PS 635 
 .Z9 
 C779 
 Copy 1 
 
 ; 3S 
 
 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 A COIVIEDY IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 BY SIDNEY W. 'cooper, 
 
 WASHINGTON, D. C. : 
 
 Stanley Sxodgrass, Printer, (i37 F Street. 
 
 ISSO. 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 A COMEDY IN FIVE ACTS. 
 
 BY SIDNEY W. COOPER, 
 
 WASHINGTON, D. C. : 
 
 Stanley Snodgbass, Printer, 637 F Street. 
 1880. 
 

 V 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S74, by 
 
 SIDNEY W. COOPER, 
 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 TMP92-008923 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 CAST OF CHAKACTERS. 
 
 Algernon Vert. 
 Tom Tilbury. 
 Alfred Allerton. 
 Laurence LeRoy. 
 Surgeon to Vert. 
 Surgeon to Tilbury. 
 Kate LeRoy. 
 Mary Tilbury. 
 Blanche. 
 Carrie. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — The country with mountainous scenery. 
 
 Enter TiLBURY, walking slowly^ and discovering Vert 
 sitting with hack towards him, with po7'tfolio and pen- 
 cil, seated on a camp-stool sketching, and humming 
 '"''the girl I left behind me,''"' He looks at him curi- 
 ously through eye-glass and rubs his hands with sat- 
 isfaction, draws a hook from his pocket, and walks 
 forward apparently without noticing Vert toho runs 
 against him and partially overturns him. Sketch and 
 portfolio fall to the floor. 
 
 Vert. [Picking himself up.] What the devil ? 
 
 Til. [I7i a drawling, lachrymose tone.] My dear friend I beg 
 your pardon — purely accidental I assure you. 
 
 Vert. Pai-don be hanged ! You are a stupid ass ! 
 
 Til. Pray don't lose your temper; permit me to explain. I 
 had just arrived at that exciting pai't of this enchanting poem. 
 
 Vert. [Interrupting savagely.] Exciting devil! 
 
 Til. This enchanting poem wherein Almaria declares to Con- 
 suelo that she rejects his suit. 
 
4 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 Veyf. [Reseating liimself and re.-iumiinj his ski1c/iiii<j.] Don't 
 blame hi^r ! 
 
 Til. Eejects his suit, and it is tlien tliat he passionately ex- 
 claims that 'although spurned, trodden under foot' — 
 
 Vr-rf. • Trodden under foot !' I suppose tliat suggested to 
 you tlie idea of treading upon me ! 
 
 Til. All. I see ! Perhaps you do not admire these gems of 
 thought when strung upon the golden thread of most musical 
 ver.-e":' If the question be not an impertinent one, may I ask 
 are yon fond of poetry y 
 
 ^^/'/■t. [To hiiH.sdf.] Inniiensely ! Two trees, a clump of 
 bushes, and a cow, and the things done. 
 
 Til. [Aside.] Ah ! I am delighted. A congenial spirit at last. 
 In the brilliant galaxy of modern poets which do you most ad- 
 mire y 
 
 r, )■/. [frompfij/ and with eiier</ij.] Tiij>j>er. Now for the cow. 
 
 Til. Tupper ! Tupper I All, yes, an p]nglish i)Oet; I know- 
 little of hint ; I liave never read of him I tliink, although the 
 name is familiar. May I ask what are his chief ciiaract^nsties? 
 
 Vtri. Meat ! Meat ! full of meat. A bite of liim will last you 
 all day. If she'll keep her tail still a moment, I'll tinish her. 
 [Asidf\l 
 
 Til. And of our American poets, may I ask which one you 
 fancy uio>r ^ 
 
 Vrrf. \ Prompt/;/ and vnth eneri/i/.] Whitina/i, IV ait Whitman. 
 
 Til. [Slasinglji.] Yes, yes ; I have read but little of him. 
 
 TV-//. You ought to know him. A bite of him M'ill last you 
 a life time. Black tlies are very annoying to cows in summer. 
 However, I've got her, hoof, horns tail and all. [Asiile.] There, 
 there, [shawing his sketch to Tilbiiri/ and rising] what do you 
 think of that? 
 
 Tit. Beautiful ! beautiful ! You are an animal painter I take 
 iff 
 
 Viui. Animal the devil ! Don't you see the hills, the moun- 
 tains, the valleys and the river? Just look over that cow's 
 back 1 
 
 Til. Yes, but I mean the cow is the lirst object which strikes 
 the eye. I supposed you intended it for a study of some favoi- 
 ite breed of cattle. 
 
 Vert. [Aside.] What an egregious ass ! But don't you see any- 
 thing in the sketch but a cow? 
 
 Til. Oh, yes ! I see in perspective the outlines of the beauti- 
 ful scene which is spread out before us, but 1 supposed that 
 that w'as one of the tricks of yoin- art and done merely to give 
 the cow prominence. But don't you think it would have been 
 better to have placed your cow a little nearer the water? 
 
 Vert. AVhy? 
 
 Til. Because if she should happen to want a drink, she 
 would 'nt have so far to travel. 
 
 Vert. [ Turns and laughs.] Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What an ass ! 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 5 
 
 Can't you see that my object is to sketch a landscape and not a 
 cow ? That the animal is merely placed there to give life to the 
 scene and is really no part of the picture ? 
 
 Til. Yes, I think I understand tkat; but is this a Short Horn 
 or a Durham? 
 
 Veri. [Iniliijnaiitly.] Here give me tlie sketch ! He has no 
 more idea of a picture than an idiot ! 
 
 Til. Yours is a glorious profession, living as you constantly 
 do amid scenes of beauty. The true artist is in the world and 
 yet not of it. Standing as it were upon a mountain top and 
 in a pure atmosi^liere he looks down into the valle}^ of ordinary 
 life and sees the great crowd of humanitj' stained with the dust 
 and smoke of the conflict and inhaling poisonous and deadly 
 vapors — 
 
 \''ert. {Iaterr}(ptiny^ aside and luugliimj.] Just so ! A portrait 
 drawn to the life. 
 
 Til. His predilections and tastes are far above those of the 
 mass [Vert Ittrc palls a flask from his pocket] and as he ap- 
 proaches perfection in his art, his nature becomes so refined 
 and etherealized that he is a fit companion for tlie gods. 
 
 Vert. Have a little old rye? [7'o Tilhunj and luindinii Mm 
 the flask.] 
 
 Til. Thanks, no. [ Vert drinks.] I am intoxicated with the 
 beauty of the scene. This glorious air, these valleys, hills and 
 mountains are to me a suflicient stimulant compared with 
 whicli the poisonous distillations of man are inane and vapid. 
 You must possess a passion for natural scenery? 
 
 Vert. I do. [Takes another pull at the bottle.] 
 
 Til. And for which have you a preference — ;i rolling land- 
 scape or one rugged and mountainous like that which lies be- 
 fore us? 
 
 Ve7-t. [With energy.] Both. 
 
 Til. Ah ! as I supposed. All nature is to the true artist a 
 vast cathedral of the soul — the deep and solemn tones of whose 
 organ penetrate every niche and corner and lift us — 
 
 Vert. [Handing Tilbun/ the flask.] Here I Just lift this ; it 
 will help you ; I don't care to go up just yet. 
 
 Til. Xo, no, I must decline. My wine is in the air. 
 
 Ve7-t. Devilish poor stuft" — wine in the bottle preferred for me. 
 
 Til. Behold yonder mountain, wi'eathed as it is with the mists 
 of the morning ! 
 
 Vert. Yes, worth about a hundred — colors laid on thick. 
 
 Til. And tlie baby peaks far below. 
 
 Vert. No market for baby peaks. 
 
 Til. And the valley ^vith its rich verdure and flowers, lying 
 there like some gorgeous piece of tapestry. 
 
 Vert. I believe I have an order for a valley with rich verdure 
 and flowers. 
 
 ^(7. And in the foreground the peaceful cow. 
 
 Vert. Damn that cow ! See here, my friend, you seem to be 
 
6 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 a pretty decent sort of a fellow — not exactly right here. [Aside, 
 and ta])pi7ig his forehead loitli his finger.] Who are you and 
 where do you come from ? 
 
 Til. I am a wanderer, straying hither and thither, seeking 
 out scenes of beauty like the one lying before us, and feeding 
 upon tlie choice fancies of the poets who speak for all nations 
 and for all times. 
 
 Vert. Pretty thin food, I should say, and easily digested. 
 G-ad ! he and the gout will never know each other. [Aside.] 
 Poet, yourself, I suppose ? 
 
 Til. A mere warbler — skimming along the ground and hop- 
 ping from bough to bough as it were ! 
 
 Vert. A what? 
 
 Til. A mere warbler ; one of the smallest of the tribe of 
 singers ; not as the lark lifted on the wings of his own raptur- 
 ous melody — 
 
 Vert. [Interrupting.] There he goes! "Lift" again! One 
 moment before you get out of sight. Have you any newspapers 
 with you? Here I've been for a month and haven't seen a 
 newspaper. All these countiymen know is to manufacture 
 butter and cheese and lay eggs — I mean to teach their hens to 
 lay eggs. They never hear of the outside world — never read 
 a newspaper. 
 
 Til. A happy lot to rest in blissful ignorance of the wicked- 
 ness of the world ; of the villainies which are constantly being 
 perpetrated by man as against his brother man. 
 
 Vert. I shall bring him down by and by. [Aside.] Have you 
 a newspaper with you ? [Shmding in his ear.] 
 
 Til. My friend, the world I have left behind me and — 
 
 Vert. That's very clear. 
 
 Til. And when I shook the dust of the turbulent city from 
 my feet, I heard no longer the voices of scandal and crime but 
 opened my ears — 
 
 Vert. Yes, no doubt ; ears like a jackass ! [Aside.] 
 
 Til. But opened my ears that they might catch the glorious 
 voices of nature. My soul is lifted — 
 
 Vert. " Lift " again ! He must have been trying the health- 
 lift. [Aside.] 
 
 Til. Lifted far above newspapers and then* filth reeking 
 columns and the news of each day I read in the broad and 
 open book of nature. 
 
 Vert. Well if here ain't a candidate for the lunatic asylum. 
 Yet there seems to be some sense in his ravings, but how to 
 bring him down from his high horse. Ah ! I think I have it. 
 \ Aside.] Are you acquainted about here? 
 
 Til. Slightly, very slightly. 
 
 Vert. Some pretty girls, I'm told, in the neighborhood? 
 
 Til. Ah ! / loved once. 
 
 Ve7i. I have twice. 
 
 Til. But a cruel fate has placed a wide and impassable gulf 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 7 
 
 between us. 
 
 Vert. You don't say so. He 's coming down. [Aside.'] 
 
 Til. Yes ; but the story is too painful to rehearse here. My 
 sad experience has left me as I said a wanderer. 
 
 Vert. You are not a ivoman hater ? 
 
 Til. No ! the society of refined and cultivated women still 
 has charms for me. 
 
 Vert. Now I have him on terra Jirma. He must be an indif- 
 ferent marksman who charges his ride with a woman and fails 
 to bag his game when that game is a man. [Aside. \ Do you 
 expect to remain hereabouts for some time? 
 
 Til. Less than a week perhaps. 
 
 Vej-t. Ah ! That will do. There's no use you know in giving 
 j^ourself over to the blue devils. I'm stopping at a country 
 house not far from this and if you are to remain in the vicinity 
 a few days, we may have some fun witli the girls. What say 
 you? 
 
 Til. Quietly, very quietlj^ — nothing loud or boisterous. Have 
 you made many acquaintances among the young ladies of the 
 neighborhood ? 
 
 Vert. A few. Ah ! there is one, but you must not know her. 
 You poets are the devil among women ; it won't do you know. 
 You shall have a siglit of her, however, but never a word. 
 She's a stunner, by jingo; bright as a button and beautiful as 
 an angel; just home from school; fresh as a daisy and head 
 over heels in love with me. And now I'll tell you a secret — 
 we''re engaged. [Whispers in his ear.] Strictly confidential. 
 
 Til. Engaged after an acquaintance of a month? 
 
 Vert. Engaged in a month ! That's the way to do it ! Tliere's 
 no use in having any nonsense about these matters. '' Short, 
 sharp and decisive," that's mj-- motto. A good general slaughters 
 the foe or is slaughtered himself in the quickest possible time. 
 Oh ! this is an old business with me. I always make a point 
 to engage myself to one or two pretty girls every summer. 
 Got three others on the hooks now ; correspond with them all 
 and such gushing letters as I get. Wnen you come over to the 
 tavern I'll show you some. 
 
 Til. But that seems to me like trifling with the aflfections 
 of — 
 
 Vert. Affections be hanged ! IVs fun ; that's what I call/(f«. 
 Each one supposes that I'm her own true and devoted Algernon 
 and " where ignorance is bliss," you know the rest. I have'nt 
 been over to see my last sweet girl graduate these two or three 
 days ; guess I'll drop 'round this evening. She has been ex- 
 pecting a brother from the city and I thought I might be in the 
 way. You'll find me at the tavern, two or three miles north 
 from here — come over to-morrow and ask for — but here is my 
 card. [Handing him a cMrd.) I'll put you in the way of a little 
 fun. So good-bve until we meet again. [Shakes hands, takes 
 camp-stool, portfolio, SfC, and departs.] 
 
8 A POX IN A TRAP. 
 
 Til. Ha! ha! ha! ha I [Lavr/hs.] Could anything be better? 
 Fun! Yes we'll have fun ? There's lots of it ahead, [Exit. 
 
 Scene II. — A verandah of a country ma7ision, with vines, Jlow- 
 ers, (^c, and garden in front, Mary discovered stajiding on 
 verandah and leaning against railing. 
 
 Enter TiLBUBY from side., laughing heartily. 
 
 Til, Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Ha ! ha Iha ! ha ! [Laughs.] 
 
 Mary. Tom ! Tom ! What is the matter. [ Conning doivnfrom 
 the verandah.] 
 
 Til. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [Laughs and holds his sides.] Well, 
 that is too good, too good ! 
 
 Mary. Tell me, tell me whafs too good ? I, too, want to 
 ]auo;h. Did you meet him? Did you see Algernon ? 
 
 Til, Saw him. yes, and felt him. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [Laughs.] 
 
 Mary. Come now sit down and tell me all about it — I'm 
 crazy to know, [llnnning nhautfor chairs ,- fhey sit.] Where 
 did you see liim, wliat did you say and what did you do? 
 
 T'il. Let me tell you wliat I 'di<l tirst. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 [Lcmghs.] 
 
 Mary. Oh ! It takes j^oumen so long to tell anytliing. [Impa- 
 tiently.] 
 
 Tit. Well to resume as tlie parsons say. You remember 
 that about a mile south from liere the river makes a sharp 
 angle in the hills. On a high blurt' Just soutli of it, the road 
 runs nearly parallel witli the stream and from it a magnificent 
 view of mountains and valley stretching away to the north is 
 obtained. Here, and in the precise spot to which you directed 
 me, I found him seated on a camp-stool, sketching away for 
 dear life. I watched him at his work for some minutes, delib- 
 erating as to how I should proceed. Finally, observing that he 
 was perfectlj' absorbed, I drew a book from my pocket — 
 assumed a poetic and melancholy air and pretending to be read- 
 ing ; I ran against and stumbled over him. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 [T/iey both laugh.] Oh ! you should have seen us. Over he 
 went, portfolio, sketch and all. Wlien he got on his feet again 
 he looked daggers; swore at me and called me a 'stupid ass.' 
 Oh, it was rich ! Of course, I apologized, and then engaged 
 him in conversation, I assuming the role of the ' melancholy 
 poet.' A little cold and offish at first; he finally mellowed, 
 told me he was stopping at a tavern near here — had become 
 engaged to a pretty girl — a regular stunner — meaning you — and 
 desired me to remain in the neighborhood a few days so that he 
 might introduce me to the girls and have some/«?i. 
 
 Mary. The villain ! Did he say nothing about Blanche and 
 Carrie and Kate ? 
 
 Til. Oh, yes ; I came near forgetting. He said he made it a 
 practice to become engaged to two or three pretty girls every 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 9 
 
 summer and that he had three 'o?i the hooks'' beside you, al- 
 luding to them I suppose. In fact he confirmed all that you 
 had already stated to me. Bye the bye, he is coming to see 
 j'ou this evening. 
 
 Mary. Oh ! oil ! [Clapping her hands and laughing.] That's 
 too good ; too good ! Won't we girls lead him a dance though? 
 I have just been reading a letter from my old room-mate — 
 Kate Le Roy. He became engaged to Kate last summer when 
 sketching near her fathei-'s house, and to Blanche and Carrie 
 the summer before. So to oblige the girls and cause him to 
 put his foot a little deeper in, I, too, have consented to become 
 a 'victim.' Kate says, [Reads.] '"Don't for the world let him 
 know that we know each other or have ever seen each other, or 
 that you know either Blanche or Carrie. We shall all continue 
 to write him in the most gushing manner, talk about our ' peer- 
 less Algernon,' praise his truthfulness and fidelity and declare 
 that he is the only being in the universe whom we ever have 
 loved or ever can love. Next winter we shall all be in town, 
 and then, as the peerless Algernon says, we shall have some 
 fun. Enlist your dear brother Tom and tell him he must help 
 us. I have a plan and when we girls get together, I will tell 
 you all about it, and if Mr. Algernon Vert don't cry for quarter 
 before we have done with him, why then I shall make no more 
 prophecies and die an old maid. Bless your dear little heart — 
 I am so glad that you, too, are a '•victim'' and have come in to 
 help us poor deluded ones. Only be cautious and we shall set 
 a trap which will catch the fox. 
 
 Lovingly, KATE." 
 
 Oh ! you must know Kate. At school the professor always 
 sent for Kate when mischief was afoot and then you would 
 laugh to hear them go on. Kate looking as innocent and de- 
 mure as a nun and the profersor as grave as a sexton. But he 
 never caught her. There was always some loop-hole through 
 which Kate would crawl and then she would come back to us 
 and laugh at the poor old pi-ofessor and busy her brains in de- 
 vising some new scheme to torment somebody else and amuse 
 us, I am dying to know how she proposes to catch this gay 
 deceiver. But he can't escape if Kate goes about it in real, 
 downright earnest. 
 
 Til. But what shall I do? [Rising.] He will be here directlj' 
 and I shall be discovered. 
 
 Mary. Continueyour role of the 'melancholy poet.' [Rising.] 
 Notwithstanding his confessions, he'll think you're not worth 
 minding and have probably forgotten all he has told j^ou. As 
 for me, I shall greet him in the most cordial and loving manner — 
 in short with eft'usion — embrace him and every word shall be a 
 drop of honey. Let me see you as the 'melancholy poet.' 
 
 Til. [Assiiming a melancholy air., and taking a volume from 
 his pocket. Looks at it a moment and lifts his eyes and paces 
 
10 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 slowly bachwarils and forwards.] Almaria says rightly that 
 •life without love is like a desert whose shifting sands choke the 
 fountains of existence and transform its oases into barren 
 wastes.' /, too, have loved once, but she, ah! cruel fate! 
 Never more will the gleam of her dark blue eyes gladden my 
 heart ; never more will lior soft and gentle tones fall upon my 
 spirit like the refresliing dew upon the waiting flower. Hence- 
 forth nature ! ye hills ! ye valleys ! ye mountains ! ye are my 
 companions, and henceforth ye are the objects of my adora- 
 tion ! How's that? 
 
 Mary. Capital ! capital ! Let me see how is that? I may 
 want to be a ' melancholy poetess ' some day. [Imitates Til- 
 bury.] Henceforth, nature ! ye small bi'ooks and big trees ! — 
 
 Til. [Lnur/hinf/.] No. Ye vallej^s ! ye mountains, &c. 
 
 Mary. Oh, 3'es ! Ye valleys, ye mountains, ye small rivulets, 
 ye hickory nut trees ! ye — 
 
 Til. [Interrv])iing.] No! No! It is evident that you can't 
 play the part of the ' melancholy poet,' and if ever you take to 
 the stage j^ou'll not be cast in that r61e. 
 
 Mary. Well, Tom, you know you must make all sorts of al- 
 lowances for we. You attended rehersal this morning 
 
 Til. True! I think I'm prepared to appear before the elegant, 
 refined and critical audience which awaits me. 
 
 Mary. Indeed to hear you talk one would suppose that you 
 really were a poet — that you could write real poetry — rhymes 
 and all that. 
 
 Til. I can. Listen — 
 
 Oh ! Mister Algernon Vert 
 
 What a fool you were to blurt 
 
 All your old and your new loves to me 
 
 You might better wish them buried — buried— buried — 
 
 What the deuce rhymes with 'me '? 
 
 Mary. He. 
 
 Til. No, tliat won't do. 'Buried in he won't do. I have it — 
 'buried in the bottom of the sea.' That's it. 
 
 Mary. Yes, but you have too many feet in the last line. 
 
 Til. So much the better — it steps the more nimbly to a con- 
 clusion. Well I shall leave you for half an hour — take a little 
 walk in the fields and then return. Perhaps by that time Mr. 
 Vert will be here. Amuse yourself till then. [Exit. 
 
 [Mary reseating herself. Vert enters from door of house and 
 steps out uj)on the verandah and discovers Mary.] 
 
 Vert. So, then, here you are all alone ! 
 
 Mary. [Looking uj) surprised and rising.] All alone ! yes, 
 and where have t/ou been these three days? 
 
 Vert. [Coming down from verandah and meeting Mary. He 
 kisses her.] Oh ! I have been very busy and besides I supposed 
 your brother had arrived and that you might want to visit him, 
 undisturbed. 
 
 Mary. Oh ! what a flimsy excuse ! Very busy and supposed 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 11 
 
 tliat my brother was here and I wondering what had become 
 of vou and dying all the time to see you. 
 
 Vert. Now were you really dying to see me? 
 
 Mary. Yes, indeed ! Oh ! what a fib. [Aside.} I can't tell 
 you how anxious I liave been. I feared something might have 
 happened to you. You certainly miglit have sent me a note 
 telling me why you did not come. 
 
 Vert. Well, well ; how exacting you spoiled and petted 
 children are to be sure ! Did I not tell you that I had a very 
 elaborate sketch to make and that I should be very tired and 
 all that? I must be a devilish fascinating fellow ! The unfail- 
 ing consequence of one of my insinuating and killing glances 
 is a complete and unreserved surrender of the dear creatures. 
 "■Horse, foot and dragoons," as they say; down they go and 
 plead for mercy. Here is a case in point. Lord ! how she loves 
 me ! [Aside.] Apropos of that sketch, I have something good to 
 tell you. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! But let us sit down. [They sit.] 
 
 Mary. But tell me Algernon, darling — Algernon, darling — 
 don't that sound funny? But I looe you so, you know. [Looks 
 at him insinuatinyly.] Tell me before you commence that — 
 have you not — now tell me truthfully — have you not? — Xo I 
 am afraid to ask. 
 
 Vert. Why, my dear girl, speak on and unreservedly. You 
 know we're engaged and certainly there should be no hesitancy 
 of speech in our intercourse. My deep, my absorbing love for 
 you should act as an ojyen sesame to your lips. Lord ! what a 
 liar and villain I am. [Aside.] 
 
 Mary. [Coyly.] Well, I was only going to ask you — if you — 
 if you — had not — had not — found some one else in your three 
 daj'S ramble whom you like better than me; and is not — is 
 not — that the reason why j^ou have remained away so long? 
 
 Vert. Like anybody better than you ? The woman does not 
 live. No, No; I have before now seen women whom 1 fan- 
 cied but none whom I ever truly loved but yourself. Another 
 lie ! [Aside.] Some men, and I am sorry to say that I have the 
 misfortune to be acquainted witli a few, are given to flirtation 
 and to trifling with the attections of women, but in my opinion, 
 he who approaches a confiding woman and, by the exercise of 
 his adroit fascinations, lures her on until she casts her heart at 
 his feet and then turns with a laugh and tpsses that heart in 
 the air for his foot-ball — he, I say — deserves eternal banishment 
 from the society of man. That's a clincher ! [Aside.] 
 
 Mary. What noble sentiments ! I knew you would not de- 
 ceive me. You know I am so young and only just out of school. 
 Do you know — do you know — many young ladies ? 
 
 Vert. Absolutely none ! absolutely none ! Another lie. [Aside.] 
 I have been so devoted to my art — so ambitious to rise to emi- 
 nence in it, that I have been compelled to foreswear the society 
 of ladies. It has been a great deprivation to me, I assure you, 
 for, I think I may say, and without vanity, that my society 
 
12 A FOX IN A TRAP, 
 
 would not be unwelcome to those of your sex who appreciate 
 sincerity and trutlifulness and that ciiivalrous deference for 
 the possession of which my friends, without exception, give 
 me credit. 
 
 Mary. Then — you — never — told — another — woman — that — 
 you — loved — her? 
 
 Vert. Never! Oh, Lord ! [Aside.] 
 
 Mary. And— never— proposed — to— anyone— besides — me ? 
 
 Vert. Never! [Rising.] Don't you think its' growing very 
 hot— that the— the air' is rather stifling— I mean that it is very 
 close? [Fans himself iciili his hat.] 
 
 Mary. No ; I had'ht perceived it. You seem uneasy, rest- 
 less* 
 
 Vert. [Rather, I should say. [Aside.] Now, that I have told 
 you all, I am sure you will have that implicit faith in me, ahem I 
 witliout wliich there can be no true love ? 
 
 3Iary. [Rising.] Oh, Algernon, I have never doubted you 
 from the first ! ' It seems almost as if I knew you before we 
 really became acquainted. And that I did from the crown of 
 his head to the sole of his feet. [Aside.] Well, what is this you 
 were about to tell me ? 
 
 Vert. [Laughs.] Ha ! ha ! lia ha ! Oh, yes ! You remember 
 the scene I described to you and told you, some days ago, I was 
 about to sketch. Well, I was there to-day— sitting on my 
 camp-stool by the road-side — oblivious of everything about 
 me — when up comes a clumsy fellow, book in liand, reading to 
 himself, runs against me, and knocks me, portfolio and all, 
 clean out of my chair. I jumped up, swore at him a little and 
 again sat down to work, tliinking he would go on about his 
 business, but not he ! There he remained and tallced and such 
 talk. Away up in the clouds, above eagles, larks and all the 
 other feathered tribe. Could'nt get him down — showed him 
 my sketch and what do you tliink ? All he saw in it was a cow. 
 [They both lauyh.] Then he asked me if I was an animal 
 painter? Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [Both laugh boisterously.] 
 
 Mary. A poet, perhaps? 
 
 Vert. I believe you, and a mad one at that. As a last resort, 
 to bring him to the eartli, I sounded him on the woman ques- 
 tion. Then he descended — then he folded his pinions and came 
 down. I asked him if he was a poet? 
 
 Mary. Ah, I thouglit so ! 
 
 Vert. Thought what? 
 
 Mary. That he was a poet. 
 
 Vert. He said he was a — a — a ' wobbler.' Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 [Laughs.] 
 
 Mary. A what ? 
 
 Vert. A ' wobbler ' — one of those things that goes so — 
 [motioning with his hand.] 
 
 Mary. A ''icarbler'' you mean. 
 
 Vert. ' Warbler ' ! Well its' all the same. Now I'm bound 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 15 
 
 TU. [Resuming .] Takes the mountain in her grasp and trans- 
 fers it without curtailment or diminution to the waiting canvas. 
 
 Mary. [To Vert.] Ah, now do you see ? You have awakened 
 him . 
 
 Vcrf, Yes ; I like him best though when he's asleep. 
 [Walks about, and after a pause.] When does he return to 
 town ? 
 
 Mary. To-Tuorrow he leaves me, poor fellow. He expected 
 to remain with us about a week, but it was near here, j^ou know, 
 that ske lived, and the associations are so unpleasant that he 
 prefers to be far awa}^ 
 
 Vert. Well, since his stay is to be so brief, you will want to 
 be with him tlie little time that remains, so I will say good-bje, 
 [A7.95C.s-/ier] and farewell to you Mr, Tilbury. [Tom and fert 
 shake hands solemnly.] Tell [to Mary] him I shall soon be in 
 the city and to come 'round to my studio and we will discuss 
 cows and pre-raphaelitism, 
 
 Mary. [To Vert.] And, now, you will not remain away so 
 long as j'ou did this last time ? I miss you dreadfully. Indeed, 
 I fear I am loving you too much. [jVaively.] 
 
 Vert. I would'nt be at all surprised. They all do, [Aside.] 
 Xo. 1 shall see you to-morrow. [Bows and exit. 
 
 Til. [Throwing doivn his book and laughing.] Well this is 
 better than a circus or a colosseum or a hippodrome ! 
 
 Mary. Wliat do j'OU think of him, Tom I 
 
 Til. C-apitol gam«? — capital game ! 
 
 Mary. Oh, you should have heard his talk to me just before 
 you came in ! It was too rich. His protestations of ailection 
 for me — liis declaration that I was the only woman he had 
 ever loved or ever could love ; his condemnation of the trifler 
 and the llirt and his heroics on confiding and unsuspecting 
 women. Let me see ! How was that speech? Oh ! I remem- 
 ber ! I Strikes an attitude.] Some men, and I am sorry to say 
 that I have the misfortune to be acquainted with a few, are 
 given to flirtation and to trifling with the affections of women; 
 but ill my opinion, lie wlio approaches a confiding woman and 
 by the exercise of his adroit fascination hu'es her on until she 
 casts her heart at his feet and then turns with a laugh and 
 tosSv'S tliat heart in the air for liis foot-ball — he, I say — deserves 
 eternal banishment from the society of man, [They laugh boist- 
 erously.] 
 
 Til. I think that if I wore going to diagnose him it would be 
 thus : Algernon Vert, the champion liar, 
 
 Mary. And, yet. it is impossible to take offense at him, 
 particularly when one has been forewarned, as I have been. 
 But I fancy the girls, who have really been fooled by him, don't 
 take the matter so amiably. However, thej^ still write to him, 
 as at first, and never let him suspect tliat they know he is the 
 gay deceiver that he is. This, they do, in the hope of torment- 
 ing him one of these days and liaving their sweet revenge. 
 
16 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 Til. Will you all — all four be in the city at the same time 
 the coming winter ? 
 
 Mary. All. And as soon as Kate arrives, you must see her, 
 and you and she lay your heads together and devise some plan, 
 if Kate has not one already, although I warrant vou she has, 
 as she says, to catch him and humble him. 
 
 Til. Leave that to me ! And if the fox is not entrapped in 
 his hole, he will not run far before the hounds lay him by the 
 heels. 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 13 
 
 to have some fun witli this fellow. I shall bring him here, al- 
 though I told him I shoulcl'nt, and you must introduce him to 
 some of your ladj' friends and they can have their own sport. 
 He's a rich unc. 
 Mary. Oh, I love poets ! 
 Vert. Then I guess he'd better stay away. 
 Mary. Is he handsome? 
 
 Vert. Oh ! not ill looking ; but one of those lackadaisical, 
 sentimental sort of fellows who are always talking about hills 
 and mountains and valleys and rainbows and all that sort of 
 thing and whining about some lost love. Nothing practical, 
 you know ! can't sketch or paint a picture. 
 
 Mary. Ah I but men of real sentiment love truly ! 
 Vert. Nonsense. Their love is in the clouds. 
 Mary. And they never flirt. 
 
 Vert. Because no sensible woman will notice them. What 
 the devil is she driving at? [Aside.] Upon tlie whole 1 think the 
 subject of our conversation had better be changed. Pretty 
 soon yon know we shall drift aw ay oft" into aesthetics, meta- 
 physics and all that sort of thing, and as you are fresli from 
 your books I shall be nowhere in the discussion. I suppose 
 you liave Dugald Stewart, Cousin, Kant and all those fellows 
 at your tongue's end. 
 
 Mary. No, my favorite study has been man! 
 Vert. What ! Anatomy — bones? 
 
 Mary. [In a grandiose way.] To know whence we are — what 
 we are and whither we go ! 
 
 Vert. Gad, that's an extensive field for inquiry. Well how 
 do you — what do you find? She's beginning to' talk like that 
 idiot I met this morning. [Aside.] Here he comes — here he 
 comes ! Look ! there's the fellow — reading just as he was when 
 he stumbled over me. Be quiet now. [Tilbury approaches, 
 reading to himself.] 
 
 Mary. Is that the sentimental youth of whom you have been 
 speaking ? 
 
 Vert. The same, the ver}' same us I live. 
 
 Mary. [Laughing.] Why that's my brother Tom ! But [very 
 seno«<s/?/] hush? Let me tell you something so that j'ou will 
 understand him. He has been crossed in a love attair. Has 
 become moody and melancholy, and you must be very gentle 
 with him. His mind is somewhat aff'ected — a. softening., [point- 
 ing to her forehead] I think they call it, which has resulted in a 
 partial loss of memory so that at times he does not even recall 
 what transpired a brief hour ago. But he saj^s some really fine 
 things occasionally and writes beautiful verse. 
 
 Vert. Gad, that's cheering ! If he remembers all that I said 
 to him this morning. I miglit as well go hang myself. [Aside.] 
 Can't you — a — a — drive him away ? 
 Mary. Drive him away? Why, no, he's perfectly harmless ; 
 
14 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 he's my brotlier. Hei-e he comes — he don't see us. Wait ! I'll 
 speak to him. Tom ! [Calls.] 
 
 Til. [Lowering his book andlooking up.] Ah, Mary, it is you ! 
 But who is thisl' [Coming closer and looking at Vert] 
 
 Manj. This is Mr. Vert, Tom. My brother Tom, Mr. Vert, 
 [Theg shake hands.] Win', Mr. Vert told me that he met you 
 this morning. 
 
 IHl. This morning? [Thinks.] Xo, no, I have seen no one — 
 nothing except you and my book. The hills and mountains I 
 have made my constant companions. 
 
 Vei-f. But don't you remember stumbling over me old fellow, 
 away down here on the road? 
 
 'T'il. [IVandcring.] Stumbling — you! [Trying to remember.] 
 Xo, it was a cow. 
 
 Vert. There's that infernal cow again ! I wish she might 
 toss him up on her horns I That's a lucky escape for me. I 
 began to think the climate did'nt agree with me and that I 
 needed a change of air. [Aside.] So, [to Tom] you remember 
 nothing but the cow? 
 
 Til. The cow — a very large cow that I stumbled over. 
 
 Mary. [Aside to Vert.] You see him at his worst now. He is 
 feeling very badly to-day. But now that you have been form- 
 ally introduced he will know j'ou when he meets you again. 
 
 Ve^t. Hanged if I care to cultivate his acquaintance. [Aside.] 
 How does he appear when he's at his best? 
 
 Mary. Very poetic and quite unearthly in all his sayings. 
 
 Vert. I should say so. Do you have to chain him ? 
 
 Mary. Mere}', no. He is as harmless as a child. He lives in 
 the city and not far from j'^ou and has a great passion for art. 
 I know, when [ tell him wlio you are that he will be particular 
 to call upon you, and I think you will like him when you know 
 him thoroughly. [^Significantly.] 
 
 Vert. Yes, j^es ; I shall have to get down into him some 
 distance before I shall be able to appreciate his line traits, I 
 daresay. Sure he ilon't bito? 
 
 Mary. He lias teeth. 
 
 Vert. Guess we'd ])etter mu/.zlf^ hiu). All the cows — I mean 
 dogs — are muzzled now. 
 
 Mary. You shan't be so severe on Tom. He may recover 
 one of these days and then he'll surprise you with his intelli- 
 gence. [Significantly.]. You know he's a pre-raphaelite ? 
 
 Vert. A wliat? 
 
 Mary. A pre-rapiiaelite. 
 
 Vert. Gad, that accounts for the cow ! So, [to Tom] old fel- 
 low, you're a pre-rapliaelitc, are you? 
 
 Til. [Solemnly.] Tlie forms of nature I would see set before 
 me as they are. To my eye, the meaningless embellishments 
 of man but detract from their beauty. Art is only correct 
 when she stretches forth her hand and takes the mountain — 
 
 Vert. [Interrupting.] On the mountains again. 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 17 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene. — A parlor in a city residence. Evening — winter. 
 Tom discovered seated at a table, hat in hand., looking over 
 an album — waiting. 
 
 ' Enter KATE. Tom rises. 
 
 Kate. [Speaking rapidly.'] Ah ! this is dear Mary's hrother — 
 brother Tom as we all call you. [Greets him cordially.] I am so 
 glad to see you ? Marj^ wrote me you were coming — ^how is the 
 dear girl? But pray be seated. [Not toaiting for an ansioer., 
 they sit.] Oh ! I am dying to see her ! When is she coming ? 
 Do you know if I had met you in the street, I should have 
 known you were Mary's brother ? 
 
 Til. Indeed! 
 
 Kate. Yes, indeed ; you look just like her — just her hair and 
 eyes and her manner for all the world ! Oh, she is so nice ! 
 Mary and I are old chums, you know, and such fun as we've had 
 together. AVhen did you say she'd be here ? 
 
 Til. She expects — 
 
 Kate. Oh ! I'd give the world to see her to-night. Is she as 
 pretty as ever? Sucli beautiful hau* — how does she wear it now? 
 
 Til. She wears it — 
 
 Kate. Frizzed and curls I suppose as she used to at school. 
 Such lovely curls ! She cut one off at school and gave it to me. 
 Would you like to see it ? 
 
 Til. I should be pleased — 
 
 Kate. I don't suppose you care though — you have seen her so 
 recently. 
 
 Til. [Aside] Well I should say that this young lady is mak- 
 ing about the fastest time on record ; can't get in a word edge- 
 waj's. I suppose you have heard — 
 
 Kate. Oh, yes I Mary wi-ote me all about it. Isn't he a 
 villain ? 
 
 Til. [Rapidly.] Have heard of the death — 
 
 Kate. No; when did he die? Was it very sudden? Who — 
 who — is dead. 
 
 Til. [Rapidly,] Of the death of her pet dog Fanny ? 
 
 Kate. No, Mary has'nt said a word about it. But / mean 
 this Vert — is'nt he a scamp? Would'nt I like to cut his ears 
 off! 
 
 Til. But his ears — 
 
 Kate. Yes — immense I know. But I'm not angry with him ; 
 that is, sometimes I am, and then, again, I sit down and laugh 
 
18 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 and laugh enough to kill myself. He's such an awfnl fibber 
 and the fun of it is he makes you believe everything he says. 
 He sajs Kate, you are the only woman I ever loved and I can 
 never love anyone else. Then, you know, I look up at him as 
 if to doubt him and then his arm comes creeping arouud my 
 waist and I swallow it all like a ninny. [Lau'/Jis.] Oh, it's 
 fun — that is, sometimes I tliink it is and the next moment I'm 
 as mad as hops. AVhen did you say Mary would be here? 
 
 Til. She will probably arriA'e — 
 
 Kaie. She must have felt real badly over the death of little 
 Fanny ! 
 
 Til. Probably arrive — 
 
 Kate. What was the matter with lier? She ought !o have 
 put one of those wire things over her face. 
 
 Til. Muzzled her? 
 
 Kate. Yes ; that's the way they do in the citj'^ — saved a great 
 many dogs' lives. I wish Algernon Vert was muzzled. Mary 
 is a little jewel to go and sacrifice herself and become engaged to 
 the scamp so as to help us girls out. 
 
 Til. So, then you were really fooled by him? 
 
 Kate. Of course — all tliree of us — Blanche, Carrie and my- 
 self. Oh, what a flirt ! But wait. We'll bother the life oiit of 
 him this Avinter. When did you say — ? 
 
 Til. She will be here— 
 
 Kate. But I suppose — 
 
 Til. [Rapidlij.] In a very few days. [Aside.] There's one 
 question answered. It's clear tliat I never shall have an oppor- 
 tunity of answering another. 
 
 Kate. In a few days ? Oh, tliat's nice ! How I do long to 
 see her! I suppose she'll buy another dog — she always was 
 fond of pets — kittens and tilings — and a little, young, white 
 rabbit would almost set her wild. Is she as fond of rabbits as 
 ever ? 
 
 Til. I think— 
 
 Kate. But I never cared much for rabbits— they eat your 
 clothes and carpets — queer tastes have'nt tiiey ? 
 
 Til. Very, [.[.side.] It shall be a word and a nod hereafter. 
 
 Kate. Yes ; that's wliy I don't like them. But a little guinea 
 pi^. Oh, I adore guinea pigs ! 
 
 /'//. Guinea pigs? 
 
 Kate. Yes ; one with white and black spots all over him — 
 such cunning little tails they have and so playful. Oh, I liad 
 one in the country once and this scamp Algernon Vert killed it. 
 
 Til. Killed it?' 
 
 Kate. Yes ; killed it with a stick. He said it was a hog and 
 he did'nt like liogs. I nearlj- cried my eyes out and did'nt 
 speak to him for three days. 
 
 Til. To the pig ? 
 
 Kate. No, no, to Algernon. [Lauglia.] Then I made him go 
 and buy me another which I have yet. But I never look at him 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 19 
 
 without thinking of Algernon, because his eyes are just like 
 Algernon's. Oh ! is'nt he a scamp? 
 
 ^ni. He is not absolutely perfect. 
 
 Kate. ^S'o, Indeed. Mary wrote me all about you and your 
 stumbling over him when he was sketching. I told the girls 
 about it and I thought we shoidd all die lauglung. [Laughs.] 
 And the melancholy poet, too ! Oh I that was capital ! [ can 
 imagine you! [Takes a book, rises and loalks up and down, 
 rolli/i;/ her ei/es and gesticulating in a supposed imitation of 
 Tilfiuri/.] There, is that it? 
 
 Til. "^Exactly. 
 
 Kate. I knew it. [Laughs and sits,] How I would like to have 
 been concealed in the bushes so that I could have seen it all. 
 Did lie swear at you? 
 
 Tif. In a mild way. 
 
 Kat,\ Oh, how wicked ! And then he told you that he was 
 engaged to a "irl — a ' regular stunner ' — not far from there and 
 that he liad three others on the — on the — what was it ? 
 
 Til. Hooks. 
 
 Kate. Oh, yes! On the hooks. Wliat's ' hooks ' ? I know 
 what 'stunner' means but "hoolcs' — I never heard of 'hooks ' 
 before except hooks and eyes. [Tjaughs.] 
 
 Til. He meant that he was engaged to thi'ee others. 
 
 Kate. Oh, the villain ! It is when I liear of those things that 
 I become angry witli him. Wlien I think how he has lied to us 
 and fooled us all — all but Mary — I laugh. But we have not 
 done with him yet. Blanche and Carrie are upstairs, spending 
 the day with me and you have been so entertaining that I for- 
 got them. [Rises and rings a bell.] I know they are dying to 
 see you and I promised to send for them. 
 
 Til. [Aside.] Yes ; I don't think I was ever quite so enter- 
 taining in my life — not quite. [Takes out his watch.] Time, two 
 twelve and a quarter — decidedly the fastest on record. 
 
 Enter a SERVANT. Kate lohispers to her and servant 
 exit. 
 
 Kate. You have never seen the girls, have you? 
 
 Til. Never. 
 
 Kate. Thej-^ are real nice and you must like them. 
 
 Til. I doubt not — 
 
 Kate. Oh, yes, I know you will. They're splendid^full of 
 fun ; we're all full of fun and they're not such chatterboxes as 
 lam. 
 
 Til. I'm delighted— 
 
 Kate. Oh, you were going to say something severe tlien. 
 
 Til. No, I was about to say — 
 
 Kate. Now, be careful. 
 
 Til. That I shall be delighted to meet them. 
 
 Kate. Mary told me that you were sarcastic at times and so 
 
20 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 I was a little afraid of you. But [nairchj] you wont say sharp 
 things to me, I know. 
 
 Til. [Aside.] I'll never say any thin.!?, sharp, flat, hard or soft 
 if she goes on at this rate. " Heavens, what a tongue ! No, I 
 never sav anything — 
 
 Kate. Oh, yes you do ! Mary says so ; that you are awfully 
 bitter when you choose to be and that you cut people up in 
 slices just as the butcher does beef-steaks. 
 
 Til. Did Mary say that ? 
 
 Kate. Yes, I remember the butcher and the beef-steaks. Ah ! 
 here come the gu-ls ! 
 
 Entei- Blanche and Carrie. 
 
 Blanche, Carrie, here is dear Mary's brother—' brother Tom ' 
 you know. [Tom rises and boivs. All sit.] 
 
 Blani/ic. Well, you have kept us waiting a long time. I 
 thouglit you were ifoing to send for us immediately. 
 
 Aalc. Oil 1 Bro'tlier Tom— I mean Mr. Tilbury [laughs] has 
 been so enlertaining that 1 forgot all about you. You know 
 we have had important business to transact, have we not Mr. 
 Tilbury? 
 
 Til. Well upon my soid I don't recollect — 
 
 Kate. Oh, yes you do. Don't you remember the dog and 
 Algernon Vert and tlie guinea pig? 
 
 Til. I remember thcjii;/ perfectly. [Thei/ all laur/h.] 
 
 Kate. Nothing else ? Now you must lielp me out. 
 
 Til. I remember the pig because Miss LeRoy said she was 
 fond of pigs. 
 
 Kate. Oh, how sweet ! [To Blanche and Carrie] Don't that 
 gound like Algernon? Girls, don't you think he resembles 
 Marj'? 
 
 Both. Wonderfully. 
 
 Blanche. The same hair ! 
 
 Carrie. The same eyes ! 
 
 Til. [Aside.] Well I don't think I ever felt quite so much like 
 an ass as I do at tliis present moment. 
 
 Kate. [To Blanche and Carrie.] And Mary will be here in a 
 few days. Only think I Is'nt it too good? We are the three 
 young ladies who are on the — the — wliat did he call them? 
 
 Til. "Hooks." 
 
 Kate. On the hooks. [They laugh.] I wonder if he meant fish 
 hooks ? 
 
 Til. He probably meant to say tliat lie had caught three 
 gudgeons, 
 
 Kate. Gudgeons? What are gudgeons? 
 
 Til. [Looking at a dictionary tying on the table.] Webster de- 
 fines a gudgeon to be "a small freshwater fish, the Gobio 
 fluviatilis, allied to the carp. It is easilt/ caught and often used 
 tor hait.'" [They laugh.] 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 21 
 
 Kate. [Thoughtfulh/.] Yes, he must have meant that. Now 
 it is our turn to drop him a line — I mean a flsli line, with hooks 
 attaclied. 
 
 Carrie. And what sort of a fish do you expect to catch Kate ? 
 
 Kate. A bull-liead. [All laugh.] What does Webster say about 
 him? 
 
 Til. [Again looking at dictionary .^ reads.] " Bull-liead — a fish 
 of the genus Coitus, especially the Cottus Gobio " — 
 
 Kate. [Interrupting.] Gobio, gobio — they're all Gobios are'nt 
 they ? 
 
 Til. [Continuing to read.] " In America a species of Pimelo- 
 dus " — 
 
 Kate. [Interrupting.] " Pimelodus " — what a funny word I 
 
 Til. [Continuing to read.] " Called likewise cat-fish and horn 
 pout. A stupid fellow, a lubber." 
 
 Kate. Oh, that's good ; ' stupid fellow ' and ' lubber ' are both 
 good. But does he not say anything about ' scaly fellow? ' 
 
 Blanche. How silly ! The bull-head has no scales. 
 
 Kate. I'm glad of that. When we get him on the hooks, 
 we'll skin him alive. They're like eels, I suppose. I love eels. 
 
 Blanche. Kate, have you told Mr. Tilbury what you propose 
 to do? 
 
 Kate. Yes, I'm going fishing. 
 
 Blanche. No, no ? Have you told him how you propose to 
 bother — to worry Algernon? 
 
 Kate. No, but he knows. 
 
 Til. Upon my soul I have'nt the faintest idea. 
 
 Kate. How stupid I am ! I thought I had told you ! I know 
 I came to tell you. My head is so full of gobios and gudgeons 
 and bull-heads that I have almost foi-gotten. Yes, here's the 
 way. Mary will be here in a few days ? 
 
 Til. Yes. 
 
 Kate. We must have Marg. [All rising.] Do you understand? 
 We must have Mary ? 
 
 Carrie. Yes, we all understand, so far. 
 
 Kate. Well that is all I shall tell you until Mary comes. 
 [Loud laughter from all.] 
 
22 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — An artisfs studio. Pictures on the walls, Sf-c. Alger- 
 non Vert seated and engaged in painting^ from the sketch — the 
 same as in Act \st. Cow prominent in foreground. 
 
 Vert. [Solus.] How I have to laugh whenever I look at that 
 cow ! ' Animal painter ' ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Choice breed of 
 cattle ". Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! I must tell the fellows about that. 
 It's too good to keep. I sometimes think the fellow knows 
 more than he pretends to. Sound on some things but in prac- 
 tical matters utterly gone daft ! Well ! [Leans back and looks 
 at his picture.] There's a picture for the academj'- and if that 
 don't bring me fame and fortune, nothing tliat I can do ever 
 will. If I don't succeed with tliis, 1 may as well go back to the 
 farm. I wonder [resuming his painting] how the girls are ! 
 Let me see, there are Kate, Blanche, Carrie and Mary. [Count- 
 ing them on his fingers.] One, two, three, four. If I go back to 
 the farm, one will do. If I don't why the more, the merrier. 
 By the way, they must all be in town now. Kate, Blanche and 
 Carrie ai'e here, and Mary was to have arrived last night as her 
 brother Tom told me. Luckilj^ they don't know each other, 
 and the chances are that they never will. Four honey suckles 
 and I the only bee ! ''■ How doth the little busy bee. ! " 
 
 A loud rap at the door. Vert rises and opens door. 
 Enter Mary a)id Tom Tllbury. 
 
 Vert. Ah ! ah ! I'm delighted to see you. [Kisses her.] Re- 
 ceived your letter saying you would be here last night but sup- 
 posed you would get in so late that I concluded to postpone call- 
 ing until this evening. f2'o Tom.] Mr. Tilbury, I am glad to 
 see you. 
 
 Mary. I told Tom we should surprise you. Oh ! you are 
 painting from the sketch you made last summer I 
 
 Til, Yes. there is the cow. 
 
 Vert. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [Laughs.] Your brother will never 
 get over that cow. 
 
 Mary. No ; brother Tom often speaks of the cow ; she seems 
 to have made an impression upon him, because you first met, I 
 suppose, under such peculiar circumstances. 
 
 l^il. It is faithful to nature as I remember her — in color, red — 
 short horns — long tail and the same one tliat I stumbled over. 
 
 Vert. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! He sees nothing in the picture but 
 the cow. [To Mary.] He is like these butter and cheese fellows 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 23 
 
 one of whom came here yesterday and wanted to know what I 
 asked for Hliat air cow''? Said he was 'hangin up sum picters 
 in his stable and thought this would give his customers a good 
 idee of his dairy.' [Thci/ latu/h.] 
 
 Mary. You know business men generally know little of Art, 
 They are constantly seeking for what is useful and profitable. 
 They know little else than dollars and cents. 
 
 A loud knock at the door. Vert runs to open it. Eater 
 Kate LeKoy. 
 
 Kate. Oh, Algernon, I'm so glad to see you — so glad to see 
 you. Why have'nt you been to see me? Here I've been in 
 town a week and not a sight of you. iSTever shall forgive you — 
 never. Oh ! I see j'^ou have frieTids here. [Looking at Mary and 
 Tom.] 
 
 Vert. [Embarrassed.] Yes — yes — some acquaintances of mine 
 — shall I introduce you? 
 
 Kate. No, thanks ; I know so many people already — all my 
 time is taken up in making calls. But wliy have'nt you been to 
 see me? 
 
 Vert. I have been so busily engaged on my picture for the 
 Academy, you know. Have worked almost night and day to get 
 it finished in time. 
 
 [Mary and Tom meanwJiilc examine the pictures on the studio 
 walls.] 
 
 Kate. Oh ! [looking at the sketch] a liorrid cow ! [Laughs.] Is 
 that your grand picture for the Academy? Why did'nt you 
 paint a guinea pig? You know I love guinea pigs, and you 
 might have had a nice, little spotted one in the foreground. 
 You don't love me a bit or you would ! 
 
 Vert. Hush ! these people will hear you. 
 
 Kate. I don't care if they do. Everybody knows that I love 
 guinea pigs. You never will succeed until you commence to 
 paint guinea pigs ! Who is [pointing to Mary] the horrid thing 
 over there ? See ! she is laughing at your picture I 
 
 Vert. [Nervously and embarrassed.] Some country acquaint- 
 ances — friends of my mother. 
 
 Kate. Well, your mother's friends ought to have better man- 
 ners than to laugh at your pictures. 
 
 Mary. [Approaching Vert.] Well, Algernon, dear, we shall 
 not bother you any longer. But you will be sure to call to- 
 night? I want to talk with you ever so much and have lots to 
 tell you. Good-bye ! [Attempts to kiss him — he draws back.] 
 What ! not a kiss before I go? [Kisses her reluctantly.] Come, 
 Tom ! [Tom hows and both exeunt.] 
 
 Kate. Well, this is very singular ! ' Algernon dear ' and ' not 
 kiss before I go ' ! What does all this mean, Algei-non? 
 
 Vert. They are friends of my mother. 
 
24 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 Kate. Do all the 'friends of your mother,' as you call them, 
 say ' Algernon dear ' and want a kiss before they go? 
 
 A loud knock at the door. Vert runs to open it. Enter 
 BLANCirE. 
 
 Blanche. [Pla;/fitUi/.] Ah, I liave found you at last, you 
 rogue I How happy I am to see you again! [Rushes at him, 
 jniUs doicn his head and kisses hi7n.] 
 
 Kate. [^5*'/.^] Another friend of his mother, I suppose ! 
 
 Blanche. Why hai-e''nt you called:' Here I have been in the 
 City ten daj's and more and you have neither called nor written 
 me a line ! Naughty boy ! Who is that lady over there ? 
 She is laughing at your pictures ! Cool, I tliink ! 
 
 Vert. [Embarrassed,] She's from the cit — I mean from the 
 country — a friend of mv mother, 
 
 Blanche. Oh! I shall be .90 delighted to meet any friend of 
 your motlier ! Wont you present me? 
 
 Vert. Yes — ah — no — she says she don't want to make any new 
 acquaintances. 
 
 Blanche. I thought so. She's horrid looking; I liated her 
 wlien I lirst saw her. I should'nt think you'd encourage such 
 people to come here. 
 
 vert. But I can't stop 'em. 
 
 Blanche. Then lock your door — bolt it — they're such nuis- 
 ances. Oh ! here's your new i)icture ! What a nice cow ! 
 Is'nt she sweet? I alicai/s liked cows. When I see a cowl 
 tliink of milk and tliat always reminds me of bread and milk 
 wliich I eat every night wlien I'm at liome in tlie country. 
 
 Vert. [Asi'lc.] Oil, Lord ! J wish slie was at liomc in the 
 country now. I'd give a drove of cows to see her safely in- 
 stalled in tlie parental mansion. 
 
 Kale. [Lookinrj at a picture and laughing boisterously.] Oh, 
 how funny ! 
 
 Blanchi'. There ! I told you she was laughing at your pictures. 
 I'll say ' 1 must go ' and see if she does'nt take a hint. [In a 
 loud voice] Well Algernon, darling, I think I must say good-bye 
 now. 
 
 Kate. [Laughing boisterously again,] How strangely things 
 do come about. 
 
 Blanche. The niuny? No, she's one of the kind who come to 
 stay. I wisli I had time to sit her out. 
 
 Vert. [Aside.] Devilish glad she has'nt. Must you go so 
 soon? 
 
 Blanche. Yes, I've got lots of shopping to do, and don't fail 
 to come and see me tliis evening. Now mind ! Good-bye 
 darling. [Piills his head down and kisses him. Goes.] 
 
 Kate. [Half vexed.] I suppose that is another friend of your 
 mother. 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 25 
 
 Vert. She? Oh, she is a friend of my sister! [Aside.] Gad' 
 I'll ^o through the fuuiilj- if its necessary. 
 _ Rate. Your mother's and siste/-'s friends are very affectionate. 
 It strikes me. 'Algernon dear ' and ' Algernon darling' and a 
 kiss when they come and a kiss when tliey depart. I never knew 
 an aftection for a mother and a sister to extend in such deoree 
 to a son and a brother. ° 
 
 y crt. Oh : they are unsophisticated country people you know 
 
 —don't stand upon form— speak as thev think and act as they 
 
 like. Sincere, truthful people you know, such as I like, ahem ! 
 
 Kate. For my part 1 don't quite like so much freedom. I'm 
 
 glad they're gone and I hope you'll never see them again. 
 
 Another loud knock at the door. Vert goes to open it. 
 Enter Cabbie. 
 
 Carrie. And, so here you are ! A nice young man are you. 
 [ruts her arms about his neck and kisses h'im. He strxgi/les to 
 get away.] Two weeks in the city and you could not Und time 
 to drop in even for a moment ! For shame ! 1 almost feel like 
 —well I wont say what I had in mind, for I see you are not 
 alone. Who t> she ? 
 
 Vert. She ? Oh ! she's a cousin of my niece. A— a distant — 
 relative of my aunt or sometliing of that sort, A capital fel— 
 I mean she's a sincere— truthful— fellow— young lady. You 
 ought to know her I 
 
 Carm. No, I don't care to. She looks spiteful. What have 
 you been doing all the past summer? All summer ! Think ! 
 So long since I have seen you— it seems au age ; and then not 
 to come and see me, you naughty man ! 
 
 Kate. [Pulling a sketch from a sketch book.] Oh, here's a 
 pi^! Here's a pig—piggy," piggy, pi^oy » 
 
 Carrie. What does she mean by saying ' piggy, piggy. pifo"v *? 
 One might imagine one's self hi a pig stye. ' ''"' 
 
 Fcri^. She's found a sketcli of a— of a — rhinoceros. 
 
 Carrie. Well, I never heard a rhinoceros called 'pigfy, 
 piggy, piggy ' before. ' ''' 
 
 T ert. She's very fond of rhinoceroses, very ; and that's a pet 
 name she has for tliem. 
 
 Carrie. What queer tastes ! 
 
 Vert. Yes, born with her. 
 
 Carrie. And what did you say you had been doing all sum- 
 mer? 
 
 Vert. Driving — I mean sketching cows. 
 
 Carrie. Oh, j^es, I see. There you have one on the easel. I 
 don't like cows. Now a nice, little young monkey would look 
 so sweetly in a picture. Won't you paint me one? 
 
 Vert. [Aside.] Gad, I'll paint her an elephant with a weasel 
 on his back, if she'll only go. I see a storm brewing. 
 
 Carrie. Well, I shall go as I see you are anxious to get at 
 
26 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 your work again. This evening — remember — I shall expect 
 you. Good-bye. [Throws her arms around his neck and kisses 
 him. Goes.] 
 
 Kate. [Indignantly.] Xow, Mr. Algernon Vert this is too 
 much. That was another cousin of your mother or sister, I 
 suppose. 
 
 Vert. Xo, merely an intimate friend of the family. She is 
 like a sister to me. 
 
 Kate. And all your lady friends seem to be like sisters to you. 
 I don't believe you — I know you are ileceiving me. I suppose 
 if I remained here a suthcicnt lengtli of tune a dozen more 
 cousins of your mother or intimate friends of the family would 
 walk in and take the liberties with you which should belong to 
 me alone. I'm vexed with vou and shall not remain a moment 
 lon;!rer. [Attimj^ts to fjo. Jl'' j>>ill.s /wr hark.] 
 
 \ ert. [Coaxinf/h/.] Now, don't lly in a passion ! Sit down 
 for a moment and be calm. [Then sit.] [Aside.] I knew that a 
 thunder storm was about to burst. You have had implicit con- 
 fidence in me have'nt yon Kate? 
 
 Kate. Yes, I had., but I've lost it. 
 
 Vert. There, I thought as mucli I Jealous. I see ! Ha ! ha I 
 ha I ha ! And jealous of such people as these ! Why the}' look 
 upon me as a brother. You know there is nothing but friend- 
 ship between tliem and me. 
 
 Kate. lam not so certain of that. 
 
 Vert. But you will believe me if I assure you upon my honor 
 that there is not ? 
 
 Kate. Yes — no — I shall have to take time to think it over. 
 
 Vert. Now let me tell yon — I don't care a straw for either of 
 these people — that is outside of mere friendship — nothing 
 more, I assure you. And you — you are the only one whom I 
 truly love. 
 
 Kate. Well, I like to hear you say that but it seems so strange ! 
 
 Vert. Strange? How, strange? 
 
 Kate. So strange that tliey should all kiss you and call you 
 ' my darling ' and • my dear ' and — 
 
 Vert. Oh, nonsense? Nothing in it, nothing in it, I assure 
 yon. [Draws her to him.] It's a waj' they have. You know 
 that I love no one but yourself. Forget them ; you will never 
 see them again. Thev soon return to the country and that's 
 an end of them. 
 
 Kate. [Meekl;/.] Well, if j'ou say that you realli/ and trub/ 
 love me and me alone wliy — 
 
 Vert. Why that is sufficient. [Kisses her.] Now I suppose 
 you will go home happj-, and not lie awake all night thinking 
 of my mother's cousins and the intimate friends of the family, 
 eh? 
 
 Kate. No, now I am satisfied. And shall I see you to-night? 
 
 Vert. To-night. 
 
 Kate. But you have promised all your mother's cousins that 
 
A FOX IN A TEAP. 27 
 
 you would see them to-night. How can j^ou see aJU 
 
 Vert. [Aside.'\ There it is again ! The more I try to extricate 
 myself, the deeper I get in tlie mire. Well, I shall come and 
 see you and make some excuse to them when I next meet them. 
 I can drop in on them at any time. 
 
 Kate. Don't forget? You have the number — 'good-bye.' 
 [They kiss. Kate goes. Loud lauglder outside.] 
 
 Vert. Thank Heaven, they have all gone at last ! Was ever 
 a man so beset? How tlie devil did tliey all happen to come in 
 at the same time? That's what bothers me! One after the 
 other and not one of them satisfied until she had kissed me. 
 I never saw anything like it ! ' Algernon dear ' and ' Algernon 
 darling,' and Kate hereto see everything and liear every word ! 
 A narrow escape for the ' animal painter ' as Tilbury calls me. 
 Well, I'll go back to my cow. [Takes a seat., and whistling 
 begins to jyaint.] 
 
 [Loud laughter outside. Vert jumps from his chair with 
 palette and brush in hand and looks in direction from which 
 laughter comes.] 
 
 Vert. "Who the devil — ? Runs toward door and exit as cur- 
 tain falls.] 
 
28 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene. — The Academy of Design. A large room dimhj lighted. 
 Pictures hanging on the walls. Among them in a conspicuous 
 place in center Verfs jnctnre from sketch made inthe countri/. 
 Enter stealthih/, a man icith two pictures, one of a cow the 
 other of a monkey; the first, with placard in large letters 
 attached, reading — " Study of a cow from nature by Algernon 
 Vert, N. A., A. S. S., ^r." He pastes picture (f monkey 
 over Verfs picture and then turns it so that it faces the wall, 
 and hangs picture of a cotp over it and goes out. Immedi- 
 ately after lights are turned on full and enter from opposite 
 sides, "Maby, Tom, Blanche. Carrie and others. They 
 all stop before the picture of the cow and laugh boisterously, 
 apparently not recognizing each other. After laughter has 
 subsided, enter Vert from side. He glances timidly in the 
 direction of his picture, sees the croivd about it and rubs his 
 hands witii satisfaction. 
 
 Vert. [Solus.] Ah ! I have hit it this time ! They're all look- 
 iiiEj at it. Al<?eriion. my boy, j'ou're famous ! Ah ! Al«?ernon 
 Vert was not carried from the cellar to the garret on the day of 
 his birth for iiotliiii<? I Call it an old woman's superstition if 
 you will but tliere's a deal in it. I'p, up, up, that's the way 
 to travel— gradual, but sure. P'ir.-t stcj), the kitchen; second 
 step, the parlor; fourth step, the eliainbcr — that's where I am 
 now. Gad I next season I'll open the scutth; and mount the 
 roof. [Enter Kate leaning on the arm of her brother; they 
 walk u]) to picture and commence to laugh. All laugh boister- 
 ously again. Vert ftirns, looks at picture and rushes up to it.] 
 A thousand devils! What does this mean? Where is the 
 scoundnd, the villain who has done this? Who is he? Where 
 is he? [To Tom.] Was it you? [To Kate's brrdhcr.] Or you? 
 I'll murder the man who has dared to perpetrate this infamous 
 trick ! [Tears down the picture (f cow and /lings it on the floor; 
 then turns his ))irture around, disclosing the monkey. They all 
 laugh again boisterously. Takes Tom by the collar.] You 
 know something of this — you do — you do — don't deny it — you 
 are a villain sir — a villain, and I'll liandyou over to the police. 
 [Takes hold of him and shakes him.] Poiice I police ! 
 
 Til. I assure you — 
 
 Ve7-t. Don't assure me — I want none of your assurances! 
 You lie, sir ! You lie ! 
 
 Til. [Straightening tip and angrily.] Sir, unhand me ! 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 29 
 
 [Throwing off his hands.] The man does not live who can 
 question my veracity with impunity ! 
 
 Vei't. None of your poetical airs now ! I know you — I know 
 yon — you did it — i/on did it. 
 
 Til. [Decidedly.] I did not do it. 
 
 Vert. I charge you witli it — I charge you with it ! ' melan- 
 choly poet," eh? You'll be a devilish sight more melancholy 
 before this liour to-morrow. You'll write madrigals behind 
 iron bars and address sonnets to tlie warden of prison. 
 
 Til. Sir, I do not wish to prolong this scene, nor do I wish to 
 bandy words with j'ou in the presence of these ladies and 
 gentlemen. [Significantly.] Let me say this to you only. You 
 shall hear from me to-morrow. I wish j'ou a good evening. 
 [Mary takes his arm and exeunt.] 
 
 Vert. [Attempting to tear off picture of monkey.] Pasted on 
 as I live and my picture ruined! Why did'nt I strike him? 
 Wliy did'nt I knock the villain down when I had him here? 
 I'll go after him. [Runs out.] I'll—I'll— [Exit. 
 
 Scene. — -.-1 room in a house. Time., morning. Vert seated and 
 reading newspajier. 
 
 Vert, [tiolus.] Devilishniceexhibition that was ! The scound- 
 rel escaped me last night, but to-day I shall pursue him and 
 chastise him wlienever and wherever I may meet him. He 
 shall not escape me. I shall be the laughing stock of the town. 
 Jones and Smith and all those fellows who are jealous of me 
 will, of course, be tickled to death — this will be nuts to them. 
 They could'nt have anything better. " Cows and monkeys by 
 Algernon Vert, N. A., A. S. S." [Rising.] The infamous 
 wretch ! I'll pull everj' hair from his head, cut oft" his ears, 
 post liim as a coward and a poltroon, and so hold him up to the 
 scorn and ridicule of the community, that tlie boys will hoot 
 at him as he walks the streets. ' Melancholy poet,' forsooth ! 
 He's been feigning tliis melancholy and madness and he has 
 fooled us; that's the fact of it. But I'll get even with him. 
 Let's see what the papers have to say about the exhibition. 
 [Looks at paper.] Yes, there it is — just as I supposed it would 
 be. [Reads.] " Twentieth Exhibition of the National Academy 
 of Design. Scenes and Incidents. A large and fashionable 
 audience gathered in the elegant salons of the National Acad- 
 emy of Design last evening. Many of the leaders of the first 
 circles of our metropolitan society graced the occasion. In- 
 deed, it was difficult to know which most to admire — the living 
 pictures one constantly saw about him and moving before his 
 eyes, or the silent ones which glowed on the canvas and 
 adorned the walls. The exhibition was a success and passed 
 oft" pleasantly, barring one unfortunate but most amusing con- 
 tretemps. It seems that Mr. Algernon Veit. a well-known and 
 rising young artist, had contributed to the exliibitiou a picture 
 
30 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 upon which he had bestowed great labor and wliich he fondly 
 regarded as his chef d'etivre. Some pei'son or persons, as yet 
 unknown, through sheer \\ickedness, and for the pui-pose of 
 injuring Mr, Vert, or with the design of perpetrating a practi- 
 cal joke — the latter is tlie most charital)le supposition — stole 
 uito the Acaderaj' before the doors were thrown open and 
 pasted over Mr. Vs picture, a picture of a monkey rampant; 
 then, turning it to the wall, hung upon the other side a picture 
 of a cow with the words, "study of a cow from nature, by 
 Algernon Vert, X. A., A. S. 8.' A large crowd of course 
 gathered around the picture and shouts ot huigliter attracted 
 Mr. Vert's attention to the scene. Furious at the discovery, 
 
 as may well be supposed, Mr. Vert cliarged Mr. (we 
 
 suppress the name for tlie present.) At all events, a gentle- 
 man well known among our dilletanti, and not unknown to 
 fame as a poet, with tlie pei-jietration of the ollence. A scene 
 ensued which terminated only by the abrupt withdrawal of 
 
 Mr. ." 
 
 There it is — the whole story, and the entire city will be laugh- 
 ing at me. But I shall have my revenge ! And there they 
 were again — Kate. ^lary. Blanche ami Carrie, and all laughing 
 regardless of my eliagriu and niortitication. It is devilish 
 qireer that tliey all happen to appear together at sueii inoppor- 
 tune times. VVell, I don't know but after all it was quite as 
 well that something of the kiud liappened, for there was bound 
 to be a scene anywaj'. Damn me, if I can once rid myself of 
 these entangling alliances, I sliall never be caught in another 
 scrape like this. Well, this row with Tilbury is certain to re- 
 Bult in an exposure and an explosion. 
 
 A hnul rap is heard at the door. Vert yoea to o])en if. 
 Enter ALJ.EBTON. 
 
 Vert. Hello ! old fellow, glad tosee you. The blue devils have 
 possession of me and I'm delighted to have some one to talk to. 
 I suppose you've seen this? [nundhnj him the newspaper.] 
 
 Al. Yes^ j'es. Ha ! ha I ha ! ha ! [Laiu/hs.] Yes, saw tlie ac- 
 count this morning and saw tlie wliole thing last night. 
 
 Vert. [Eai/erh/.] Were you there ? At the Academy? Were 
 you there ? 
 
 Al. Yes ; never laughed so much in m}' life. 
 
 Vert. What ! Lauglied ? Lauglied at a piece of infamous 
 trickery whicli is likely to result in my ruin ? Lauglied at it 
 do you say ? 
 
 Al. Why, yes — laughed of course — could'nt help it. Best 
 joke I ever saw. Everybody lauglied ; everybody is laughing 
 this morning. 
 
 Vert. Suppose this 'Joke.,'' as you call it, had been perpetrated 
 at your expense — would you have laughed then ? 
 
 Al. Laughed? Possibly — can't sa^' precisely what I ghould 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 31 
 
 have done. But you know it only made matters worse to get 
 up a scene as you did. That I certainly should not do. You 
 charged a gentleman witli having committed tlie otteuce, and, 
 so far as I can learn, you liad no evidence to support the cliarge. 
 
 Vert. Evidence ? I have proof positive. 
 
 Al. What evidence ? What proof? 
 
 Vert. I know it — that's evidence enough to convince me ; 1 
 know it instinctively. 
 
 Al. Oil, you talk like a woman ! 
 
 Vert. Woman be hanged I Don't mention the name to me — 
 I've had enough of 'em. Xow, [taking off his gown aaCi pat- 
 ting on his coal] now you must excuse me. I shall arm myself 
 with a cane and start out in pursuit of the scoundrel who com- 
 mitted this infamous outrage. I sliall chastise him, by Heaven, 
 if it takes a month to unearth him. I shall give him no rest 
 until he crouches at my feet like the dog that he is, and 
 pleads for mercy and forgiveness. Oh ! there will be a turning 
 of the tables or ray name is not Algernon Vert. [^1 rap is heard 
 at the door. Vert goes to open it. Messenger enters; hands 
 him a note and retires.] A note, eh? I don't recognize the 
 handwriting. Probably somebody desires to congratulate me 
 on my great success of last night. [ Vert opens the note and 
 reads aloud.] 
 
 " Sir : At the Academy of Design, last evening, you saw fit 
 to question my veracity and I promj^tly intimated to you that 
 it was not within the power of any man to do so with impu- 
 nity ; and I further informed you that you should hear from 
 me to-daj\ I, therefore, take tliis occasion to demand of you 
 the satisfaction due from one gentleman to another and beg to 
 refer you to ray friend. Colonel LeRoy, who, acting for me, 
 will assist in arranging the necessary preliminaries. 
 I am, sir, your ob't s'v't., 
 
 Thomas Tilbury." 
 
 To Algernon Vert, Esq. 
 
 Al. Ah, ha ! Ah, ha ! He has anticipated you. 
 y^crt. [Agitated.] Anticipated? AVhat the devil does it mean? 
 Colonel LeRoy? Preliminaries? Preliminaries to what? 
 
 Al. Preliminaries to a Jight; that's what it means. He's 
 going to Jight you, 
 
 Ve7-t. Fight ? Why I can't fight. Dang it, I never fired off 
 a pistol in my life. Does he mean with pistols? 
 
 Al. You shall say — you are the challenged party, and, there- 
 fore, have the proud ])rivilege of naming the weapons. 
 
 Vert. Canes ! What do you say to canes? 
 
 Al. Ha! ha! ha! ha! Fight with canes ! Gentlemen fight 
 with canes ! Let me [contempt iioushj] suggest policemen's clubs ; 
 the}' are the more fashionable weapon and most in use now- 
 a-days. No, no ! Here is a challenge and you must meet this 
 thing like a man. You have gi-ossly insulted Mr,. Tilbury 
 
32 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 in public — I lieard j-ou myself give him the lie direct, and j'^ou 
 are bound to satisfy him either bj' an ample apology, made in 
 as public a manner as the insult was given, or give him a chance 
 to shoot at you. [ Vert winces.] That's it ! Stand up like this. 
 [Imitatbig a duelist.] Are vou readj'? One, two, three, bang! 
 [Vert sinks back into his chair.] Two horns to the dilemma — 
 apologize or fight — what say you ? 
 
 Ve)i. [Starting from /lis chair courageously.] Fight ., I say;' 
 _/ight if it costs me an arm or a limb ! 
 
 AI. Gad, it may cost you 3-our life ! I don't know anything 
 about tliis Tilbury as a .shot ; but it is certain that he writes like 
 ti man who means business — direct and to the point ! Every 
 sentence is a bullet and every paragraph the crack of a pistol. 
 
 Vert. Oh, don't talk that way ; don't I beg of you I Must 
 it — must it — be pistols ? 
 
 Al. Pistols of course ; you know nothing of the use of the 
 sword. Suppose you have a regular Arkansas fight — bowie 
 knives in a dark room) 
 
 Vert.. No, no; he would kill me sure. I could'nt see him. 
 
 Al. There's the fun of it. You don't see — j^ou feel [illus- 
 trating] for each other. Then when you come together, the 
 work is short, sharp and decisive — like this. [Illustrating the 
 stabbing.] 
 
 Vert. No ! [Shuddering.] That would'nt suit me. Pistols 
 shall be the weapons. But who will be my second and attend 
 to these pre — pre — preliminaries as he calls them. 
 
 Al. I will very cheerfully act in that capacity if you like. 
 
 Vert. Cheerfully I cheerfully ! One would suppose that it 
 was only a pleasant little pastime to see two men go out and 
 shoot at each other. However, thank you, my friend, I gladly 
 avail myself of your services. See Colonel Lelloy for me at 
 once, and tell him tiiat Algernon Vert will fight. Put on a 
 bold front and tell liim that there is no possibility of an adjust- 
 ment. This may intimidate him, you know, and he may ofter 
 terms. 
 
 .1/. Terms ! He will offer no terms. You can only avoid a 
 fight by ottering a public apology. 
 
 Vert. That I shall never do. 
 
 Al. Very well. Wliat do you say as to the time of meeting? 
 
 Vert. The sooner the better. 
 
 Al. Good ! To-morrow morning at sunrise. 
 
 Vert. Is'nt that — rather — soon ? 
 
 Al. You say the sooner the better. 
 
 Vert. Yes, but I mean — 
 
 Al. Meet and have done with it. The police will hear of the 
 aff'air and take you both into custody. I fear now that it will 
 be blown all over town before to-morrow morning. 
 
 Vert. Very well — as j'on say, my friend. I leave all to you. 
 
 Al. To-morrow morning at four o'clock, unless you hear 
 irom me meanwhile to the contrary, I shall call for you. Be 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 33- 
 
 ready. If you have anj'^ disposition to make of your effects, 
 consult a lawyer and have your will prepared. 
 
 Vert. [Nervously.] Will? 
 
 Al. Yes, to be sure; one of these " In the name of God, 
 amen," things. You may need it, you know; or, rather, your 
 executors and heirs may need it. 
 
 Vert. [Tremblinf/.] Don't — you — think — it — would — be — 
 better—? 
 
 Al. No, no ; this is the best that can be done now. Good- 
 bye old fellow. [Aside.] Gad, I had better be olF or the fellow 
 will weaken. [They shake hands and 'Allertoii hurriedly de- 
 parts.] 
 
 Vert. [Solus and sinking in his chair.] Oh, Lord ! What a 
 fix I'm in ! Never fired a pistol in my life — sure to be killed ! 
 A fight with Mary's brotlier, and Kate's brother as his second ! 
 I'D call him back — I'll apologize. [Jumps tip and runs to the 
 door shouting.] Allerton ! AUerton ! Allerton ! [Exit. 
 
34 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene. — A dark, dense wood. Time — early dawn. Vert, 
 Allerton and Surgeon approach from side and deposit 
 iceapons, ^'C, 07i the ground. Tilbury, LeRoy and SURr- 
 GEON approach from the opposite side and do liketcise. The 
 seconds greet each other and consult a few moments in silence, 
 and determine, bg pacing the grounrl, the positions of their 
 respective principals. The j)rincipals ai-e placed in posiiio7i. 
 pistols in hand, pointing to the floor. 
 
 LeRoy. Now, gentlemen, you are in position. The signal 
 for the discharge of your weapons will be as follows : 1 will 
 first ask the question : Are yon ready ? Not receiving anj' 
 response, I will proceed to count, one, two, three. At the 
 word ' tlu'ce ' Jirc'. Do you understand":' [Both principals nod 
 an affirmative] Gentlemen, are yon ready. ^ [A long pause and 
 silence.] One! [As he jironounces the word ''one,'' a female //</- 
 lire, clad in white, face concealed, emerges from the wood, and, 
 walking slowly, takes position at the side and five or six paces 
 from Vert, raises her right hand and holds it pointing at him. 
 They all look amazed, and Vert, horrified, dropjs his pistol, his 
 eyes still fixed on the apparition. Three other females, simi- 
 larly cUu), emerge from the wood, at brief intervals, and take 
 up positions at the side of the first, all raising their right hands 
 and pointing at Vert.] 
 
 Al. [Recovering and addressing the four apparitions.] Speak ! 
 Who are you, and what is your business here? [They throw off 
 their disguises, discovering Kate, Mary, Blanche and Carrie. 
 They laugh boisterously.] 
 
 Kate. [Laughing, stepping forward and addressing Vert 
 ironically.] Permit me, Mr, Vert, to present you to some 
 'cousins of your mother, and intimate friends of the family.' 
 [The ladies laugh, and Vert hangs his head.] Yon see before 
 yon, sir, some young ladies who are 'on the liooks,' 'gudgeons' 
 as it were — easily canttht and sometimes used for bait. ' Gobios ' 
 Webster calls them. Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [AH laugh.] 
 
 Vert. [Furious and pirking ujt his jji.s/ol.] The scoundrel. 
 Tilbury 1 I'll shoot hini ! I'll shuot him (low n in his tracks ! 
 
 Al. [Rushing toward. s Vcrl.] Hold! Not while this aftair is 
 pending ! You shall not compromise me. Once it is settled 
 that you do not tight here and now, the responsibility attending 
 so rash an act will rest upon your own head. But not now, 
 sir, and I insist upon the delivery of tne weapon to me. [ VrrI 
 hands hiui the pistid.] 
 
A FOX IN A TRAP. 35 
 
 Til. I am ready to proceed, gentlemen. 
 
 Mary. {Stepping forward.] Gallant gentlemen, you ^a 111 per- 
 mit me to 'j9?'ocee«;Z ' first. [Addressing Vert.] '' Some men, and 
 I am sorry to say that I have the misfortune to be acquainted 
 with a few, are given to flirtation and to trifling \\ Ith the af- 
 fections of women ; but in my opinion, he who approaches a 
 confiding woman, and, by the exercise of his adroit fascina- 
 tions lures her on until she casts her heart at his feet and then 
 turns with a laugh and tosses that heart in the air for bis foot- 
 ball, he, I say, deserves eternal banishment from the society of 
 man." Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [All langh.] 
 
 Blanche. [Stepping forioard and to Vert.] " No, indeed, I 
 know no young ladies — absolutely none. I have been so de- 
 voted to my art — so ambitious to rise to eminence in it, that I 
 have been compelled to foreswear the society of ladies. It has 
 been a great deprivation to me, I assure you, for, I think I 
 may say, and without vanitj'^, that my society would not be un- 
 welcome to such of you" sex as appreciate sincerity and truth- 
 fulness and that chivalrous deferenc; for which my friends, 
 without exception, give me credit. ' ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! [Laughs.] 
 
 Carrie. [Stepping forward and to Vert., naively.] " Gad, I'll 
 paint her an elephant ^\ith a weasel on his back, if she'll only 
 go !" Ha ! ha ! ha I ha ! [They all laugh boisterously again.] 
 
 Kate. [Stepping forward.] And, Mr. Vert, as I have been 
 your woman, noto I'll be your man! [Approaches Tilbury.] 
 Give me the pistol, Mr. Tilburj- ! [He hands her the pistol and 
 she takes a position.] It was / who planned the meeting of your 
 gudgeons at your studio. It was / who was the cause of your 
 mortification and disgrace at the Academy, and it is / who am 
 now ready to fight! 
 
 Vert. [Livid with rage.] Will not some one remove these — 
 these — women ? 
 
 Al. [To the audience.] Well, upon my soul, this is the most 
 extraordinary duel tliat I ever witnessed. I have known sim- 
 ilar encounters to be interrupted by the police loheii they''ve not 
 been paid to stay array! But never before by women. [To Vert.] 
 If the lady is willing to fight you, and your antagonist, Mr. Til- 
 bury, consents, I don't see how you can avoid a combat. 
 
 Kate. The signal, gentlemen ! [Allerton offers Vert pistol^ 
 which he declines.] 
 
 LeRoy. [Li mocking tone.] Ladies and gentlemen are }''0U 
 ready? 
 
 Kate. [Throwing down her pistol.] Hold, sir; hold I He is a 
 coward and dare not fight ! And so are all men, like him, cow- 
 ards. Here is a man [pointing at Vert] whose protestations of 
 aflection were lies and whose vows of fidelity are registered in — 
 well, to say the least, they are not registered in Heaven. To 
 each one of us has tJie same sweet lying tale been told, and 
 each one of us, save one, has given to hhn our heart's best love. 
 He has received a wound more painful than any bullet can 
 
36 A FOX IN A TRAP. 
 
 inflict. Despised by liis former friends and ridiculed by all, 
 our revenge is as sweet as it is complete. We are more than 
 satisfied. Mr. Algernon Vert, we all wish you a very good 
 morning. [They how mockingly. Kate coming forward to the 
 audience 2Joints at Vert.] Ladies and gentlemen I have the 
 pleasure of presenting to you Mr. Algernon Vert, alias 
 "A Fox IN A Trap." 
 
 THE END. 
 
CON' 
 
 iGBESS,