the best friends God 
 ever raised up to man, I am here to-day to claim my rights." 
 
 Balfour. "These rights you say you have never as- 
 signed ?" 
 
 Benedict. "Never." 
 
 Balfour. "Please tell me what you know about Mr. 
 Belcher's profits on the use of these inventions." 
 
 Benedict. " I cannot tell much. I do not think he 
 would have been so anxious to own them if they had not 
 been largely profitable to him. By the cheapness with 
 which he produced his manufactures, he became rapidly 
 rich, because able to hold the market, and force his compet- 
 itors into bankruptcy." 
 
 Balfour. "That is all, Mr. Benedict." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 51 
 
 Judge. " Does the counsel for the defendant wish to 
 cross-examine the witness ? " 
 
 Cavendish. "May it please the Court, the counsel for 
 the defense regards the examination so far simply a farce. 
 We do not admit that the witness is Paul Benedict, at all, 
 — or rather, the Paul Benedict named in the patents, certi- 
 fied copies of which are in evidence. This man has long 
 been regarded as dead. He stands unrecognized by wit- 
 nesses now in this room, who knew Paul Benedict during 
 all his residence in Seven Oaks. I cannot cross-examine the 1 
 witness without recognizing his identity with the Paul 
 Benedict named in the patents. There is nothing but a 
 pretender in Court, may it please your honor, and I decline 
 to have anything to do with him." 
 
 Judge. "It seems to the Court, gentlemen, that this 
 question of identity should be settled as an essential prelim- 
 inary to further jDroceedings. " 
 
 Balfour. " May it please your honor, I did not suppose 
 it possible, after the plaintiff had actually appeared in 
 court, and shown himself to the defendant, that this ques- 
 tion of identity would be mooted or questioned. The de- 
 fendant must know that I have witnesses here — that I 
 would not appear here without competent witnesses — who 
 will place his identity beyond question. It seems, however, 
 that this case is to be fought inch by inch, on every possible 
 ground. As a first witness upon this point, I shall call 
 James Fenton." 
 
 Jim. (On a distant seat.) "Jest call me Jim." (He ad- 
 vances to the stand with rampant alacrity, his hair standing 
 straight in the air.) 
 
 Clerk. "Hold up your right hand." 
 
 Jim. "Sartin. Both on 'em if ye say so." 
 
 Clerk. "You solemnly affirm that the evidence you 
 shall give in this litigation in which Paul Benedict is plaint- 
 iff and Robert Belcher defendant shall be the truth, the 
 whole truth, and nothing but the truth." 
 
 Jim. "Thank ye." 
 
 Balfour. "James Fenton ," 
 
 Jim. (Interrupting.) "Jest call me Jim. I ain't no 
 prouder here nor I be at Number Nine." 
 
 Balfour. "Very well, Jim, tell us who you are." 
 
 Jim. "I'm Jim Fenton, as keeps a hotel at Number 
 Nine. My father was an Englishman, my mother was a 
 Scotchman, I was born in Ireland, an' raised in Canady, an' 
 I've lived in Number Nine for more nor twelve year, hunt- 
 
52 A DRAMA 
 
 in', trappin', an' keepin' a hotel. I hain't never been edi- 
 cated, but I can tell the truth when it is necessary, an' I 
 love my friends an' hate my enemies." 
 
 Cavendish. "May it please the Court, I beg to suggest 
 to the plaintiff's counsel that the witness shall be required 
 to give his religious views." (Belcher laughs.) 
 
 Balfour. "Certainly. What are your religious views, 
 Jim ? " 
 
 Jim. "Well, 1 hain't got many ; but I sh'd be s'prised if 
 there wasn't a brimstone mine on t'other side, with a couple 
 o' picks in it for old Belcher an' the man as helps 'im." 
 ( The audience roars. ) 
 
 Cavendish. "That will do. The religious views of the 
 witness are definite and satisfactory." 
 
 Balfour. "Jim, do you know Paul Benedict ? " 
 
 Jim. "Well I do. I've knowed 'im ever since he come 
 to Seven Oaks." 
 
 Balfour. "How did you make his acquaintance ? " 
 
 Jim. "He used to come into the woods, fishin' an' hunt- 
 in'. Him an' me was like brothers. He was the curisest 
 creetur I ever seen, an' I hope takes no 'fense in hearin' me 
 say so. Ye've seen his tackle, Mr. Balfour, an' that split 
 bamboo o' his, but the Jedge hasn't seen it. I wish I'd 
 brung it along. Fond of fishin', Jedge 1 " 
 
 Judge. (Smiling.) "The witness had better be confined 
 to the matter in hand." 
 
 Jim. "An' Jedge — no 'fense — but I like yer looks, an' if 
 yell come to Number Nine — it's a little late now — I'll — ." 
 
 Cavendish. (Jumping up fiercely.) "I object to this 
 trifling." 
 
 Balfour. "Jim, the defendant's counsel objects to your 
 trifling. He has a right to do so, particularly as he is re- 
 sponsible for starting it. Now tell me whether the Paul 
 Benedict you knew was the only man of the name who has 
 lived in Seven Oaks since you have lived in Number Nine ?" 
 
 Jim. "He was the only one I ever hearn on. He was 
 the one as invented Belcher's machines, anyway. He's 
 talked about 'em with me a thousand times." 
 
 Balfour. " Is he in the room ? " 
 
 Jim. "Mostly." (With a bland smile.) 
 
 Balfour. "Give me a direct answer, now." 
 
 Jim. "Yes, he's in this room, and he's settin' there by 
 you, an' he's been stannin' where I stan' now." 
 
 Balfour. "How do you know that this is the same man 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 53 
 
 who used to visit you in the woods, and who invented Mr. 
 Belcher's machines ? " 
 
 Jim. "Well, I don't mind tellin' on it, if it wouldn't be 
 too triflin'." {With a comical tvink at Cavendish.) 
 
 Balfour. "Go on and tell it." 
 
 Jim. "I know'd Benedict up to the time he lost his 
 mind, and was packed off to the 'sylum, an' I never seen 'im 
 ag'in till I saw him in the Seven Oaks poor-house. I came 
 across his little boy one night, on the hill. He hadn't noth- 
 in' on but rags, an' he was as blue an' hungry as a spring 
 b'ar. The little feller teched my feelin's, an' I jest sot down 
 to comfort 'im. He telled me that his pa was at old Buf- 
 fum's, as crazy as a loon. Well, I stayed to old Buffum's 
 that night, an' went into the poor-house in the mornin' with 
 the doctor. I seen Benedict thar, an' know'd him. He was 
 lyin' on straw, an' he hadn't clothes enough on 'im to put 
 in tea. An' says I, Mr. Benedict, give us your benedic- 
 tion ; an' says he, 'Jim ! ' That floored me, an' I jest cried 
 and swar'd to myself. I made a little 'rangement with him 
 to take him to Abram's bosom. Ye see, he thought he was 
 in hell, an' it was a reasonable thing in 'im, too. I took 'im 
 out of the poor-house an' carried 'im to Number Nine, an' 
 cured him. He's lived there ever sence, helped me build 
 my hotel, an' I come down with 'im to tend this Court, an' 
 we brung his little boy along too, an' the little feller's here, 
 an' knows 'im better nor I do." 
 
 Balfour. "And vou declare, under oath, that the Paul 
 Benedict whom you knew at Seven Oaks, and at Number 
 Nine before his insanity, the Paul Benedict who was in the 
 poor-house at Seven Oaks and notoriously escaped from that 
 institution, escaped by your help, has lived with you ever 
 since, and has appeared here in court this morning ?" 
 
 Jim. "He's the same feller, an' no mistake, if so be he. 
 hain't slipped his skin, an' no triflin'." 
 
 Balfour. "Did Mr. Belcher ever send into the woods 
 to find him? " 
 
 Jim. (Laughing.) " Yis, but I choked 'em off." 
 
 Balfour. " How did you choke them off 1 " 
 
 Jim. " I telled 'em both I'd lick 'em if they ever blowed. 
 They didn't want to blow any, to speak on, but Mike Con- 
 lin come in with a hundred dollars of Belcher's money in his 
 jacket, an' helped me nuss my man for a week, and I got a 
 Happy David out of Sam Yates, that he would keep mum, 
 an' ther's the document." (Takes the paper from his pocket.) 
 
54 A DRAMA 
 
 Balfour. "It is not necessary in the case. That is all, 
 Jim." 
 
 Cavendish. (Rising.) "You helped Mr. Benedict to es- 
 cape, did you, Jim ? " 
 
 Jim. "I said so." 
 
 Cavendish. "Did you steal the key when you were 
 there first ? " 
 
 Jim. " No ; 1 borrered it, an' brung it back an' left it in 
 the door." 
 
 Cavendish. "Did you undo the fastenings of the out- 
 side door? " 
 
 Jim. "Yes, an' I did 'em up ag'in." 
 
 Cavendish. "Did you break down the grated door ? " 
 
 Jim. "I remember 'bout sumthin' squeekin' an' givin' 
 way ; but it was purty dark, an' I couldn't see 'zactly what 
 wuz a sfoin' on." 
 
 Cavendish. " Oh, you could n't ! We have your confes- 
 sion, then, that you are a thief and a burglar, and that you 
 could n't see the man you took out. " 
 
 Jim. " Well, now, squar, that won't help ye any. Ben- 
 edict is the man as got away, an' I saved the town the board 
 o' two paupers, an' the cost o' two pine coffins, an' sent ole 
 Buffum where he belonged, an' nobody cried but his per- 
 tickler friend as sets next to ye." 
 
 Cavendish. " 1 beg the Court's protection for my client, 
 against the insults of this witness." 
 
 Jim. " When a man calls Jim Fenton a thief an' a bug- 
 gler, he must take what comes on't. Ye may thank yer ev- 
 erlastin' stars that ye didn't say that to me in the street, fur 
 I should 'a licked ye. I'd 'a fastened that slippery old scalp 
 o' yourn tighter nor a drum-head. One taste o' the animal 
 substance thar is in this conglomeration of bone an' gristle 
 will make ye a full meal without any condiments or sarse." 
 
 Judge. {Peremptorily.) "Witness, you forget where 
 you are, sir. You must stop these remarks, or I will com- 
 mit you for contempt of Court." 
 
 Jim. " Jedge, look 'ere ! I hev no contempt fur ye, 
 Jedge, but I hev fur a sneakin' rjettifogger. When a man 
 is insulted by a lawyer in court, what can he do ? I'm a 
 reasonable man, but I can't take anybody's sarse. It does 
 seem to me as if a lawyer as snubs a witness, an' calls 'im 
 names, wants dressin' down, too. Give Jim Fenton a fair 
 shake, an' he's all right." (The Court, lawyers, jury, and 
 audience are amused by Jim's irrepressible tongue.) 
 
 Cavendish. "May it please the Court, after the dis- 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 55 
 
 graceful confessions of the witness, and the revelation of 
 his criminal character, it will not comport with my own 
 self-respect to question him further." 
 
 Jim. (With a comical smile.) "Paddlin' off, eh?" 
 
 Judge. "Witness, be silent, and step down." 
 
 Jim "No 'fense, Jedge, I hope?" 
 
 Judge. " Step down, sir." 
 
 Balfour. " Helen Dillingham ! " (Mrs. Dillingham takes 
 the stand.) 
 
 Judge. (With a courteous bow and gesture.) " Mrs. Dill- 
 ingham, will you have the kindness to remove your veil ? " 
 (The veil is quietly removed.) 
 
 Balfour. "Mrs. Dillingham, where do you reside?" 
 
 Mrs. Dillingham. "In this city, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Have you always lived here? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Always." 
 
 Balfour. "Do you know Paul Benedict ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I do, sir." 
 
 Balfour. " How long have you known him ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "From the time I was born until he left New 
 York, after his marriage." 
 
 Balfour. " What is his relation to you ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "He is my brother, sir." 
 
 (This answer so confounds Belcher that he entirely loses his 
 self-possession. His face grows red, his eyes are wild, and rais- 
 ing his clenched fist, he brings it down with a powerful blow 
 upon the table before him, and exclaims, il My God!" The 
 Judge and all are astonished.) 
 
 Cavendish. (Rising.) "I beg the Court to overlook my 
 client's excitement, as he was evidently taken off his guard." 
 
 Balfour. "Paul Benedict is your brother, you say ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "He is, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "What was his employment before he left 
 New York ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "He was an inventor from his childhood, and 
 received a careful education in accordance with his mechan- 
 ical genius." 
 
 Balfour. " Why did he leave New York ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I am ashamed to say that he left in consequence 
 of my own unkindness." 
 
 Balfour. " What was the occasion of your unkind- 
 ness ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "His marriage with one whom I did not regard 
 as his own social equal, or mine." 
 
 Balfour. "What was her name ? " 4 
 
56 A DRAMA 
 
 Mrs. D. " Jane Kendrick." 
 
 Balfour. "How did you learn that he was alive ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Through his son, whom I invited into my 
 house, after he was brought to this city by yourself." 
 
 Balfour. " Have you recently visited the cemetery at 
 Seven Oaks?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "I have, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Did you see the grave of your sister-in-law?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "I did." 
 
 Balfour. "Was there a headstone upon the grave ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "There was a humble one." 
 
 Balfour. " What inscription did it bear ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Jane Kendrick, wife of Paul Benedict." 
 
 Balfour. "When and where did you see your brother 
 first, after your separation ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Early last summer, at a place called Number 
 Nine." 
 
 Balfour. "Did you recognize him ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I did, at once." 
 
 Balfour. "Has anything occurred in the intercourse of 
 the summer, to make you suspect that the man whom you 
 recognized as your brother was an impostor ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Nothing. We have conversed with perfect 
 familiarity on a thousand events and circumstances of our 
 early life. I know him to be my brother as well as I know 
 my own name, and my own identity." 
 
 Balfour. "That is all." 
 
 Cavendish. "Mrs. Dillingham, you were glad to find 
 your brother at last, were you not ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Very glad, sir." 
 
 C. "Why?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "Because I was sorry for the misery which I 
 had inflicted upon him, and to which I had exposed him. " 
 
 C. "You were the victim of remorse, as I understand 
 you ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Yes, sir, I suppose so." 
 
 C. " Were you conscious that your condition of mind 
 unfitted you to discriminate 1 Were you not so anxious to 
 find your brother in order to quiet your conscience, that you 
 were easily imposed upon ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "No, sir, to both questions." 
 
 C. "Well, madam, such things have happened. Have 
 you been in the habit of receiving Mr. Belcher at your 
 house ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I have." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 57 
 
 C. "You have been in the habit of receiving gentlemen 
 rather indiscriminately at your house, haven't you ? " 
 
 Balfour. " I object to that question. It carries a covert 
 insult to the witness. (Mrs. Dillingham bows to Mr. Balfour 
 in acknowledgment of the courtesy, but answers the question.) 
 
 Mrs. D. "I have received you, sir, and Mr. Belcher. I 
 may have been indiscriminate in my courtesies. A lady liv- 
 ing alone cannot always tell, and is liable to be imposed 
 upon." 
 
 C. '■ Did you know before you went to Number Nine 
 that your brother was there ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I did, and the last time but one at which Mr. 
 Belcher called upon me, I informed him of the fact." 
 
 C. " That your brother was there ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. " No ; that Paul Benedict was there." 
 
 C. " How did you know he was there 1 " 
 
 Mrs. D. "His little boy wrote me from there, and told 
 me so." 
 
 C. (Baffled.) " I have no more questions to ask." 
 
 (Mrs. Dillingham draws down her veil, and tcalksto her seat.) 
 
 Balfour. "Harry Benedict! (Harry takes the stand.) 
 Harry, do you know what an oath is ? " 
 
 Harry. "Yes, sir. It is a solemn promise to tell the 
 truth and act the truth." 
 
 B. "Do you always tell the truth ? " 
 
 H. "Yes, sir." 
 
 B. "Why?" 
 
 H. " Because it would offend my pa and my heavenly 
 Father if I told a lie. And I want to do right, too." 
 
 Judge. "The lad's answers are perfectly satisfactory." 
 
 B. " Harry, were you ever in Mr. Belcher's house ? " 
 
 H. "Yes, sir." 
 
 B. " Tell us how it happened that you were there." 
 
 H. "Mr. Belcher stopped me in the street, and led me 
 up the steps, and then up stairs into his room." 
 
 B. " What question did he ask you? " 
 
 H. "He asked whether my father was alive." 
 
 B. "Did he offer you money if you would tell ? " 
 
 H. " Yes, sir ; he offered me a great gold piece of money, 
 and told me it was an eagle." 
 
 B. "Did you take it ?" 
 
 H. "No, sir." 
 
 B. " Did he threaten you ? " 
 
 H. " He tried to scare me, sir." 
 
58 A DRAMA 
 
 B. " Did he tell you that he should like to give your 
 father some money ? 
 
 H. "Yes, sir." 
 
 B. "And did you tell him that your father was alive ? '■* 
 
 H. "No, sir ; Iran away." (Harry cannot restrain a laugh 
 at the remembrance of the scene. ) 
 
 B. "Harry, is your father in this room? " 
 
 H. (Looking at his father with a smile.) "Yes, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Now, Harry, I want you to pick him out 
 from all these people. Be sure not to make any mistake. 
 Mr. Belcher has been so anxious to find him that I presume 
 he will be very much obliged to you for the information. 
 Go and put your hand on him. " (Harry starts at a run, and 
 dodging around the end of the bar, throws himself into his 
 fathers arms, puts his arms around his neck, and hugs him 
 affectionately, bursting into a peal of boyish laughter.) 
 
 Judge. " Does the counsel for the defense wish to cross- 
 examine the witness ? " 
 
 Cavendish. (With a nod.) "I believe not." (Harry 
 goes to his seat at the side of Jim Fenton, who hugs him so 
 that he almost screams.) 
 
 Jim. (In a loud whisper to Harry.) " Ye're a brick, little 
 feller. That was a happy David an' a Goliar into the bar- 
 gin. You've knocked the Ph'listine this time higher nor a 
 kite." 
 
 Cavendish. "May it please the Court, I have witnesses 
 here ready to testify that they knew Paul Benedict during 
 residence in Seven Oaks, but that the plaintiff in this case 
 is an entire stranger to them. But I comprehend the dis- 
 advantage at which I stand, with only negative testimony 
 at my command. I am convinced that my client is wronged, 
 but I shall be compelled to accept the identity of the plaint- 
 iff. I will here recapitulate the points in the answer to the 
 complaint : The first is, that Paul Benedict is dead or miss- 
 ing. This position, as I have said, we abandon. The 
 second is the assignment, to my client, of all the patents in 
 question ; and the last is the denial of any profits accruing 
 to my client from the use of said patents. The next ques- 
 tion at issue is, whom does the title to these patents rests in ? 
 and I propose that we proceed at once to its trial. First, 
 I wish to cross-examine the plaintiff." (Paul Benedict again 
 takes the stand.) 
 
 Cavendish. "Witness, you pretend to be the owner of 
 the patents in question in this case, and the inventor of the 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 59 
 
 machines, implements, and processes which they cover, do 
 you 1 " 
 
 Balfour. (Spitefully.) "I object to the form of the 
 question. It is an insult to the witness, and a reflection 
 upon the learned counsel's own sincerity in accepting the 
 identity of the plaintiff." 
 
 Cavendish. "Very well, since the plaintiff's counsel is 
 so difficult to please ! You are the owner of these patents, 
 are you ? " 
 
 Benedict. "I am, sir." 
 
 Cavendish. "You have been insane, have you, sir?" 
 
 Benedict. "I suppose I have been, sir. I was very ill 
 for a long time, and have no doubt that I suffered from 
 mental alienation." 
 
 Cavendish. "What is your memory of things that oc- 
 curred immediately preceding your insanity ? " 
 
 Benedict. "It is very much confused, sir." 
 
 Cavendish. "Oh, it is ! I thought so ! Then you can- 
 not swear to the events immediately preceding your attack? " 
 
 Benedict. "I am afraid I cannot, sir, at least, not in 
 their order or detail." 
 
 Cavendish. "No! I thought so! (In a contemptuous- 
 manner and rasping voice.) I commend your prudence. 
 Now, witness, if some of your neighbors should assure you 
 that on the day previous to your attack you did a certain 
 thing, which you do not remember to have done, what 
 would you say ? " 
 
 Benedict. " If they were credible people, and not un- 
 friendly to me, I should be compelled to believe them." 
 
 Cavendish. "Why, sir, you are an admirable witness I 
 We are getting at the matter bravely. Did you ever know 
 Nicholas Johnson and James Ramsej 7 ? " 
 
 Benedict. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Cavendish. "Where did you see them last ? " 
 
 Benedict. "In Mr. Belcher's library at Seven Oaks." 
 
 Cavendish. "On what occasion, or rather, at what 
 time ? " 
 
 Benedict. "I have sad reason to remember both the 
 occasion and the date, sir. Mr. Belcher had determined to 
 get my signature to an assignment, and had got me to his 
 house on another pretext entirely. I suppose he had sum- 
 moned these men as witnesses." 
 
 Cavendish. "Where are these men now?" 
 
 Benedict. "Unhappily, they are both dead." 
 
60 A DRAMA 
 
 Cavendish. "Yes, unhappily for my client. Was there 
 anybody else in the room ? " 
 
 Benedict. "I believe that Phipps. Mr. Belcher's man, 
 was going and coming." 
 
 Cavendish. "Why, your memory is excellent. Give us 
 the date, if you please." 
 
 Benedict. " It was the 4th of May 1860. " 
 
 Cavendish. "How confused you must have been ! " 
 
 Benedict. "These are things that were burnt into my 
 memory. There were other occurrences that day, of which 
 I have been informed, but of which I have no recollection." 
 
 Cavendish. "Ah, there are! Well, I shall have occa- 
 sion to refresh your mind upon still another before I get 
 through with you. Now, if I should show you an assign- 
 ment, signed by yourself on the very day you have desig- 
 nated, and also signed by Johnson, Ramsey, and Phipps as 
 witnesses, what should you say to it i " 
 
 Balfour. "I object to the question. The counsel 
 should should show the document to the witness, and then 
 ask his opinion of it." 
 
 Judge. "The opinion of the Court coincides with the 
 views of the counsel for the plaintiff." 
 
 Cavendish. "Very well, we shall get at that in good 
 time. Now, witness, will you be kind enough to tell me 
 how you remember that all this occurred on the 4th of May, 
 1860 1 " 
 
 Benedict. "It happened on the first anniversary of my 
 wife's death. I went from her grave to Mr. Belcher's house. 
 The day was associated with the saddest and most precious 
 memories of my life." 
 
 Cavendish. {Rubbing his white hands together.) "What 
 an excellent memory ! Are you familiar with the signatures 
 of Nicholas Johnson and James Ramsey? " 
 
 Benedict. "I have seen them many times." 
 
 Cavendish. "Would you recognize them if I were to 
 show them to you ? " 
 
 Benedict. "I don't know, sir." 
 
 Cavendish. "Oh! your memory begins to fail now, 
 does it ? How is it that you cannot remember things with 
 which you were familiar during a series of years when you 
 were perfectly sane, and yet can remember things so well 
 that happened when your mind was confused ? (Benedict's 
 mind becomes confused again, and he begins to stammer. Cav- 
 endish rummages among his papers, and withdraws two letters, 
 which he hands to the witness.) Now will the witness exam- 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 61 
 
 ine these letters, and tell us whether he recognizes the sig- 
 natures as genuine ? " 
 
 Benedict. (After carefully examining the letters and their 
 signatures.) "I think they are genuine autograph letters, 
 both of them." 
 
 Cavendish. "Thank you; now please hand them back 
 to me." 
 
 Balfour. "I have special reasons for requesting the 
 Court to impound these letters. They will be needed again 
 in the case." 
 
 Judge. "The witness will hand the letters to the clerk." 
 (Cavendish is annoyed, but acquiesces gracefully.) 
 
 Cavendish. "Witness, I hold in my hand a document 
 signed, sealed, and witnessed on the 4th day of May, 1860, 
 by which Paul Benedict conveys to Robert Belcher his title 
 to the patents, certified copies of which have been placed in 
 evidence. I want you to examine carefully the signatures of 
 yourself and those of Johnson and Ramsey. Happily one of 
 the witnesses to the assignment is still living, and is ready, 
 not only to swear to his own signature, but to yours and 
 those of the other witnesses." (Cavendish hands Benedict 
 the instrument. The inventor looks it hurriedly through, and 
 then pauses at the signatures. After examining them long with 
 naked eyes, he draws a glass from his pocket, and scrutinizes 
 them with a curious, absorbed look, forgetful, apparently, where 
 he is.) 
 
 Cavendish. "Is the witness going to sleep] ' : 
 
 Balfour. "Take all the time you want." (At last Mr. 
 Benedict looks up, his face full ofpaht.) 
 
 Benedict. " I do not know what to say to this." 
 
 Cavendish. " Oh, you do n't ! I thought you would n't 1 
 still we would like to know your opinion of the instrument." 
 
 Benhdict. "I don't think you would like to know it, 
 
 sir." 
 
 Cavendish. "What does the witness insinuate ? No 
 insinuations, sir ! " 
 
 Judge. (Quietly.) " Insinuations are apt to breed insin- 
 uations. The witness has manifested no disinclination to 
 answer your direct questions." 
 
 Cavendish. "Very well. Is your signature at the foot 
 of that assignment ? " 
 
 Benedict. " It is not, sir. " 
 
 Cavendish. (With a sneer.) "Perhaps tnose are not 
 the signatures of the witnesses." 
 
 Balfour. (With an excited voice.) "Two of them, I 
 
62 A DRAMA 
 
 bave no doubt, are forgeries." (Cavendish laughs, sits down 
 by Mr. Belcher, and they whisper a moment then both laugh 
 together. ) 
 
 Cavendish. "That's all." (Nodding to the ivitness.) 
 
 Balfour. "May it please the Court, we got along so 
 well with the question of identity that, with the leave of 
 the defendant's counsel, I propose, in order to save the time 
 of the Court, that we push our inquiries directly into the 
 validity of this assignment. This is the essential question, 
 and the defendant has only to establish the validity of the 
 instrument to bring the case to an end at once. This done, 
 the suit will be abandoned." 
 
 Cavendish. "Certainly. I agree to the scheme with 
 the single provision on behalf of the defendant, that he shall 
 not be debarred from his pleading of denial of profits, in 
 any event." 
 
 Balfour. ' ' Agreed. " 
 
 Cavendish. "Very well. I shall call Cornelius Phipps, 
 the only surviving witness of the assignment." (But Phipps 
 does not appear, and a second call produces the same result. 
 Nowhere in the house, and cannot be found, having mysteri- 
 ously disappeared. After a short consultation ivith his client, 
 Mr. Cavendish arises.) 
 
 Cavendish. "May it please the Court, the defendant in 
 this case finds himself in a very embarrassing position. It 
 was known yesterday that Cornelius Phipps, his only sur- 
 viving witness of the assignment, was here ; but he has mys- 
 teriously disappeared. Why and how he disappeared, I 
 cannot tell. All due diligence has been exercised to dis- 
 cover him, but without success. I make no charges of foul 
 play. Knowing him as I do, and his faithfulness to my cli- 
 ent, I cannot avoid the suspicion that he is by some means, 
 and against his will, detained from appearing here. There 
 are now but two men in court who saw the paper executed, 
 namely, the plaintiff and the defendant. The former has 
 declared, with great effrontery, that he never signed the doc- 
 ument. I do not expect that in a struggle like this, the tes- 
 timony of my client will be accepted, and I will not ask it." 
 (He looks appealingly at the Judge.) 
 
 Balfour. " I appreciate the embarrassment of the de- 
 fense, and am quite willing to do all I can to relieve it. His 
 insinuations of foul dealing toward the witness, Phipps, are 
 absurd, of course, and to save further trouble, I am willing 
 to receive as a witness, in place of Phipps, Mr. Belcher him- 
 self, and to pledge myself to abide by what he establishes. 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 63 
 
 I can do no more than this, I am sure, and I now challenge 
 him to take the stand." 
 
 Judge. (After watching the defendant and his counsel a 
 few moments.) "It seems to the Court that the defense can- 
 not reasonably ask for anything more." 
 
 (Belcher hesitates, but takes the stand. ) 
 
 Cavendish. "Please relate what you know of the as- 
 signment of the patents here in question." 
 
 Belcher. " Some time previous to the date of the as- 
 signment of the patents, Mr. Benedict visited me at my mills 
 in Seven Oaks, and introduced to my notice his inventions, 
 expressing his belief that they would be great improvements 
 to my machinery. I permitted him to make the necessary 
 alterations, and I paid all expenses, and from time to time 
 paid him money for which I received scarcely any benefit. 
 I at last, as a consideration for these expenses, requested of 
 him an assignment of all his patents. This he reluctantly 
 agreed to do, and on the 4th of May, 1860, the assignment 
 was executed in my library at Seven Oaks, and signed by 
 Paul Benedict, as principal, and Nicholas Johnson, James 
 Ramsey, and Cornelius Phipps as witnesses. 
 
 Cavendish. And you solemnly swear that the signatures 
 to this assignment are all genuine, and written in your pres- 
 ence ? " 
 
 Belcher. "I do, sir." 
 
 Cavendish. " That is all." 
 
 Balfour. "Well, Mr. Belcher, you have told us a very 
 straight story, but there are a few little matters which I 
 would like to have explained. Why, for instance, was your 
 assignment placed on record only a few months ago ? " 
 
 Belcher. "Because I was not a lawyer, sir, and was 
 not aware that it was necessary, until so informed by Mr. 
 Cavendish." 
 
 Balfour. "Was Mr. Benedict's insanity considered 
 hopeless from the first ? " 
 
 Belcher. "No ; we were quite hopeful that we should 
 bring him out of it." 
 
 Balfour. " He had lucid intervals, then ? " 
 
 Belcher. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Was that the reason why, the next day after 
 the alleged assignment, you wrote him a letter, urging him 
 to make the assignment, and offering him a royalty for the 
 use of his patents ? " 
 
 Belcher. " I never wrote any such letter, sir. I never 
 sent him any such letter, sir. " 
 
64 A DRAMA 
 
 Balfour. "You sent him to the asylum, did you ? " 
 
 Belcher. "I co-operated with others, sir, and paid the 
 bills." 
 
 Balfour. "Did you ever visit the asylum when he was 
 there ? " 
 
 Belcher. "I did, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Did you apply to the superintendent for 
 liberty to secure his signature to a paper ? " 
 
 Belcher. I do not remember that I did. It would have 
 been an unnatural thing for me to do. If I did, it was a 
 paper on a subordinate affair. It was some years ago, and 
 the details of the visit did not impress themselves upon my 
 memory. " 
 
 Balfour. "How did you obtain the letters of Nicholas 
 Johnson and James Ramsey ? I ask this, because they are 
 not addressed to you." 
 
 Belcher. "I procured them of Sam Yates, in anticipa- 
 tion of the trial now in progress here. The witnesses were 
 dead, and I thought they would help me in establishing the 
 genuineness of their signatures." 
 
 Balfour. "What reason had you to anticipate this 
 trial ? " 
 
 Belcher. " Well, sir, I am accustomed to providing for 
 all contingencies. This is the way I was made, sir. It 
 seemed to me quite probable that Benedict, if living, would 
 forget what he had done before his insanity, and that if he 
 were dead, some friend of his boy would engage in a suit in 
 his behalf. I procured the autographs after I saw his boy 
 in your hands, sir. " 
 
 Balfour. "So you had not seen these particular sig- 
 natures at the time when the alleged assignment was made ? " 
 
 Belcher. "No, sir, I had not seen them." 
 
 Balfour. " And you simply procured them to use as a 
 defense in a suit which seemed probable, or possible, and 
 which now, indeed, is in progress of trial 1" 
 
 Belcher. "That is about as clear a statement of the 
 fact as I can make, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "I suppose, Mr. Belcher, that it seems very 
 strange to you that the plaintiff should have forgotten his 
 signature." 
 
 Belcher. " Not at all, sir. On the contrary, I regard 
 it as the most natural thing in the world. I should suppose 
 that a man who had lost his mind once would naturally lose 
 his memory of many things." 
 
 Balfour. " That certainly seems reasonable, but how is- 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 65 
 
 it that he does not recognize it, even if he does not remem- 
 ber the writing of it ? " 
 
 Belcher. "I don't know; a man's signature changes 
 with changing habits, I suppose." 
 
 Balfour. " You don't suppose that any genuine signa- 
 ture of yours could pass under your eye undetected, do 
 you ? " 
 
 Belcher. "No, sir, I don't. I'll be frank with you." 
 
 Balfour. " Well, now I'm going to test you. Perhaps 
 other men, who have always been sane, do sometimes forget 
 their own signatures." (Mr. Balfour withdraws from his 
 papers a note. Mr. Belcher sees it in the distance, and thinks 
 it is the note he had written to Mr. Balfour before the beginning 
 of the suit. Balfour folds the letter so that the signature would 
 show independent of the body of the letter, and then he steps to 
 the witness, holding the letter in his hand.) Will you please 
 say whether that is a genuine signature or a forgery ? " 
 
 Belcher. "That's my sign manual, sir." 
 
 Balfour. ' ' You are sure I " 
 
 Belcher. "I know it, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Very well. (Handing the letter to the clerk 
 to be marked.) You are right, I have no doubt, and I believe 
 this is all I want of you for the present. And now, may it 
 please the Court, I have some testimony to present in rebut- 
 tal of that of the defendant. I propose, practically, to fin- 
 ish up this case with it, and to show that the story to which 
 you have listened is false in every particular. First, I wish 
 to present the testimony of Dr. Charles Barhydt." 
 
 (Dr. Barhydt, a very pompous man, and wearing gold spec- 
 tacles, advances to the witness stand.) 
 
 Balfour. " What is your name ? " 
 
 Dr. B. ' ' Charles Barhydt. " 
 
 B. " What is your profession ? " 
 
 Dr. B. "I am a physician." 
 
 B. "You have an official position, I believe ? " 
 
 Dr. B. " Yes, sir ; I have for fifteen years been the Su- 
 perintendent of the State Asylum for the Insane." 
 
 B. " Do you recognize the plaintiff in this case as a for- 
 mer patient in the asylum ? " 
 
 Dr. B. "I do, sir." 
 
 B. "Was he ever visited by the defendant while in your 
 care ? " 
 
 Dr. B. "He was, sir." 
 
 B. "Did the defendant endeavor to procure his signa- 
 ture to any document while he was in the asylum ? ' 
 
 5 
 
6Q- A DRAMA 
 
 Dr. B. "He did, sir." 
 
 B. "Did he apply to you for permission to get his sig- 
 nature, and did he importunately urge you to give him this 
 permission ? " 
 
 Dr. B. "He did, sir. " 
 
 B. " Did you read this document ?" 
 
 Dr. B "I did, sir. 
 
 B. " Do you remember what it was ? " 
 
 Dr. B. " Perfectly, in a general way. It was an assign- 
 ment of a number of patent rights and sundry machines, 
 implements, and processes." 
 
 B. (Handing the witness the assignment.) " Be kind 
 enough to look that through, and tell us whether you ever 
 saw it before." 
 
 Dr. B. (After reading the document through.) "This is 
 the identical paper which Mr. Belcher showed me, or a very 
 close copy of it. Several of the patents named here I re- 
 member distinctly ; for I read the paper carefully, with a 
 professional purpose. I was curious to know what had 
 been the mental habits of my patient." 
 
 B. "But you did not give the defendant liberty to pro- 
 cure the signature of the patentee ? " 
 
 Dr. B. "I did not, I refused to do so on the ground 
 that he was not of sound mind — that he was not a respon- 
 sible person." 
 
 B. " When was this ? " 
 
 Dr. B. "I have no record of the date, but it was after 
 the 12th of May, 1860 — the date of Mr. Benedict's admission 
 to the asylum." 
 
 Balfour. " That is all." 
 
 Cavendish. "Are you sure that Mr. Belcher asked per- 
 mission to have Benedict put his signature to the assign- 
 ment?" 
 
 Dr. B. "As sure as I am that this insinuation is in bad 
 taste, which is as sure as can be." 
 
 Cavendish. " That is all. " 
 
 Balfour. " Samuel Yates will please take the stand. 
 (Samuel Yates comes forward.) Mr. Yates you are a member 
 of our profession I believe." 
 
 Yates. "I am sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Have you ever been in the service of the 
 defendant in this case ? " 
 
 Yates. "Yes, sir." 
 
 Balfour. " What have you done for him ? ' 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 67 
 
 Yates. " I worked many months in the endeavor to 
 ascertain whether Paul Benedict was living or dead." 
 
 Balfour. "It isn't essential that we should go into that. 
 As the defendant has testified that he procured the auto- 
 graph letters which are in the possession of the Court from 
 you, I presume you will corroborate his testimony." 
 
 Yates. "He did procure them of me, sir." 
 
 Balfour. " Did he inform you of the purpose to which 
 he wished to put them ? " 
 
 Yates. " He did, sir. He said that he wished to verify 
 some signatures." 
 
 Balfour. "Were you ever employed in his library at 
 Seven Oaks, by his agent ? " 
 
 Yates. " Yes, sir, I wrote there for several weeks." 
 
 Balfour. ' ' May it please the Court, I have a letter in 
 my hand, the genuineness of whose signature has been rec- 
 ognized by the defendant, written by Robert Belcher to 
 Paul Benedict, which, as it has a direct bearing upon the 
 case, I beg the privilege of placing in evidence. It was 
 written the next day after the alleged assignment, and came 
 inclosed from Benedict's hands to mine." (Mr. Belcher evi- 
 dently recalls the letter, for he sits limp in his chair like a man 
 stunned. ) 
 
 Cavendish. " I object to the letter referred to being ad- 
 mitted as evidence in this case, on the ground that it is ir- 
 relevant." 
 
 Balfour. "I insist that the letter has a direct bearing 
 in this case for two reasons : One is, that being dated the 
 day after the date of the alleged assignment, the writer had 
 no idea of any assignment having been made. The other 
 reason is, that the admission of the letter renders it possible 
 to impeach the defendant, as he has acknowledged his sig- 
 nature to the letter, and yet denies that he ever wrote the 
 letter." 
 
 Judge. (After an examination of the letter.) "I can see 
 no reason why the letter should not be admitted as evidence. 
 It may be read to the jury." (Balfour reads it.) 
 
 " Seven Oaks, May 5, 1860. 
 
 "Dear Benedict, — I am glad to know that you are bet- 
 ter. Since you distrust my pledge that I will give you a 
 reasonable share of the profits on the use of your patents, 
 I will go to your house this afternoon, with witnesses, and 
 have an independent paper prepared, to be signed by my- 
 self after the assignment is executed, which will give you a 
 
(38 A DRAMA. 
 
 definite claim upon me for royalty. We will be there at 
 four o'clock. " Yours, 
 
 " Robert Belcher." 
 
 Balfour. " Mr. Yates, have you ever seen this letter 
 before 1 " (Yates takes the letter and looks it over.) 
 
 Yates. "I have, sir. I found it in a drawer of the li- 
 brary table, in Mr. Belcher's house at Seven Oaks. I de- 
 livered it unopened to the man to whom it was addressed, 
 leaving him to decide the question as to whether it belonged 
 to him or the writer. I had no idea of its contents at the 
 time, but became acquainted with them afterwards, for I 
 was present at the opening of the letter." 
 
 Balfour. ' ' That is alt. " 
 
 Cavendish. " So you stole this letter, did you ! " 
 
 Yates. " I found it while in Mr. Belcher's service, and 
 took it personally to the man to whom it was addressed, as 
 he apparently had the best right to it. I am quite willing 
 to return it to the writer, if it is decided that it belongs to 
 him. I had no selfish end to serve in the affair. " (Here the 
 Judge interposes.) 
 
 Judge. " The Court finds this letter in the hands of the 
 plaintiff, delivered by a man who at the time was in the em- 
 ploy of the defendant, and had the contents of the room in 
 his keeping. The paper has a direct bearing in the case, 
 and the Court will not go back of the facts stated." 
 
 Balfour. " There is a little preliminary work to be done 
 before I present another witness. I would ask the Court to 
 take a short recess. I wish to take photographic copies of 
 the signatures of the two autograph letters, and of the four 
 signatures of the assignment." 
 
 Judge. "The Court accedes to the request of the coun- 
 sel, and will grant a short recess, to permit the preparations 
 for the experiment he proposes to make. " (Here Mr. Cav- 
 endish approaches Mr. Balfour. ) 
 
 Cavendish. "I would like a private interview with 
 
 » 
 
 you. 
 
 Balfour. " Certainly." (They retire to a lobby.) 
 
 Scene II. The lobby. 
 
 Cavendish. "You are not to take any advantage of this 
 conversation. I wish to talk in confidence. " 
 Balfour. "Very well." 
 Cavendish. "My client is in a devilish bad box. His 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 69 
 
 principal witness has run away, his old friends all turn 
 against him, and circumstantial evidence doesn't befriend 
 him. I have advised him to stop this suit right here, and 
 make a compromise. No one wants to kill the General. 
 He's a sharp man, but he is good-natured, and a useful citi- 
 zen. He can handle these patents better than Benedict can, 
 and make money enough for both of them. What could 
 Benedict do if he had the patents in his hands ? He's a 
 simpleton. He's a nobody. Any man capable of carrying 
 on his business would cheat him out of his eye-teeth." 
 
 Balfour. "I am carrying on his business myself, just 
 at this time." (Said seriously.) 
 
 Cavendish. " That's all right, of course ; but you know 
 that you and I can settle this business better for these men 
 than they can settle it for themselves.'' 
 
 Balfour. "I'll be frank with you. I'm not one who 
 regards Robert Belcher as a good-natured man and a useful 
 citizen, and I, for one — to use your own phrase — want to 
 kill him. He has preyed upon the public for ten years, and 
 I owe a duty not only to my client, but to society. I un- 
 derstand how good a bargain I could make with him at this 
 point, but I will not bargain with him. He is an unmiti- 
 gated scoundrel, and he will go out of this Court to be ar- 
 rested for crime ; and I do not expect to drop him until I 
 drop him into a penitentiary, where he can reflect upon his 
 forgeries at leisure." 
 
 Cavendish. "Then you refuse any sort of a compro- 
 mise." 
 
 Balfour. "My dear sir, do you suppose I can give a 
 man a right to talk terms who is in my hands ? Do you 
 suppose I can compromise with crime ? You know I can't." 
 
 Cavendish. "Very well — let it go. I suppose I must go 
 through with it. You understand that this conversation is 
 confidential." 
 
 Balfour. " I do ; and you ? " 
 
 Cavendish. "Oh, certainly !" 
 
 Scene III. The court room again. Mr. Belcher appears very 
 
 despondent, and gives a helpless, hopeless sigh. 
 
 Balfour. "Prof. Albert Timms will please take the 
 witness stand. (Prof. Timms appears.) What is your name, 
 witness ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "Albert Timms, at your service." 
 
 Balfour. "What is your calling, sir ?" 
 
70 A DRAMA 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I have at present the charge of a depart- 
 ment in the School of Mines. My specialties are chemistry 
 and microscopy. " 
 
 Balfour. "You are specially acquainted with these 
 branches of natural science, then. " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I am, sir." 
 
 Balfour. " Have you been regarded as an expert in 
 the detection of forgery ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I have been called such in many cases 
 of the kind, sir. " 
 
 Balfour. "Then you have had a good deal of experi- 
 ence in such things, and the various tests by which such 
 matters are determined 1 " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I have, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Have you examined the assignment and the 
 autograph letters which have been in your hands during the 
 recess of the court ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. " I have, sir." 
 
 Balfour. "Do you know either the plaintiff or the de- 
 fendant in this case ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I do not, sir. I never saw either of 
 them until to-day." 
 
 Balfour. "Has any one told you about the nature of 
 these papers, so as to prejudice your mind in regard to any 
 of them ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "No, sir. I have not exchanged a word 
 with any one in regard to them." 
 
 Balfour. ' ' What is your opinion of the two letters ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "That they are veritable autographs." 
 
 Balfour. "How do you judge this ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms "From the harmony of the signatures 
 with the text of the body of the letters, by the free and 
 natural shaping and interflowing of the lines, and by a gen- 
 eral impression of truthfulness which it is very difficult to 
 communicate in words." 
 
 Balfour. "What do you think of the signatures to the 
 assignment ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I think they are counterfeits but one." 
 
 Balfour. "Prof. Timms, this is a serious matter. You 
 should be very sure of the truth of a statement like this. 
 You say you think they are counterfeits. Why ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "If the papers can be handed to me, I 
 will show what leads me to think so. (The papers are 
 ha tided to him, and placing the letters on the bar on which he 
 has been leaning, he draws from his pocket a little ride, and 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 71 
 
 lays it lengthwise along the signature of Nicholas Johnson. 
 Having recorded the measurement, he next tales the corresponding 
 name in the assignment.) I find the name of Nicholas John- 
 son of exactly the same length on the assignment that it oc- 
 cupies on the letter. " 
 
 Balfour. " Is that a suspicious circumstance ?" 
 
 Prof. Timms. "It is ; and, moreover there is not the 
 slightest variation between the two signatures in the length 
 of "a letter. Indeed, to the naked eye, one signature is an 
 exact counterpart of the other in every characteristic." 
 
 Balfour. "How do you determine, then, that it is any- 
 thing but a genuine signature ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "The imitation is too nearly perfect." 
 
 Balfour. " How can that be ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "Well, no man writes his signature twice 
 alike. There is not one chance in a million that he will do 
 so, without definitely attempting to do so, and then he will 
 be obliged to use certain appliances to guide him." 
 
 Balfour. "Now will you apply the same test to the 
 other signature '? " (Prof. Timms applies the same tests to the 
 sig natures of James Ram,se y. ) 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I find the second name as close a coun- 
 terfeit as the first." 
 
 Balfour. "Both names of the assignment, then, are 
 exact fac-similes of the names on the autograph letters 1 " 
 
 Prof. Timms. " They are, indeed, sir, quite wonderful 
 reproductions." 
 
 Balfour. "The work must have been done, then, by a 
 very skillful man." 
 
 Prof. Timms. (Shaking his head pitifully.) " Oh, no, sir. 
 None but bunglers ever undertake a job like this. Here, 
 sir, are two forged signatures. If one genuine signature, 
 standing alone, has one chance in a million of being exactly 
 like any previous signature of the writer, two standing to- 
 gether have not one chance in ten millions of being exact 
 fac-similes of two others brought together by chance.' 
 
 Balfour. " How were these fac-similes produced ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. " They could only have been produced by 
 tracing first with a pencil, directly over the signature to be 
 counterfeited." 
 
 Balfour. "Well, this seems very reasonable, but have 
 you any further tests ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "Under this magnifying glass I see a 
 marked difference between the signatures on the two pa- 
 pers, which is not apparent to the naked eye. The letters 
 
72 A DRAMA 
 
 * ♦ 
 
 of the genuine autograph have smooth, unhesitating lines ; 
 those of the counterfeits present certain minute irregulari- 
 ties that are inseparable from painstaking and slow execu- 
 tion. I have an experiment that will convince the Court 
 and the jury that I am right." 
 
 Balfour. "Can you perform this experiment here, and 
 now ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "I can, sir, provided the Court will per- 
 mit me to establish the necessary conditions. I must darken 
 the room and make some slight arrangements on the stage, 
 which will be very quickly done." 
 
 Balfour. "Will you describe the nature of your experi- 
 ment ? " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "Well, sir, I have had all the signatures 
 photographed upon glass. These, by the aid of a solar mi- 
 croscope, will appear immensely enlarged, so that the pecul- 
 iarities I have described may be detected by every eye in 
 the house, with others that I have not alluded to." 
 
 Judge. "The experiment will be permitted, and the of- 
 ficers and janitors will give the Professor all the assistance 
 he needs." (Gradually the room grows dark, and a strange 
 silence and awe descend upon the crowd. A witness from a 
 hundred millions of miles away is to speak, and lie never lies.) 
 
 Prof. Timms. ''May it please the Court, I am ready for 
 the experiment." 
 
 Judge. " The witness will proceed." 
 
 Prof. Timms. "There will soon appear upon the wall, 
 above the heads of the Court and jury, the genuine signa- 
 ture of Nicholas Johnson, as it has been photographed from 
 the autograph letter (As he speaks the last word, the name 
 siveeps through the darkness, and appears upon the wall.) I 
 wish the Judge and jury to notice two things in this signa- 
 ture — the cleanly-cut edges of the letters, and the two lines 
 of indentation produced by the two prongs of the pen, in 
 its down-stroke. They will also notice in the up-stroke of 
 the pen, there is no evidence of indentation whatever. (All 
 eyes see it. There is not a whisper in the room. When a long 
 minute has passed, the light is shut off. ) Now I will show you 
 in the same place, the name of Nicholas Johnson, as it has 
 been photographed from the signature to the assignment. 
 What I wish you to notice particularly in this signature is, 
 first, the rough and irregular edges of the lines which con- 
 stitute the letters. They will be so much magnified as to 
 present very much the appearance of a Virginia fence. 
 Another peculiarity which will probably be shown in the ex- 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 73 
 
 periment is, that the lines of indentation made by the two 
 prongs of the pen will be evident, as in the real signature, 
 but there will probably also appear a third line, made by the 
 pencil which originally traced the letters, and this line will 
 not only accompany, in an irregular way, crossing from side 
 to side, the two indentations of the down-strokes of the 
 pen, but it will accompany irregularly the hair-lines." (He 
 pauses, and then the forged signatures appear upon the wall. 
 Tliere are the ragged, jagged edges of the letters ; there is the 
 supplementary line, traceable in every part of them.) 
 
 Balfour. "You have not shown us the other signa- 
 
 tures " 
 
 Prof. Timms. "False in one thyig, false in all. I can 
 show you the others, but they would be like this ; you would 
 throw away your time." (Mr. Cavendish will not look at the 
 witness, but pretends to write.) 
 
 Balfour. "Does the counsel for the defense wish to 
 question the witness 1 " 
 
 Cavendish. (Very sharply.) "No." 
 
 Balfour. "You can step down." (As the witness jxtsses 
 him, he quietly grasps his hand and thanks him.) 
 
 Cavendish. "May it please the Court, it is impossible, 
 of course, for counsel to know what impression this testi- 
 mony has made upon the Court and jury. Dr. Barhydt 
 after a lapse of years, and dealings with thousands of pa- 
 tients, comes here and testifies to an occurrence which my 
 client's testimony makes impossible ; a sneak discovers a 
 letter which may have been written on the third or the fifth 
 of May, I860,— it is very easy to make a mistake in the fig- 
 ure—and this stolen letter, never legitimately delivered— 
 possibly never intended to be delivered under any circum- 
 stances — is produced here in evidence ; and, to crown all, 
 we have had the spectacular drama, in a single act, by a man 
 who has appealed to the imagination of us all, and who, by 
 his skill in the management of an experiment with which 
 none of us are familiar, has found it easy to make a false- 
 hood appear like the truth. The counsel for the plaintiff 
 has been pleased to consider the establishment, or the break- 
 ing down, of the assignment as the practical question at is- 
 sue. I cannot so regard it. The question is, whether my 
 client is to be deprived of the fruits of long years of enter- 
 prise, economy, and industry ; for it is to be remembered 
 that, by the plaintiff's own showing, the defendant was a 
 rich man when he first knew him. I deny the profits from 
 the use of the plaintiff's patented inventions, and call upon 
 
74 A DRAMA 
 
 him to prove them. I not only call upon him to prove 
 them, but I defy him to prove them. It will take something 
 more than superannuated doctors, stolen letters, and the 
 performances of a mountebank to do this." (During this 
 speech, Mr. Balfour is writing, and when Cavendish sits down 
 he rises, and addresses the Court.) 
 
 Balfour. "If the Court please, I hold in my hand a 
 written notice, calling upon the defendant's counsel to pro- 
 duce in court a little book in the possession of his client, 
 entitled ' Records of Profits and Investments of Profits 
 from Manufactures under the Benedict Patents,' and I here- 
 by serve it upon him." (He hands the notice to Mr. Caven- 
 dish, who receives and reads it.) 
 
 Cavendish. (After consulting his client.) "May it please 
 the Court, there is no such book in existence." 
 
 Balfour. "I happen to know that there is such a book 
 in existence, unless it has recently been destroyed. This I 
 stand ready to prove by the testimony of Helen Dillingham." 
 
 Judge. "The witness can be called." (Mrs. Dillingham 
 takes the stand.) 
 
 Balfour. "Mrs. Dillingham, have you been on friendly 
 terms with the defendant in this case ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I have, sir. He has been a frequent visitor 
 at my house, and I have visited his family at his own." 
 
 B. "Was he aware that the plaintiff is your brother?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "He was not." 
 
 B. "Has he, from the first, made a confidant of you ?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "In some things — yes." 
 
 B. "Do you know Harry Benedict, the plaintiff's son ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I do, sir." 
 
 B. " How long have you known him ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I made his acquaintance soon after he came 
 to reside with you, sir, in this city." 
 
 B. "Did you seek his acquaintance?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "I did, sir." 
 
 B. " From what motive ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Mr. Belcher wished me to do it, in order to 
 ascertain of him whether his father was living or dead." 
 
 B. "You did not then know that the lad was your 
 nephew ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I did not, sir. 
 
 B. " Have you ever told Mr. Belcher that your brother 
 was alive ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. " I told him that Paul Benedict was alive, at 
 the last interview but one that I ever had with him." 
 
IN NINE ACTS. 75 
 
 B. "Did he, at this interview, give you any great anxi 
 ety to ascertain the facts as to Mr. Benedict's life or death? ' 
 
 Mrs. D. "He did, sir." 
 
 B. "Was there any special occasion for the visit you al- 
 lude to ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I think there was, sir. He had just lost heav- 
 ily in the International Mail, and evidently came to talk 
 about business. At any rate, he did talk about it as he had 
 never done before.' 
 
 B. "Can you give us the drift or substance of his con- 
 versation and statements ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "Well, sir, he assured me that he had not been 
 shaken by his losses. Said that he kept his manufacturing 
 business entirely separate from his speculations ; gave me a 
 history of the manner in which my brother's inventions had 
 come into his hands, and, finally, showed me a little ac- 
 count-book, in which he had recorded his profits from man- 
 ufactures under what he called the 'Benedict Patents.' " 
 
 B. " Did you read this book, Mrs. Dillingham ? " 
 Mrs. D. "I did, sir." 
 B. "Every word?" 
 Mrs. D. "Every word." 
 
 B. "Did you hear me serve a notice on the defendant's 
 counsel to produce this book in court ? " 
 Mrs. D. "I did, sir." 
 
 B. "In that notice did I give the title of the book cor- 
 rectly ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "You did, sir." 
 
 B. " Was this book left in your hands for a considerable 
 length of time ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. " It was, sir, for several hours." 
 
 B. " Did you copy it ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I did, sir, every word of it." 
 
 B. "Are you sure that you made a correct copy ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "I verified it, item by item, again and again." 
 
 B. " Can you give me any proof corroborative of your 
 statement that this book has been in your hands ? " 
 
 Mrs. D. "lean, sir." 
 
 B. "What is it?" 
 
 Mrs. D. "A letter from Mr. Belcher, asking me to de- 
 liver the book to his man Phipps." 
 
 B. "Is that the letter ? " {Handing her the letter.) 
 
 Mrs. D. "It is, sir." 
 
76 A DRAMA 
 
 
 
 B. (Turning to the Judge.) "May it please the Court, 
 the copy of this account-book is in my possession, and if the 
 defendant persists in refusing to produce the original, I 
 shall ask the privilege of placing it in evidence." (The 
 Judge looks at Mr. Cavendish who is talking angrily to his 
 client. After waiting for a minute or two, he speaks.) 
 
 Judge. "Unless the original of this book be produced, 
 the Court will be obliged to admit the copy. It was made 
 by one who had it in custody from the owner's hands." 
 
 Cavendish. (Fiercely.) "I was not aware that a crush- 
 ing conspiracy like this against my client could be carried 
 on in any court in the United States under judicial sanc- 
 tion." 
 
 Judge. "The counsel must permit the Court to remind 
 him that it is so far generous toward his disappointment and 
 discourtesy as to refrain from punishing him for contempt, 
 and to warn him against any repetition of his offense." 
 (Cavendish sneers but holds his tongue.) 
 
 Balfour. ' ' That is all, Mrs. Dillingham. (Cavendish goes 
 over to Balfour and they hold a conversation sotto voce. Then 
 Mr. Balfour addresses the Court.) It is agreed between the 
 counsel for the defense and myself, in order to save the 
 time of the Court, that the case shall be given to the jury 
 by the Judge, without presentation or argument of counsel." 
 
 Judge. "Gentlemen of the jury, I will briefly recapitu- 
 late the origin of this suit and its defense. The claim is for 
 half a million of dollars for the infringement of patents on 
 machines. The answer to the complaint is in the following 
 pleadings : — 
 
 " 1. That the plaintiff is an imposter. 
 
 "2. The assignment of the patents to the defendant. 
 
 "3. A denial by the defendant of any profits from their 
 use. 
 
 "An establishment of any one of these pleadings would 
 debar the plaintiff from recovering. Otherwise you must 
 find for him in the full amount of profits shown in the copy 
 of the book of net proceeds, which book has been sworn to 
 by Mrs. Dillingham." (The jury do not leave their seats. 
 In a few moments the Foreman announces a verdict for the 
 'plaintiff for the full amount claimed — $500,000 — half a mill- 
 ion.) 
 
 Tableau as Troupes may Fancy. 
 
* 
 
 A DRAMA 
 
 IN NINE ACTS. 
 
 
 DRAM/fY 
 
 IZED BY 
 
 S. R/WHEELER. 
 
 jy/7Y/ £4575, COSTUMES, AND ALL STAGE 
 BUSINESS. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR, S. R. WHEELER, 
 DEXTER, MICHIGAN. 
 
 1885. 
 
C 32 89 «;** 
 
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 t DEC 88 
 
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