FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. S 991 S3 E8 opy 1 EVERY-DAY LIFE. % llau. BY C. W. S. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by Samuel French, in th« Clerk's OfiSce of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. NEW YORK : SAMUEL FRENCH, 122 Nassau Street. (Up Stairs). Monograph .S3 6.8 CARROLL, an Amateur Artist. FOX, an Elderly Young Man. DICK MEDLAY, a Young Young Man. WISE, an Old Merchant. SEELEY, his Head Clerk. WAIT, a Policeman. SAMUEL, a Student. BLAKE, Captain in Merchant Service. PIKE, a Gambler. MRS. PIIIPPS, a Widow. LIZZIE WISE. KITTY BROOM, a Housemaid. 1st and 2d MEMBERS OF CLUB. GROCER and GROCERY LOAFERS. ITALIAN BOY and GIRL. AUCTIONEER and CROWD at Auction Sale. A WHITEHALL BOATMAN. GUESTS at Wise's Evening Party. SCENE— New York. TIME— Present. 1 EYERY-DAY EIFE. ACT I. SCENE I. — Library in Wise's House. Lizzie discovered, seated at tahh^draiving, and Carroll standing near and giving lessons. Carroll. If you please, make the shading a little heavier just there. So; that improves it. {While 1jIZ7.tr continues draw- ing^ Carroll moves off a little to look at hooks, ^c, in library. Wise. [Speaking outside.'] Come Lizzie [enters in nwifier and. gaiters, with riding-ichip in hand], the horses are at the door, and we've a fine afternoon for a run over in Jersey. [Oh serving Car- roll]. [Asidel. My new clerk, by all tliat's wonderful. What can he be doing here, in m}^ house, and alone with my daughter. Lizzie. Wait a moment, papa, and I'll let you see how much I have improved with good instruction. Wise. Oh ! he's here giving lessons in drawing. [Aside'\., He's no doubt some foreign scapegrace, come over to this country, to mend his fortunes • and makes use of his accomplishments, to get inside of people's houses. Truly our houses are but little protection to us now-a-days. We have English burglars enter- ing through the roof, Irish policemen in at the basementj and German, French, and Italian teachers of this and that thing, walking in hy the hall door. Lizzie. There, papa, you'll say that is better than my school girl scratches, as you used to call my drawing [showing a sketch. Wise. Very good indeed my child, if 3^ou — Lizzie. If I did it all? Tmade every line; Mr. why, I don't yet know his name — never made a strokfe of this. Wise. It's very well done, and I'll have a frame carved ex- pressly for it. [Aside.] One of my office people here in my house, in business hours, too. He's moving off, and thinks, per- haps, I've not observed him [Carroll, hoioing to Lizzie, and 4 EVERY-DAY LIF« exil], and you sa}^ you don't know the name of this new teacher of yours. There are some designs here beside crayon designs. Enter Servant. Servant. Mrs. Phipps and Mr. Edgerton. Enter Mrs. P. and Samuel. Mrs. p. She's here, and that fellow's just gone. Now, my dear Samuel, don't lose your op])ortunities. Remember, try and appear the gentleman. Wise. Your servant, madam. Mrs. p. How odd it seems to find a merchant at home at this hour of the day. Wise. We people who yet live down town, have that privi- lege ; we can walk into our own houses at any hour, without alarming the family, or making the servants stare at us. Mrs. p. Oh, sir ! I know how domestic you are, and that, with all your immense business, you can find hours in every day to spend in the society of your family. But why should you continue to live down here, in this dreadful neighborhood, wtiere you must see a crowd of disgusting wretches every time you look out of your parlor windows, and when you step out of your hall door, are likely to stumble over some ragged woman with a nursing bab}' in her arms. Wise. You surprise me, madam. I thought you were the de- voted friend of those poor creatures. Mrs. p. What a womun can do for the poor and degraded, I humbly try to do. But charity should be systematic ; and, in all the various benevolent societies of which I am a directress, our rule is: never to give any tiling for the comfort of the body to those who show no concern for the good of their souls. Wise. That is — you force them to swallow a pinch of brim- stone with every bowl of soup. Mrs. p. We've just formed an association to aid the thousands of poor Chinese now in New York. [Ojfenng subscription paper, while Wise is looking at it, she glances anxiously at Samuel, u'ho is trying to he agreeable to Lizzie] Samuel. Vastly pretty, indeed. Miss Elizabeth. Its surpris- ing what neat work those beggarly looking foreigners can do with their nasty hands. Wise. {Looking up from paper]. Your hands are more delicate than your tongue, young man. Pity, Croton water is 'nt good for one as for the other. Mrs. p. Don't say any tlnng to mortify him, I beseech you, Bir. He's a deserving young gentleman of humble parentage. feVERY-DAY LIFE. 5 and I am educating him, at great expense, to labor in the sacred profession. Lizzie. I don't think my Crawing-mastcr is a foreigner. Samuel. I declare, I think this one is the cleverest of 'em all ; you must let me keep this, Miss Elizabech. Lizzie. You'll excuse me, sir, but — [Samuel takes the droAoing Lizzie had shoim to her Father, oMd, folds it up foiii'-sqvare, and puts in his pocke^]. You can keep it now, since you show such an appreciation of art. What vulgar impertinence. [Aside]. Wise. Why, madam, there are not a hundred Chinamen in New York, and you've money enough subscribed here to feed a whole province. A Mr. Fox, I see, has put down two hundred dollars. He must be some person who has made money in the Cooley trade. Mrs. p. Mr. Fox is a wealthy bachelor. Some years since he was a vain young man, caring only for the follies of fashion- able life. But now he is wholly changed, and strives to redeem the time by a life of self-sacrificing benevolence. Come, sir, yon can well afford to give us your name. Wise. And I can well afford to refuse it. No, madam, my charity is rather impulsive than systematic. But Lizzie, here, can better attend to such matters [gives pajjer to Lizzie]. I must hasten to tlie office [aside], and hear what my truant clerk can have to say for himself. [Exit. Mrs. p. Hardened old money-grabber. You may go and look after your coffee-bags and sugar-boxes. There 're not many men in New York who dare refuse to subscribe when I ask them. The world has just found out how rich he is, or /could make him feel that ^ it would be better for his credit to put down his name for something, when I call. [Lizzie subscribes, and returns paper to Mrs. p.] Thank you, my dear. Men are so engrossed with the cares of business, they have little time to consider the claims of the poor and suffering, therefore we ladies must be all the more active in their behalf. Lizzie. I am never happier than when I can find some poor person to attend to, whose misfortune I know is real. Mrs. p. But to distinguish between real and pretended mis- fortune is a difficult task. My carriage is at the door, and if you have time, I will take you to see wretciiedness such as you have no conception of. Lizzie. But is there no danger in going alone to such places? Mrs. p. As the divine Comas has said : " So dear to Heaven is saintly charity, That when a soul is found sincerely kind, A (lioiis ml liverieu aiiyels l.icky her, I)rivii)cr {Hr off ea(!)i thing of sin and guilt;" 1* 6 EVERY-DAY LIFE. But I have with me a respectable-looking man, who is a police- man in plain clothes. My friend Mr. Fox urged me to take him with me in my rounds through the haunts of vice and pov- erty. Lizzie. I am glad of an opportunity to go with you, and will be ready in a moment. [Exit Lizzie. Mrs. p. There's not a young man in all this cit}^ that could have the chance that you, Samuel, have now ; so think of all the little hints I've given you about your behavior — be as polite as possible. Samuel. I've been trying to, ma'am, and I can't get on at all. That drawing-master we see here so often — he's more in her eye, I fancy. Mrs. p. Don't mind such people. She has never yet had an admirer, and a girl's vanity is easily flattered the first time she finds one. Kind Providence has made 5'^ou good-looking, and I haven't spared expense for your education, so as to prepare you to become an instrument of good in the w^orld. Oh, how it would rejoice my poor lonely heart to see you, Samuel — your education completed — to see you married (well married, I mean) to such a prize as this lady would be, and then to see you walk with her as your wife up the aisle of my new chapel, and then watch you as you ascended the pulpit stairs. Oh, the vision is too joy- ful f Enter Lizzie. Lizzie. I am ready now. Mrs. p. Oh, my dear Miss Elizabeth, if all our young ladies were like you, how the hearts of the poor would rejoice. Samuel. Miss Elizabeth, allow me the honor. Exeunt. SCENE II.— Wise's Counting -House. Several Clerks at desks, hoxk — Seeley at a desk, r. — Carroll at another desk, l. Enter Wise. Wise. [Aside.] He is here before me, and at his work, too, on those Spanish letters I gave liim to translate. One wouldn't sup- pose that hardly ten minutes ago he was in my house, pretending to give lessons in drawing. Car. [Bfiv'iv'j I'a/H'r.s to AVise.] Tlie letters you gave me this morning are finished, .-ir. Wise. Quick work you make of it, indeed ! Car. The work is not difficalt. I had finislied them before going out to lunclj. EVERY-DAY LIFE. / "Wise. [T/irning over 2)<'J'pe'''s, finds a crayon likeness of Lizzie.] Ha ! what is this 1 [Aside.] A portrait of my daughter ! — what assurance ! [To Carroll.] Why do you give me this, sir ? Oar. Pardon mc ! That was not intended. Wise. How came it here ? It seems a fresh piece of work. Let me tell you, sir, South Street is no place for the fine arts! and business hours no time for making figures of this sort ! Car. I will explain. That drawing was not made in this office. — The hour allowed for lunch I have used in giving lessons to a lady living near the Battery, and, having but just returned from there, that scrap of paper was, for a moment, laid upon the desk. [Carroll reaches to take it. ■ Wise. Allow me to keep it, as I happen to have it. But, pray, who can there be living near the Battery, that has time or taste for the fine arts ? Car. I only know the number, " 20," on the door. Wise. That is my own house. [Aside.'] You visit the house dail^', and haven't found out who lives there ? Car. I have not heard the name mentioned, but I've no doubt the people are highly respectable. Wishing to avail myself of every chance for getting a living, I advertised, a fortniglit since, to give instruction in drawing, and received but one answer — from that lad}'. Wise. [Aside.] I seem to recollect Lizzie said something of a new teacher she had found. Can it be possible, now, that he doesn't know he is talking to her father? [To Carroll.] You have not been a long time in this countrj' ? Car. I returned home to New- York a few weeks since, after an absence of several 3^ears. Wise. This is, then, your native city, Mr. — Mr. — Car. Carroll. My father, George Carroll, lived and died here in this cit}^ Wise. Carroll ! There was but one of that name that I re- member, years ago. Car. My father was a merchant in this street. Wise. George Carroll your father ! Are you the son of my oldest and best friend ? Yes, I see you have his features ! — you are, indeed, his son ! and he, the best and kindest gentleman I ever knew. We were fast friends when boys together, and for years after that, till our paths in life separated. For he inherited wealth and a name in the commercial world, but I had my own way to make, by going to Ciiina, India, and about; so that after- wards I only saw him at intervals of years. Car. You must, then, know the sad reverses that finally befell him before his death ? Wise. I know it all, my young friend — the change of fortune that 8 EVKRY-DAY LIFE. happened to him and to you For many days before your father's death, I was a great deal with him He confided to me the state of his affairs, and I saw that his own natur;il l)enevolence had been the canse of his difficulties. If he had been a harder creditor, he might at this moment be alive and prosperous Car. And the thought that I, his son, was fiir away from hira in his last gkiomy hours, will reproacii me to the end of life. WrsE. You could liave known nothmg of his troubles until it was too late. He often spoke of you. His last words were of his son ; not in vain regrets for the wealth that was lo.-.t and gone for ever — but he blamed himself tliat he had not prepared you for some useful and certain business in life. Car True ! my father was too indulgent — allowing me to spend 5'ears in Europe to gratify an imagined talent for sculpture — when I ought to have been working at a desk here in his counting- house Wise. But let us now think what is best to be done for the future. Car. Alas ! sir, yai alread}' know the extent of my capacity for being useful, i'ou advertised for a translating clerk, and I came ; I advertised to teach drawing, and found but one pupil, who has to-day finished her course of lessons. Wise. Those two things are not much, to be sure : 3'et, if George Carroll's son inherits a share of his father's noble qualities, I, as his father's friend, will gladly aid him to make his way in the world. Here, you see, is a room full of young men, busy enough the 3''ear round. Take a desk, give your itime and thoughts to business, and leave those old friends of yours — the fine arts — for home recreation. Car. I can only express how highly I value such an opportuni- ty, by striving to make the best use of it : knowing that I can never hope to meet aiother like it. But I greatly fear to let it be seen how ignorant I am of the commonest details of business. Wise. We never expect much from new comers, but give them work ; and those who are industrious and careful make their way up : — the others soon fall out, and that is the last we know of them. Mr. Seeley, [Seeley leaves his desk and conies forward.] Mr. Carroll, here, will have a desk in the office. Seeley. Will he begin to-day, sir ? Wise. [Hesitating.] No — not to day. To-morrow, perhaps. [Aside.] A thought occurs to me, and he may be useful just now in another way. You are, I suppose, skilled in matters of taste, and can, therefore, assist me in a little private affair. The other day I bought one of those new style of houses up town. But I have told no one of it, even in m}' own fiimil}'. I thought I woul 1 fiu'ni-ih and get it all read}' as a little surprise for Christ- EVEKY-DAY LIFE. y mas. You can advise me about the inside decorations, and in choosing the furniture, and especially in buying something in the way of sculptures and bronzes. Car. That will be a very agreeable commission ; but it is not easy to act for others in matters of taste. Wise. Tliey are things I've no practice in. But I don't wish my house made to look like a steamboat cabin, nor an ice-cream shop, with cast iron ornaments, gilded putty, pasteboard or plaster of Paris. I prefer honest oak or mahogany, neatly carved ; and that, with a good bronze, or a marble figure or two, '11 do. Come, we'll go now up Broadwaj^, and see what there is to be got. [Exeunt Wise and Carroll. SCENE III. — Carroll's Lodgings^ loith statuettes^ drawings and works of art. Portfolio of draioings on frame — an easel, on which is a small bas- relief model of female head, on which Carroll is discovered at work. Car. It is finished, and I can do no more with this cold, dull cla}^ ; only the radiant marble can express the beaut}'- of that face, whose smiles have made me almost forget the dark future that lies before me. The marble, too, will smile, and though it cannot hear or speak, it may make my hours less solitary. I shall then not be alone. Enter Kitty. Kitty. Two young persons, Italians, I think, have called to see you, sir. Car. Let them come up, Kitty. Enter Italian Girl and Boy. Girl. Buon giorno, Signor Carroll. Car. Speak English, Laura. You must learn to speak Eng- lish. Girl. I cannot learn, e defficele ; mine little broder here, he learn very fast. Car. Let's hear you talk. Carlo. How does your father. Boy. My father, is now got most very well : he eat good deal ; hefwalk out doors ; he see the very bright sun like Italy, and he feel ver}' happy. Car. I am glad to hear that ; here is some money for him. And take this to your %ther, he is to cut it in that piece of mar- 10 EVERY-DAY LIFE. ble I sent to him yesterday. Tell him not to work wlien he does 'nt feel strong and \vell. [Gives them the model. [Exeunt Boy and Girl. Kitty. Mr. Fox has called. Enter Fox, and eyts the Girl curioudy. Fox. [Asidt'\. Eh, what ! hope I hav'nt spoiled a tete-a-tete. Rather young looking to be sure. Fruit ripens early in Italy, they sa} . Ah ! my bo}', I've caught you at last. ^Yhere liave you been hiding for days and days ? I'm sure I've called a dozen times. Car. Not hiding, I assure you ; but attending to a little busi- ness down town. Fox. Business ! Why, I thought 3"ou were a man of leisure. But let business go now, I've come to take you to our new Club. You will there find the best set of fellows in New York ; some of them, like myself, }'our old school acquaintance. Car. Excuse me, but I cannot join )^ou. Fox. Surely, you have not come home, after passing years in Europe, just to give yourself the satisfaction of cutting all your old acquaintance — in a lump ? Car. No, but I expect to be cut myself by the most of them, as they must know how changed are now m}' prospects in life. Fox. Nonsense, my dear fellow ; such suspicions do not become a man of your qualities. And let me tell 3'ou, that if you look so sourly on the world, the world will begin to look sourly on you ; and that wouldn't mend your case, you know. Car. That, however, is the way of the world. I confess I care but little for it, as I shall be left free to follow my own plans ; though I should be sorry to lose an old friend like you. Fox. How can it help your plans to keep yourself out of sight? You must be hatching some grand scheme for winning fame and fortune. I remember, you used to be aspiring. Car. My aspirations are now more moderate ; and the only scheme that has of late engrossed my thoughts has been to pro- vide for my landlady's weekly calls ; and that I have done by making a few drawings, or selling to the Broadway dealers a figure or two, such as you see here, and which I happened to bring home with me. A year ago, or more, while in Italy, I sent home a large collection of works of art, that I had been years in gather- ing — some of them copies of my own, and some originals by my artist friends ; "but since my return to New York, I have not been able to find them, or hear of their ever having arrived. If I had them now, they would be a little fortune to me in this time of need. EVERY-DAY LIFE. 11 Fox. Let 'em go, and don't bother yourself more about such things. {Picking up a statuette.] Why, I can tell you, ship-loads of such traps as these are brought over every month, and knocked off at auction at four and six shillings apiece. And the more time you spend about these trifles, the worse off you'll be. You'll live and die here like a toad in his hole. So, don't be foolish, but make a plunge into the stream of life, that 3'ou can see here every hour rushing by under your window. Come, I'll clear the way for you, if need be. Car. Your advice just agrees with what I've already done. I've now no more to do with art ; for, luckily, an old friend of my father's, a merchant in South street, Mr. Wise, has given me a place in his counting-room. Fox. What! you've become a merchant's clerk! I can't be- lieve that of you, Carroll. So, you expect, in time, I suppose, to become a merchant yourself — a dealer in molasses, turpentine, whisky, and all those delicate products we read about. And how many days of scratching at a desk, and how many shilling dinners will you have to eat, to transform yourself into one of our mer- chant princes ! Car. I only hope to make a living. Fox. Then you have chosen the most unlikely way a man born and educated a gentleman could hit upon to achieve so sim- ple an object. Any boy of sixteen, just out of the public schools, can distance you in that race. No, my friend, I know you ; you are fitted for something more refined. You are, by habit and in- stinct, an up-town man, and only spend your time to no purpose, trying to imitate the ways of a man of business. Car. You waste words ; I am resolved. Fox. Well, then, I'll say no more about it. But you shall not stay shut up here alone in this pigeon-hole. Y^'ou need society ; so come along with me. [Exeunt. SCENE lY.—Room in a CluJ) House. Members in groups., lounging., reading papers.^ d^c. At one loiadoiDi Dick Medlay, 1st and 2d Members, and Captain Blake. — At another window, Mr. Pike, reading. 1st Member. I say, Dick, are you going to that great jam that's coming off at old Wise's down by the Battery. Dick. I might go, if I could find my way to the old fellow's house. Does he live over his store, and should we have to enter his festive apartments through rows of flour-barrels and soap- boxes ! That would be fun, after the stupid parties we have up here. Come, let's all go, just to wake 'em up a bit ! 2d Member. No, my boy, go and behave yourself, if you can. There's a girl there, such as a bold, dashing fellow like you might 12 EVERY-DAV LIFE. carry off, if 3-011 liked ! She's been kept out of i^iglit wliilc the old man has been piling up the dimes for her ! Dick. And now he's for giving her a shove into good society, to make her market ! Capt. Blake. They have been in good society for 3-ears — where such 3^oung squids as 3' ou, Dick, are scarce ! Dick. You know them, Captain ? Capt. B. Her father is an owner in m3' clipper, the Altliea ; I've seen the girl often, and she isn't built of crinoline, I'll be bound. I met her and her governor to-dav", horsebacking it over in Jersey, and her nag made the gravel fly. Dick. She's a little fast, perhaps : I'll drive her out on the road, with that new team Pike wants to .>ell me. 1st Mem. But I thought you were going to Europe in the next steamer? Dick. Egad, I forgot about that ! I bargained with the old gent, if he'd first give me a 3'ear in Paris, after tiiat I'd come home and marry, and settle down. Here's the bill for four thou- sand francs he gave me to start upon : but I'll give it to Pike — it will just about pay him for the cattle. Here Pike ! [Pike comes forwcurd. Pike. Mr. Medlay ! Dick. Here, take this ; that turn-out's mine ! \Givt8 paper to Pike. Pike. (Reading) Four thousand francs, 1st of exchange, um — ^um — &c., [speaking to himself.] Fifty dollars more than I asked him. Capt. B. But, Dick, a pair of fast horses won't quite do 3'our business with her. Dick. Old Fox was telling me only 3^esterda}' to bu3' 'em. That I must keep horses if I wanted to get ahead with the women ! He saj's the girls think a deal more of a man if he has a horse or two. Capt. B. To get ahead with her 3'ou 11 have to talk — talk sense too, or she'll stop 3' our rattle the first go off. Dick. Oh, she's one of the strong-minded sort — cultivates her intellect a bit ! Well, I can come the intellectual dodge, too, for a short turn : I made a couple of conundrums onl v 3-esterda}^ ! 1st and 2d Mems. Conundrums! let's hear them? Dick. Wh3^ is the scenery in North Carolina like the scenery in Switzerland ? 1st Mem. Because it's green ! 2d Me-M. Because I never saw either, and never expect to. Capt. B. Give it up. Dick. Becau-^e it's All-pine ! 1st. Mem. Good — capital — now give us the other. EVERY-DAY LIFE. 13 Dick. Why does the speaking automaton now exhibiting on Broadway speak as well as a certain very popular orator ? 2d Mem. We give it up all 'round. Dick. Because it speaks as well as Eve?' it can. 1st Mem. Go in and win, Dick ; you are sure to do it. Ente?' Fox and Carroll. Dick. Hallo, daddy, you're just in time. I want your pater- nal counsels. [Dick and Fox converse upart. Capt. B. I say, Carroll, are you going with me round the Horn ; my clipper sails in a day or two. Just the trip for a man like you, who does'nt know what to do with himself. Car. Fortunately, I am no longer in that position. Fox. Yes, would you believe it, our friend here, has slipped himself into the oddest kind of a hole, for an accomplished man, like him. He has just apprenticed himself to a South street merchant. 1st Mem. What absurdity. 2d Mem. Lunacy. Dick. Suicide, I should say. [Converses icith Carroll. Fox. [Apart to Pike.] I want a couple hundred. Pike. Here's five. Fox. Eh, what ! you haven't been imprudent — hitting 'em too hard, have you ? Pike. No ; your friend, Medlay, has just paid me for the horses. Fox. All right. Did you see who I brought with me ? Pike. Yes ; will he crook his elbow ? Fox. No ; he's poor as a schoolmaster, but devilish full of lit- erature, fine arts, and all that sort o' thing. Make a capital de- coy duck for us, if I can bring him into it. He don't know any thing about our business, and that's so much the better for us. But we must have anothei* hand, to stand between you and me. You have been a little too hard, lately, on some of my young friends, that I have introduced to the Club. Pike. I'm gentle with 'em, only fifty or a hundred at a time. Small profits and steady business, I find, pays best. Fox. But you cleaned out that rich planter's son, for he came only yesterday to borrow of me. Pike, He was a tough one and I had to hit him hard in self- defense. He begged of me not to let his father's friend, Mr. Fox, hear of it. Fox. Remember, this is a club where no gambling is allowed, you're not " feeding the Tiger," down town. Be cautious or you'll blow us and the whole club to the devil. [Fox and Pikk go up conversing. 9 14 EVERY-DAY LIFE. Dick. [To Carroll.] I wish I was in Paris now. The old gent wouldn't get me home again 'till I'd hud a chance to see some of its mysterie.-^. Car. Your expectations might not be realized. Many come home and tell their friends how much they have enjoyed, merely to conceal their disappointment, because they went unprepared. Dick. I wouldn't be disappointed, I know. In Paris, with plenty of money, a young fellow like me can live just as he pleases. Pd take apartments near the ^ladeline. Pd have one parlor on "«% second^''' then another parlor and sleeping room, ^^mt sisieme,^^ dine out on the balcony at the top of the house, avec une Jolie deraoiselle, pour vis-a-vis, where we could look down and see all the world rolling along the Boulevard, right under us. I've been reading, you see, I'm prepared for foreign travel. Car. Admirably prepared ! Dick. Come, boys, let's go in and have some supper. 1st a/id. 2xD Mem. Come on; Pike must pay the wine on his horse trade. [Exeunt all but Carroll and Capt. B. Car. Blake, you and Fox are the only old acquaintance that I have seen since I returned to New York. Capt. B. And I must tell you I don't like Fox any better now than [ did years ago at school. He was trickey then and may be now, for I don't see how he lives so well, and does nothing at all. Car. He inherited something. Capt. B. But a few thousands, yet he must spend the interest of a hundred thousand. Car. Oh, we should not call upon the man to answer for the faults of the bo3^ I for one should not like to have all the non- sense I was guilty of at fifteen, remembered now. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. — Wise's Counting House, same as Scene 2, Act 1. Carroll discovered at his desk, l. and Wise standing with Seeley at his desk. Wise. [Croy.sii ? Xo, there's no sucli person here. [Exit Wise foUowed by Fov and Medlay. EVERY-DAY LIFE. 15 Re-enter Fox. Fox. Has the old buffer gone ? Dick. Yes, he's oif half a block. [Withotit. Fox. I sa}", Carroll, how are you getting on here ? IIow are sugar.' this morning ? Re-enter Medlay. Dick. Got any gunny bags on hand ? Seeley. We have an invoice to arrive in a few days. Dick. You be d d. Car, What mischievous spirit has sent these triflers down here at this time. [Aside. Fox. Here's where you operate, eh ? Come go on with your work, don't mind us ; your boss may not like it if you lose your time. Time's money you know. Dick. What an infernal smell comes in at this window, do 3'ou have it so all the time ? Those nasty looking barrels o»t there ; do they belong to your stock ? Fox. They'll bring clean money, won't they Carroll ? Medlay. [Reading paper tacked iip over Seeley's desk.'\ " Call upon a man of business in business hours, transact your business, then go about your business, and leave him to attend to his business." Fox. That's the talk. [Taldvg parcel f/om his pod. et.] See here, Carroll, I've got a present for you — useful one, too, you'll say, when you see it. I bought it just now as we came down Fulton street. [ Unfolls and displays Tweed sack or jacket.] Look here, a " business coat." Car. Thank you, thank you ; just what I am in need of. [Reaches fonoard to take it. Fox. [Handiitg it to Medlay.] Put it on Dick; let our friend gee how very becoming it is for a gentleman. [Medlay puts on coat, goes to Seeley's desk, pu^s pet/- behind his ear, then straightens himself up and stands icorking his ankle-joints, and slapping his hands, one closed inside the other, open (dternately, as though talking to a customer; then takes pen from ear, goes to Seeley's desk, flour- ishes it over hooks, ^c, ^ ■. [more tLrico], Capital, Dick, you'd better advertise for a situation. Car. Such foolery will never do here. [Aside]. I must get them away instantly. Are you walking up town; I have to go that way. Fox. Yes; its half-past twelve, and must be about your dinner time. Come Dick, let's go and dine with our bu^^^iness friend. Dick. Dine! why! I've but just had my breakfast. Fox. Never mind, I dare say Carroll knows some nice place near by. Beefsteak pie, one shilling ; bread pudding, sixpence. 16 EVERY-DAY LIFE. Always be sure and have plenty of small change, Carroll, so as to do 'em out of three quarters of a cent. Car. I'll be with you in a moment. [Exit, r. u. e. Fox. [Seats himself at Carroll's desk, sees the notes lying there which Wise had just given into Carroll's chfirge. Aside.] What ! hallo ! Lying 'round rather loose. [Sli/li/ moves them so as not to be observed hy Seeley and other clerks. Reads.] Six thousand dol- lars — four months after date — value received, due 17th, 20th, Seymour & Brothers. [Reads another.] Thirty-six hundred dollars. Ninety days — pay to order, Peter Wise ; due 25th, 28th ; Thomp- son, Arnold & Co. [Reads the other.] Fifty-four hundred and twenty-nine dollars, to our own order, due 10th, 13th; Rogers & Armstrong. [Speaking.] Those are all good names. No harm just to recollect them. [Takes out memorandur/i hook and. writes.] A copy or two would go well enough in Wall street, where the brokers have lots of just such looking pieces of paper, tied up in bundles like kindling wood. [While Fox has busitd himself copy- ing the notes, ^c, Medlay has been sitting on the high stool at Mr. Seeley's desk, lutndling and inspecting the little conveniences for writing, d^c. Finally Medlay discovers that lie has inked his gloves, takes them off and throios them on the floor in disgust, then continues rocking himself to and fro, on the high office stool, holding on icitli one hand to the desk; the stool cracks; he loses his balance, upsets desk, loith books, ink, ^c, <^c., all tumble on the floor together and make_ great confusion. Fox, 'pocketing his memorandv.m book.] What the deuce are you doing there, you mischievous monkey ? Enter Carroll hastily, with hat and overcoa.t on, crosses without perceiving vjhat has occurred, goes to his desk and takes the notes. Car. We'll go now, if you are ready. [Exeunt Fox and Carroll. Dick jndls off' business coat, throws it over Seeley's head and exits.] Seeley. [Coming forward surrounded hy (jI.-er'k.'&, picks vp ledger blotted, <^c.] Twelve years without a blot or erasure on my books. [The counting room generally in the greatest corfusion. Enter Wise. Tableau. Curtain, falls.] SCENE II. — All Auction Room. Auction sale of loorks of art discoverd. — Auctioneer and crowd. — Among the croicd, Wise, Lizzie, Mrs. Phipps, Samuel and Wait. Auctioneer. The next lot. No. 64, and last on the catalogue, ' Ariadne on Panther," — a delicate little copy, as you may see. EVERY-DAY LIFE. 17 How much is bid ? One hundred do I hear ? One hundred is bid. Ten — twentj- — thirty — forty — f(.>rty-five ! — Ladies and gen- tlemen — I haven't for years had the selling of so choice a collec- tion. One hundred and fifty is offered — do I hear ^ixty ? Tiiis is no stone-cutter's work ! Sixty is bid — give me seventy. Please bear in mind, these are unclaimed goods from tiie Bonded Ware- house, which I am selling by order of the United States Treasury Department, and every lot goes to the highest bidder, no reserve. One hundred and sixty is bid. Seventy — shall I have it ? Thank you, sir ! Seventy — seventy — seventy ! Going at ono hundred and seventy ! Eater Fox and Carroll. Car. [Looking around surprise'L] By all that's magical ! here are my long lost pictures and marbles before my eyes ! How came they here ? [Aside. Auc. [Turning to Carroll.] One hundred and eighty is bid for " Ariadne on Panther," a beautiful statuette in the finest marble. Give me eighty, sir. [Fox leaves Carroll and goes to Mrs. Phipps. — Carroll goes up and speaks to Auctioneer, kIw leaves his stoMd^ and both come to front. Car. You have sold all those things, do you say ? Auc. Of course I've sold them. Car. Why, they are mine — they belong to me ! Did you hap- pen to notice any name on that piece you just had hold of? Auc. Yes, Carroll. That name is on most of them. Car. That is my name. I am the owner — and you've sold them, do you say ? Aug. Yes, and sold them devilish well, too, for cash. They will foot up eight thousand dollars, and over, net. And all I've time to sa}^ to you is, that if j'ou can prove that they are your property, you can have 3'our money for them by to-morrow at twelve. [Returns to stand.] One hundred and eighty was the last bid : are you all done ? One hundred and eighty — once ! One hundred and eighty, twice ! — gone at one hundred and eigh- ty. Who's the buyer ? [Carroll stands apart from crovxl aI)sorhed in thought. — The eroded separate a little; some icalk about looking at paintings; others go to cashiev^s desk to settle^ Wise among them. Wise. My account, if yon please. Cashier. Ready in a few moments, sir. [Lizzie leaves her father^ and goes about looking at pictures^ d^c, by herself. — Mrs. Phipps, Samuel and Wait stand together. 18 EVERY-DAY LIFE. Mrs. p. Samuel, are 3'ou asleep ? you never see your opportu- nities. There she is, alone by herself. [Samuel leelf no further trouble about him, mj^ dear Clarissa, but leave him to me. It won't be a hard matter to place a trifling fellow like him where he belongs. Enter Kitty. Kitty. The gentlemen are waiting for you in the parlor below. Mrs. p. Come, Henry, we have talked long enough in this place. Let us go where we cannot be intruded upon. Let us go home. [Mrs. Phipps speaks to Kitty and gives her money. Fox. Home ! yes, home, home ! I now begin to feel the beau- ty, the poetry of that familiar monosyllable. How much it sug- gests ! [Ex.eunt Mrs. Phipps a,iid Fox. Enter Wait. Kitty. What, you here yet ? Why ain't you gone with the rest of 'em ? Wait. Why, I staid. Miss Kitty, to — to — ask if you had any more vacant rooms in the house. Perhaps you've got one that would suit me. Kitty. Suit you, indeed ! Humph ! we've all sorts of people in this house, to be sure. Lawyers, doctors, artists, opera singers, sportsmen, travellers, and now we've just taken in a young parson, I s'pose. But I don't think we've any accommodations for gen- tlemen in your line. Wait. My line ! . Young woman, what do you mean 1 Kitty. Yes, your line. [Going up to Wait quickly.^ she thrusts her hand into the outside breast-pocket of his overcoat, and pulls out a policeman^s badge and chain, holding it ^ip.'] Think I can't tell ? Why, any Broadway stage-horse can tell a policeman a mile off. Wait, Kitty ! Kitty. Catherine, sir — Miss Broom — Miss Catherine Broom, if you please. Wait. Well, Miss Catherine, I was about saying that ye keep things hero looking mighty neat. But perhaps you take extra pains with Mr. Carroll's room ? Kitty. Perhaps I do, and then again, perhaps I don't ; it's none of your business either way. I wish all our lodgers were quiet, civil people like him. Wait. He's a bit fast, though, if he is quiet; goes some among the fanc}", too, I reckon. See here, he's got a likeness of Bill Poole, after he was shot, with his clothes off. [Takes up statuette, and reads.] " Dying Gladiator." But the women are what he 22 EVERY-DAY LIFE. most cares f )r. Perhaps be hasn't made love to j'ou yet ; but yonr turn '11 come. He just keeps a lot of 'era v^n the strhig, so he can take 'em in rotation. Kitty. I don't believe a word of all you're saying about him. Mr. Carroll's no such man. Wait. Well, tlien, I'll just call over his sweethearts to 3-ou. First, there's a beautiful young lady, living way down town, all alone, with her rich old pa. Kitty. [Going to portfolio^ taking out profile draicing of a Jadi/s hertAh] Does she look like that ? Wait. That's her very self. Kitty. What did you say her name was ? Wait. T didn't say. But I'll just let you a little into the secret, Kitt\\ These folks that are just gone away from here, are that young lady's friends ; and the}^ want to cure her liking for this gentleman, (Vye see ? and so, when we get everything fixed, we're going to show him up to her father, just what a loose fish he is. Now, Kitty, you are a respectable young woman, and you ought to help us. Kitty. [Axi'/e.] Yes, I'll have a finger in this pie. I see it all; Mr. Carroll's poor, perhaps, and the young ladj-'s rich ; and this old woman, that's just come and gone, wants to get the lady for some other young man — this cub of a parson, likely as not. But I'll have a finger in the pie ; I'll find out who this young lady is, and if she's good as she looks, it won't be my fault if she don't get the man s',e likes best. [To Wait.] So you think I can help you, and maybe I will. If us chambermaids haven't a chance to see just what a man is, then nobody has. Wait. But say, Kitty, ye don't, all your life, mean to stay a chambermaid sure, forever. Ye'll be married some day to some tall, fine looking boy that '11 love ye, and won't let ye work so hard either, Kitty. Kitty. I ain't afeard o' hard work, and do you think I'd marry just to live way up at the top of a dirty old rear building, and where I have to travel all the way down to the yard, for half a bucket o' water, and then to run out and buy stale cab- bages and frosted potatoes out of a donkey-cart, and then, again, to the grocers for a penny's worth o' milk, and then with an old plate to fetch a pound of last week's beef from the butcher's shop — my man, the wliile, loafing at tlie porter-house, hard by. Wait. And the darling little childers, too, i-unning wild in the nasty streets, and a sitting down right on the dirty stones, in all the nice clothes their dear sweet mother has put on 'em, all clane. Kitty. No, no ! that's not the living for me. But hark, and I'll tell you the thing I'd like. Just a little farm 'way off in the EVERY-DAY LIFE. 23 conntry, where we would see the great waving trees and a ring of bhie hills all round us. Wait. Ah ! faith, Kitty, and ye'll have been reading some book. Kitty. Then I'd have a little garden on one side, and a smooth green yard in front, with a clear little brook jumping along tlirough the grass. Then, early in the morning, soon as ever the great, large, golden sun was up, I'd be out doors, and the chickens, and the ducks, and the young turkeys, they'd all come flocking clo>e under me feet [ga/hers- vp her opron and imi- tatts the scatterinri of vorit]. Then, soon as ever I went into the pasture, the lambs and the calf, and the young colt 'd come skip- ping and ruiming up to me, and follow me all about, as if I was Goodness, her own eelf. Wait. And the little boy ye'd be leading by the hand, with his little legs just long enough to toddle on over the stones and hobbles with his dear sweet mother. But Kitty sure, you've the gift o' second sisht. For isn't it a snug little spot o' me own, way up in Jersey, that je've just been picturing out [sJiakef< her heaii]. You don't believe it ? and isn't my ould mither a' living there all alone by herself, witli me young britlier ; and is'nt she iver a saying to me to come home there and sta}', and bring a tidy lass with me ! and won't T come next Sunday in a horse and wagon, and bring all the deeds and rocates to show 3'e, and then take ye out to see it all ? Kittv. I'll never get me morning's work done if I stand here harking to your deceiving tongue. [Bustles about a little, then exit^ followed by Wait. SCENE lY. — A fashionable street or Avenue vp town. — Viev) of a small chapel. Elder Fox. Fox. I see the widow's carriage a little way up the street, the horses headed this way. I'll walk on slowly. There's that polite rascal, Pike, coming on the other side the way. I wonder what he's doing out of doors so early in the day — it isn't twelve o'clock yet. Ten thousand devils ! he is crossing over as though he meant to speak to me. This is the widow's new chapel — I'll be looking at it. Enter Pike. Pike. Good morning, Mr. Fox.' Fox. [Continuing to gaze at chapel\. You have forgotten my caution to you, never to recognize me in public. Pike. That was all very well, as long as our partnership last- ed. But I've made up my mind to retire from the profession. 24 EVERY-DAY LIFE. My pile '11 never be much larger, and may get smaller if I keep on. Fox. Well, well, retire from the profession if you like, but don't stand talking to me here. Go on about your business. Pike. My business is with you, just now ; and as we don't see much of you at tl«ie club lately, I shan't have a better chance to say what I want to say. And I'll come to the point at once — I've resolved to marry and settle down. Fox. Who the devil hinders you ? — I don't [still gazinj at clio/pel.] ^ Pike. No, but I want you to help me. I've been for so many years engrossed by the cares of my arduous profession that now I've begun to think of marrying, I find one little difficulty in my way. I havn't the acquaintance of a single respectable woman in New York. So you must introduce me to one or two families among the upper ten, where I can spread myself, and carry off some stylish piece that'll set me off in the world. All I want is just an introduction. I can go it alone after that. Fox. Introduce you to the society of ladies ! What sort of a figure do you suppose you'd make there 1 Pike. My figure and face too, are good enough to serve my turn. I can distance any of those spooney young gents, such as I see on the track, only give me a fair start. Fox. Pike, I never till this moment discovered that you were a fool. I always thought that you were a shrewd, sensible sort of a man, in your way. But you'd better stick to that circle of female acquaintance where you have been accustomed to shine, and where the ladies are doubtless already familiar with your fine figure. Pike. I never notice insults while I'm talking of business. I am as you say, friend Fox, rather sensible, rather shrewd than otherwise — in my way. Pray, have you read the papers this m.orning. [Takes nni'spaper from pocket and reads.] "Forger}' — yesterday afternoon after bank hours, forged paper to a consider- able amount was brought to light. The forgeries are copies of genuine notes held by an eminent merchant in South st. No clue has j-et been got of the perpetrator." Fox. What's that to me ? I'm not an eminent merchant, nor a note shaver. Pike. No clue yet do you hear ? You seem to admire the architecture of that church very much ; but there's stone work up at Sing-Sing, that'll beat that all to the devil. No clue 3-et to the perpetrator, but I've just been down town and had a look at the forged paper, and there's a crook or two in some of the letters that I've seen before. There's a lady coining down the street, you may wish to speak with ; she'll be here in three minutes. Speak quick, say if you'll do what I ask? EVERY-»AY LIFE. 25 Fox. Agreed. I'll introduce you. I know a dashing girl that'll just suit you. [A.^ide.] Her father's a rotten old hulk though he does live on the Avenue. [To Pike.J She's fashionable as an Empress, with accomplishments to match. [Aside.] And would marry the devil's own cashier, if he'd pay her bills. Pike. Good, I'm off. Fox. Stay. I rather you would. Pretend you are an architect and we are observing this new church. Filter Mrs. Phipps, Samuel and Wa"it. Fox. [Aside.] There's not an hour to lose. Carroll must be dished and got off out of town, or I shall be done for m^'seif. [To Mrs. p.] Clarissa, this gentleman here tells me he is an architect and he says your chapel is a perfect gem of the art. Mrs. p. Oh, but sir, my mind at this moment is more than ever filled with anxiet}^ for the welfare of that dear girl, since I learned from you that that designing fellow, Carroll, had even ob- tained employment in her father's office. Some thing must be done at once to expose him and end that affair. Fox. You mentioned that Carroll was indebted to your hus- band's estate ? Mrs. p. Yes, and I know he won't and can't pay. But I told Wait to give them to some sharp lawyer who'd follow him up, for that'll help, with other tilings, to show what a poor sort of a fellow he is. Wait. I took them to one I know in Leonard street, Mr. Sue- 'em-quick. Fox. I'll go and see him. [lakes out memorandum hook.] What do you say is his name — how is it spelled ? Wait. His name is Sue-'em-quick. Su-u-m-c-u-i-q-u-e ; you'll see it up over his office door. Fox. Oh ! ho ! ''Saum CuiqueV I'll find him. [Fox and Mrs. P. converse apart. Pike has been talking with Samuel looking at chapel.] Pike. [To Samuel.] Why didn't they make more windows? It must be a cussed dark hole inside. That door way is too low, a devilish deal, for my taste. Looks like the entrance to a lager bi«r cellar, or an underground horse stable. Samuel [shocked]. A very improper person to be entrusted with ecclesiastical architecture. [Leaves Pike, and joins Mrs. P. and Fox. Mrs. p. You have never seen the interior, [to Fox.] Let us go in. [Exeunt Mrs. P., Fox and Samuel]. Wa[t. Wiiy, Pike, its an age since I've seen you. Given up the profession? Retired rich, I suppose. You've got into tip-top company here with Mr. Fox and his set. 26 EVEKY-1>AV LIFK. Pike. A cussed dull set, too, I call it. Wait, here's some- thing for old acquaintance. [Give,"! him money.] Perhaps Pve a little job in your way. Let's walk a few steps round the corner. [Exeunt. SCENE V. — Carroll's loiiyings. Enter Carroll, holding papers. Car. Now, heaven is smiling upon me. The hours and days, aye, years, that I gave to art, have not been time lost. Mine have been no idle amusements, for they have brought me wealth in the hour of sorest need. Yesterday I was almost a beggar — to- day no man in New York feels richer than I. Pve six thousand dollars here in my hand, and it's mine. The auctioneer gave it to me, and it has made me a free man. But Pve found out 1 was not born an artist, and I can not make myself one, and I must no more please myself witli such day-dreaming. I've had one escape from poverty, and the lesson should make me a wi.ser man. I'll profit by it now, and never need another, when it may be too late. I'll work — I'll toil early and late. I'll learn to be a mer- chant. I've a rare chance now. My father's friend is my friend. Then some day I'll get a home of my own. Ah, my imagination is at work again ! foi- at my fireside it shows me the fair form and face of one who perhaps never thinks of me but as a poor drawing-master. I'll draw no more pictures in the air! I'll think only of the present — about plam matters of fact. Let me see ; I've paid the lawyer that has been plaguing me with my old drafts. Pve got rid of him. There are yet some little debts owing to my father's nurses, doctor, housekeeper and the like, that must be paid. After that I shall have left a snug little sum for my own. And while I have that, it will be a charm to guard me from the gnawing cares of poverty, which unnerves the man- hood of the soul as surely as poison prostrates our bodies. [K7iocking.] Come in. Enter Italian boy and girl. Girl. Buo?i gionio. Signer Carroll. Boy. Good morning, Mr. Carroll. Car. What news, this morning. Boy. My padre^ he have got most all well. He work very much, every all day ; he liave most finish piece marble for you. Car. Here is some money for him. Girl. No signor, ringratio, n'avemmo abastanza. Boy. We be not come for money. We have some you gave Oder day. [Girl pri/mpb' Uie botj from time to lime as he proceeds.] We come now to tell somelliing very nmch bad. Two good fine ladie> come see u< many times ; come always Monday 11 hours; EVERY-DAT LIFE. 27 shall come next Monday. Some very bad lazzaroni men drink in shop down stairs, all time drink. [Girl walks about clasping her hands and appearing excited.^ I hear what dey say. I'se so little boy, dey no see me — dey tink I no understand Inglese. Ladies shall come next Monday, den lazzaroni men rob ladies — rob store man too — dey sliall do every all tings bad. Car. [AsideJ] There's some villainous plot on hand. I've seen those men there often. They are fit for any crime. {Aloud.] My young friends you have done well to come and tell me this. But have no fear ; it shall all be stopped. No one shall be harmed. [Samuel appears at windoio loatchiag .] I will be there in time. See here are the clothes I shall w^ear. [Taking old coat, hat, and neck-tie from loardrobe.'] See here are the clothes I shall wear, you will know me. Tell no one of it. Girl. We have tell no person; no, not our padre. Car. Very good ; go home now and keep silent. It's time for me to go now. [Exeunt Boy and G irl, folloiced hi/ Carroll. Samuel shuts toindow. Enter Kitty. Kitty. [Bustling about.] Well, I've done just as I said I would. I've got my finger into the pie, pretty deep, too ! I've been and found out this lady that Mr. Carroll has been drawing on paper, and working her likeness, too, in clay and plaster, for weeks gone. But I'll let the widow and her folks pull their wires, all just the same, and I'll stand where I can see what's go- ing on both sides, before and behind. [Sings.] Enter Wait. Wait. And here ye are, Kitty, working away just as hard as ever, and singing, too, the whilst, just as ef hard work made ye happy ! Kitty. But I'll not be long in this house. I'm going, may be, to live with a young lady who is like the gentlewomen we see in the old country. Wait. No, Kitty, no ; ye must come and live in the house ye know of, and that shall be ye'r own, and there ye must sing, and make the man that hears ye happy. See here. [Takes out a couple of sheets of street verses.] I just been and got old Jammie the verse-maker to make a song for us, and here it is, all printed out [gives one to her] ; ye'll learn it easy. SONG. My Kitty is a tid}^ lass, a tidy lass. She never sweeps the dust behind the door, &c., &c., &c. Enter Fox, Mrs. P. and Samuel. Mrs. p. [to Wait.] You know this young woman ? 28 EVKRY-DAY LIFE. Wait. Yes, marm ; Kitty here, is helping; us. She can do more'n all of us, to watch our man here. Mrs. p. I can see by your face, Kitt}^, tliat you're an honest girl, and some day you'll want to leave this place, and then per- haps you'll like to come and live in my family. Wait [aside]. She may like better to come and live in my family. Mrs. p. Now, my good girl, I wish you to take good care of Mr. Samuel's rooms. Let him have plenty of well-aired linen, [gives her money]. [To Wait.] Tell her to go and keep watch of the street door, to make sure he won't come in while we are here. [Wait speaks to her, and Kitty exit. Fox. I can't understand how Carroll got hold of so much money, as to be able to pay off his debt to you. He certainly never came by it honestly. Perhaps we may learn something if we search his room. [Kitty' appears above, watching at bedroom windoic. Fox seats himself carelessly at writing-table, takes some loose papers from his pocket, and slyly throws them on the floor, under it. Mrs. p. Yes ; let Wait look among his papers. It's a duty we owe to society. [Wait begins his search.] Fox rises, and. goes loitering about. Samuel also goes nosing ahout. Fox. [Pushing open portfolio of dratcings -with end of his cane], You can judge by these things how depraved he is ; nothing but arms, and limbs, and naked figures. Mrs. p. They are too indecent — Pll see no more. [Fox pushes out crayon drawing of female head]. Oh, dear me, and right among them all, the likeness of my sweet young friend. [Fox leaves Mrs. P., and goes towards Wait, who, by this tim.e, has begun to examine tcriUng-table. Samuel opens wardrobe, pulls out old clothes. Mrs. P. looks at them.] Wait [to Fox.] The gentleman has been trying to improve his handwriting. Fox. You maj' as well keep them >afe ; they wont be missed. [^ WT pats papers in his pocket, and contintus search. Mrs. p. Look here, Henry ; here are the very old clothes he dresses himself in when he goes after those low creatures Wait has told me of. If it won't do an}'^ good to tell the foolish girl herself of his vile habits. 111 tell her father, and if T can, J'll get him here to see for himself ; and if possible, when that slip of an Italian girl is here. Then he'll know what sort of a clerk he has, and what sort of a lover his dauo-hter has. EVERY-DAY LIFE. 2^> Ente7' Kitty. Kitty. Quick, quick ! There's some one just come in at the hall door — it maj be Mr. Carroll. Mrs. p. Softly ; we can all go into Samuel's room. [Exeunt hurriedly, all hut Kitty — picks up paper^ <^c. Kitty. I've seen enough for this day, and so have they, too. I didn't want them to be pulling things about any longer, so just started 'em out. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. — A?i Evening Party at Wise's House. Crowd of Guests. — Among the Guests, Fox, Carroll, Medlay, Captain Blake, Mrs. Phipps, Samuel. — Music and dancing. — In front, quadrille. — Carroll lolth Lizzie for partner. — Wisi. standing loith grouj) of elderly Gentlemen, l. h. — Loud musix ceases. — Dancers separate. — Carroll shows Lizzie to seat, r. h. Captain Blake a7id Samvel join them. — Waltzing at hack o^' stage to loio, distant music. Wise. No, sir ; we can find out nothing ; we are yet as much in the dark as ever. And the mystery of the business is, the true notes have never been out of the hands of my clerk, Carroll, who has given them back to me. 1st Gentleman. But are you sure of your clerk ? — is he true? Wise. Unquestionably. I've a great regard for him. I do not believe he has yet even heard that there has been any forgery. For I had some talk with him to-day. He is an open-hearted young man, with no inquisitiveness about him, knowing nothing:; that don't concern him, and I like him for that. 2d Gent. Your clerk must be a sort of Know-Nothing : and they are sharp fellows and want watching — eh, Doctor ? 3d Gent. [Doctor.] Yes, sir. Lucius Junius Brutus was thc^ great Know-Nothing of ancient times, and his simplicity overturn- ed the throne of the Tarquins, and set up the Roman Republic. Wise. Oh, Carroll's honest. I've no suspicion of him. Fox. I knew .him at school ; good fellow then — a little wild since, perhaps, but hardly capable of committing a crime. Lizzie. [Crossing to her father.] Do come with me a moment, papa; I want you to speak to my drawing teacher. Wise. [Aside.] What ! my clerk, Carroll !— how came he here ? [To Lizzie.] Is he here to-night ? Lizzie. Yes ; I invited him. His name is Carroll, and strangel enough, that name is on many of the beautiful things you bough l 30 • KVKRY-DAY LIFE. the other day. And T half suspect he had something to do with making them : though I can't get him to own it. You must come and take some notice of him : he is a stranger, is poor, perhaps, and should have some encouragement. Wise. [Aisirie.] I suspect he is getting some encouragement. Not now, my child. I'll speak with him bye-and-bye. [Reiirrns to group of Gentlemen.] Come, gentlemen, go on down to sup- per. 1st Gent. No, I always wait and go down with m}" host, when he happens to be an old India merchant like Wise, here. He knows the marks on the bottles that have sailed in his ships. Mrs. p. I was just saying that we, simple women, had now-a- days to mind our household affairs just the same as they did in old King Solomon's time. But you men have grown very wise and learned, to make steamships, rail-cars and telegraphs, and send them all over the world ; yet, you men don't see what is some- times going on in your own houses ; but we women can see tele- graphs working there, while ^-ou can't even see the wires. Wise. If we saw these wires, we might think it best to cut them. [Tha Guests tliiu out. — W\^k imns towards the place tchere Car- roll, is. — Carroll comes to Mm. Car. I did not know, until this moment, that it is to your house I was invited this evening. Our relations are such, that I should not have come without a direct invitation from you. Wise. I am aware how it happened, and, though I have a great regard for you, you probably see that it would interfere with the discipline of my counting-room to have the clerks visiting in my family. Car. I appreciate the foct, and will at once take my leave. Wise. No, } oung man, you must not go ; I am now your host ; I make no distinction among my guests ; all here are equals. I wish you to stay and share, with otliers, whatever enjoyment my house affords. So, do me the favor to go, with the rest, to the supper table. [The rooms lutvt become cleared. — Exit Carroll. Re-enter Fox. Fox. Sir, the forger of your name is a guest in your house to- night. I have no legal proof to give you, but if you ever discover him, you will find what I now tell you is true. A word is enough to put you on the right track, if you are disposed to take it. Wise. {Aside.'] I see he points to Carroll. [Takivg his hand.'] Tell your suspicions to no one, but leave me time to reflect if it can be so. [With eiitotion. EVERY-DAY LIFE. 31 Fox. rt is my wish, as. perhaps, it may be yours, that the of- fender may be allowed to leave the countiy. WisR. We are agreed on that : let it be so. [Aside.] Yes, I'll make good all the losses — aye, sacritice double the amount, rather than the spirit of ray old friend should look down upon his erring son the tenant of a felon's cell. [To Fox.] T cannot conceal how much I am troubled by what you have told me. I must with- draw from the company. IMy absence will not be remarked. [Exit Wise. Fox. [Solus.] How beautifully everything works. Before I left the supper-room, the widow and her Samuel had dropped a word or two about the Italian girl and that old coat and hat : and people begun to look surprised, and steal side glances at the favor- ed stranger. And now I've sent the old gent himself off to bed. Why, I never till now knew half my own genius ! A tithe of my talent has made the fortune of prime ministers ere now. Demme, I could bamboozle a dozen eminent merchants, win forty rich widows, and floor a hundred Carrolls. Poor Carroll ! his gentle, sensitive spirit must sink befiare the magnetic power of a thous- and unfriendly eyes and scorning fingers. He will be glad enough to go off with his slushy friend, Captain Blake, there. [During Fox's soliloquy^ the stage has filled up loitli Guests return- iug from supper-room. — Blake stands, with others r. h. front. — Waltzing to loio music re-commences. Carroll enters hurriedly, and crosses to Blake. Car. Oh, captain, I must speak to some one — you are my friend ! I could weep like a woman. Tell me what has hap- pened ? Why am I so treated ? Blake. My dear fellow, I wish I could tell you. I saw some- thing strange, but could not find out what it meant. If any one has insulted you, Carroll, you can depend on me. My clipper shall lie tied to her dock a month rather than you should want a friend to second you. I remember 3'our pluck, my boy, at school, not" many years gone by, you can't have changed much 3^et. Car. No one has insulted me. But tlie ladies and old gentle- men and even the very servants have all joined to make me feel as though I was a contemptible intruder here in their company. Blake. I am a sailor and don't see enough of these fashionable fooleries to understand them. But do you put on a bold face now, go and get a partner for the waltz, and I will keep a look out for you to see what's in the wind. [Carroll goes to several ladies, they refuse and the company gener- ally shrink from, and, turn, their backs on hi'ui. Enter Liz'/af., fol- lowed by Mrs. Phipps. 32 EVERY-DAY LIFE. Lizzie. No, madam, no. I am the hostess here, and I must not listen to slanderous whisperings about the humblest of my guests. To-morrow will be time enough to hear you. But to- night he is here by my invitation, and be he clerk or teacher or what you will, he shall be treated as a gentleman. [Notices the manner Carroll is being treated.] If woman is weak she some- times can protect, when man's strength is powerless. [Pauses a moment, then goes up and offers herself to Carroll as partner, and they waltz. Enter Medlav, tipsy. Med. [To Fox.] Help me, daddy, or I sink. That horrible wine has poisoned me. My head feels as though I had just come out of a lager bier cellar. Gad, there she is dancing with that beggar again, and she wouldn't give me a chance to tell my conun- drums, or even hear a word about my horses. I'd like now just to give 'em a tumble on the floor together. Fox. You are a bold fellow, Dick, and dare do what no one else dare. [Medlay puts himself htfore Carroll and Lizzie, as tliey waltz towards the front of the stage ; drops his glove and stoops doum ex- tending one leg behind so as to come in their loay. Blake stand- ing near, jerks him out of the way and he falls his length. Fox. You are rude, sir, to my young friend. Blake. Fox, I know you, and you know me. You are a worthless puppy, and if you ever speak to me again I'll send my boat'son after you with his cat and he knows how to use it. Mrs. p. Come, Henry, we have staid too long, let us say good- night. Fox. We may wait till morning for that ceremony. Our princely host has taken himself off to bed, and his daughter there is bestowing all her smiles on one of his clerks. [Speaking this so ^ as to be heard by several.] We might as well all go at once. [A general exit. SCENE 11.—^ Low Grocery Store. Grocer behind the counter, tohich runs along the back of stage. At a right angle to the counter is a pile of soap and candle boxes, forming a screen, dividing off a third of the stage. Behind this screen, a party of half-a-dozen of the loioest class are drinking and 2)laying cards. Italian Boy is playing icith jjcbbles near r. e. Behind counter is door, open, shoioing staircase. Two or three ragged children and a miserable woman enter, one after another, for spirits, ivhich they carry away in tin coffee-pot, broken tea-cup, and the like. 1st Loafer. Give me the papers ; my deal. KVKIJV-DAY L1FK. 33 Nkgko. I won't play 'gin ; I ain't no Inck. if I be a nigger. 2d Loaf. Carl, give 's 'nothcr go all 'round; the drinks is on me. Grocer. No, lads, you're getting a deal too noisy. Them silk gowns '11 be here maybe 'fore long. Keep easy till they be gone, and I'll stand treat for the crowd. 1st Loaf. I'll bet you won't think a word about it. 2t> Loaf. No. 'cause we'll be gone 'fore they be. [Lool^ing ngnifica/ntl!/ at each other. 3d Loaf. See. this won't be too heavy. is it? {Showing cudgel. 1st Loaf. I've got something heavier 'n that for that damned thief. Wait. I've felt his timber, novr he's got to have a taste o' mine. Enter Carroll, disguised^ from l. d., behind counter. Car. It's past the hour, and they may not come to-day. But I dare not go ; I'll make some pretense for staying here awhile. [Calls for heer^ tohich is put on table ; he takes oiit pipe and lays it doion, ^c. 1st Loaf. [Appearing to look through the screen.'] Hush, boys; the dry goods are coming ; I see their fricasee petticoats a-getting out o' the carriage, top o' the alley. 2d Loaf. That rascal. Wait, marching on ahead on 'em. straight as a ramrod ; I'll put a kink into him afore he's out o' tins. Enter W kit . followed hy Mrs. Phipps and Lizzie. Lizzie [to Boy.] Ah, my little fellow, happy as ever, witli only those little pebbles to play with. Here's something to buy marbles with. Boy. Gratzia, Signorina. [Girl enters from l. d., and ushers in Mrs. P. and, luizziE, loho fol- loiDS her out. Wait remains talking with Grocer. 1st Loaf. Now, boys, do we all know our parts ? I'm to tap the grocer and get his book. He would'nt tick me for a bit of ba- con, Saturda}'. 2d Loaf. I'm to settle scores with Wait. 3d Loaf. And I'm to see what cash is in the till. 1st Loaf. And you, you black devil, you're to grab the old gal's watch and puss. Negro. And kiss the young one, may be. 1st Loaf., [pointing to Carroll.] He'll run; if he don't, some of us can do for him. Re-enter Mrs. P. and Lizzie, loith Girl. Lizzie. What a perfect piece of work that poor man is mak- ing from that piece of marble, and in that wretched chamber, too. Mrs. P. And how wonderfully like you it is. 34 KVKRY-DAY LIFK Lizzie. Tell your father I wish to buy that piece of marble he's carving, [^o JBoY.] Boy. My padre no sell him. He make him for one signer. LizziR. Then he must make anotJier like it, for me. Here is some money for him. [While LizziR is talkiag to Boy, Wait points out Carroll to Mrs. Phipps. Lizzie goes and converses in dumb show with Ital- ian Girl. Mrs. p. How providential. I'll show him to her at once. [Mrs. p. steps hack to Lizzie. Carroll {to Wait.] Policeman, don't look round, but hear what I say. Be on your guard, there's mischief at hand. Be ready ; I'll stand by you. T'here's help enough outside. Mrs. Phipps [coming fonoard]. I want to show you an old ac- quaintance here, a gentleman you've seen before. He's here in disguise and tliinks he's not known. [Pile of boxes is throvrn doicn, the Loafers rush forward. Wait Jlres on them, also Grocer froin behind counter. Negro fallSj with tioo or three others. Mrs. P. screams ; hizziK faints in Car- roll's arms. Several policemen rush in. Tableaux. SCENE HI, — Batter u Grounds. — Vieto of harbor, with vessels lying at anchor in distance — Dark and rainy at commencement ; after- toards bright moonlight. Enter Carroll, carrying carpet-bag , folloioed by Boatman carrying oars. Boatman. Boat, sir ? want a boat, sir ? Car. Yes, I want a boat. Do you know where the ship Al- thea lies ? Boatman, Yes, sir. Captain Blake's clipper : there she lies — I can see her ; it's too dark for you to see. That's her light you can see yonder. She'll be off 'fore daylight ; the wind's just hauled fair. The Captain himself'll be going aboard in an hour or so. Car. Here, take my bag, and I'll be with you shortly. Boatman. Thank 3'ou, sir ; my boat is just alongside the wall, by that lamp-post yonder. [Exit Boatman with bag. Car. [