PS 635 .Z9 C4893 Copy 1 *93 OBED OWLER AND Ihe Prize Writers A HUMOROUS DRAMA IN THREE ACTS, WRITTEN BY MARY H. GRAY CLARKE (NINA GRAY CLARKE). AUTHOR OF ! "EFFIE, FAIRY QUEEN OF DOLLS"; "PRINCE PUSS IN BOOTS" ; "GOLDEN HAIR AND HER KNIGHT OF THE BEANSTALK IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST," ETC., ETC. Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlve year 1889, by Mary 11. Gray Clarke, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. All rights reserved. BOSTON; MASS.: WALTER H. BAKER & CO., Theatrical Booksellers and Publishers, 23 Winter Street. 1889. OBED OWLER AND he Prize Writers, A HUMOROUS DRAMA IN THREE ACTS. w WRITTEN BY MARY H. GRAY CLARKE {NINA GRA Y CLARKE). AUTHOR OF EFFIE, FAIRY QUEEN OF DOLLS"; "PRINCE PUSS IN BOOTS" ; "GOLDEN HAIR AND HER KNIGHT OF THE BEANSTALK IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST," ETC., ETC. 1889 ' Entered according to AH of Congress, in the gear 1889, by Mary H. Gray Clarke, inf/ie Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. All rights reserved. BOSTON, MASS.: WALTER H. BAKER & CO., Theatrical Booksellers and Publishers, 23 Winter Street. 1889. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Ebenezer Scudder— a, backwoods farmer. Deborah Scudder — wife of Ebenezer Scudder. Mehetable Jane Scudder— daughter of Ebenezer Scudder and step- daughter of his wife. ObedOwler— a young man about twenty years of age, employed in Mr. Scudder's Family. Sam Smasher— a, neighbor and also lover of Mehetable. Mr. Cheatham— a, school-teacher. Two Magistrates. A few persons, for voices to be heard from the outside. HARVARD PRINTING CO., 544 MAIN ST., CAMBRIDGEPORT. TMP92-008848 OBED OWLER AND THE PRIZE WRITERS. ACT I. SCENE 1. Common wooden chairs; a table that readily falls apart, over which is spread a cloth; a stove without a fire. Mr. and Mrs. Scudder in the plain neat dress of the backwood's farmer and wife of middle asce. Mrs. Scudder (looking through the window'). Ebenezer Scudder, just look here and see if you can make out what team that is coming up the road. Ain't that Mehit- able Jane ? And that feller drivin' is Sam Smasher sure as I'm livin'. What have they in the gig ? Loaded down with her toggery, no doubt. I do wish she would be more sensible and not spend all her money for gewgaws. Only see the streamers and the flourishings ! Gay as a peacock ! Mr. Scud, (good-naturedly'). Come, come, Deborah, don't be too hard on Hitty. She'll be all right after a while. 'Tis a high-flyin' age with her, and girls most allays think lots of dress. I dare say you did at her age. What a pretty pink gown you wore that day I first saw you in meetin', and how handsome you looked ; but you've made me as good a wife as any man could wish ; so don't worry 'bout Hitty. Here they are. ( Opens the door, and Mrs. Scudder stands near the door-wag, when an enormous bundle is thrown into her open arms from the outside.) Mrs. Scud, (to her step-daughter outside). You haven't left Mrs. Manton for good, have you, Mehitable Jane ? Mehetable (from the outside). Don't call me by that name, mother, and I'll tell you all when fairly in the house. Please, Sam, take charge of my luggage, and I'll go right in, I'm so tired. (Enter Mehetable and Sam Smasher. Mehetable seats herself in the easiest chair. Sam, depositing the various packages near her, returns to the gig for more.) Mr. Scud, (looking through the open door). Well, I declare for it ! If Sam isn't bringing another pile. What on airth can they be ? They're solider than all the rest put together. Mrs. Scud. They be books, and the biggest I ever did see. Mehet. Yes, they are large. They are my encyclopaedia and dictionary. Mrs. Scud. Well, well, Hitty ! I allays said you was the wust girl for readin' novels and love stories ; but these two beat all I ever did see. What did you say their names was ? Which is the he roine ? Elsie Cleopatria ! Seems to me I have heared or read of her somewhere, but the t'other, Dick — what did you call him? He hain't got a very novelly name to match hern seems to me. (Enter Sam Smasher with the big books, and let- ting them fall heavily on the table, it breaks with a crash upon the fioor. Mrs. Scudder clenches the broken fragments of the table. Mr. Scudder, Sam Smasher, and Mehetable rush to rescue the volumes, holding them with extended arms, apparently petrified in the middle of the floor, and in great perplexity where to place their literary guests. Mrs. Scudder thinks of the stove and taking up the cloth the broken table no longer requires, spreads it over the stove.) Mrs. Scud. There, Sam, put them on this empty stove. (Standing a short distance from the enthroned volume, arms akimbo, eying the books.) I don't believe you begin to have a notion, Mehitabel Jane, how many days and weeks you'll have to read afore you'll get to the end of them books, to say nothin' of the cryin's you'll have over that Elsie Cleopatria afore she can get through troubles enough to fill all the leaves. How many times that Richard of hern will have to a'most kill himself tryin' to please her, or to save her from robbers and catamounts and all that sort of thing. It'll make you awful nervous to wait so long to find how they come out at last. If I's you I'd read the last first, and if it didn't come out all right, I'd never read 'em, nor spile my eyes for 'em. That I wouldn't. That's my advice. Take it or not, as you like ; but, Hitty, you don't say you've left Mrs. Manton for good ? Afore you tell me about the books tell me that. Sam Smasher. Well, I must be going, for work will be waiting me at home, so good-night all. (Nearing the door, says in a low voice) Too bad, too bad. Mrs. Scud, (anxiously*). What's the matter, Sam? Have you got hurt some way ? Sam Smasher. Oh, nothing, pinched my finger a little, that's all. (Exit Sam Smasher.) Mehet. (with arching brows and drooping lids). Respected advanced maternal parient, theoretically I have absconded from her patronosity, but practitionally I am still abiding in the ubiquitarinosity of her influential orbit. Mrs. Scud. Hey? I don't catch quite all you say, in fact, nothin' but abidin' influenzy. You don't mean to say that you are raised to nuss in the family, and that the influenzy is goin' to 'bide always with 'em, do you Hitty ? If it is, I must say you ought to get high wages ; for you won't be able to stand it a month. The thought just strikes me it is some disease of the throat or lungs, and it must be you've caught it worst kind, for I can't understand hardly a word you say. Mehet. Devoted demi-parient, I diagnosticate that your intellectuality is converging into actual vacuity, resulting from the perspicuity superinduced by unadulterated ignorosity. Mrs. Scud, (looking dismayed). What has come over you, Mehitabel Jane ? One thing is certain. The 'bidin influenzy hain't tied your tongue ; but I do believe you're losin' your senses, and that your brains is all flyin' out, your mouth in the shape of such outlandish words as would shame a crazy Dutch- man, or North American Indian man. Mehet. Dear demi-mother, the lucidity of your remark- ations precludes the incongruity of a miscomprehension of their interpretation. Mrs. Scud, (despairingly). Wuss and wuss. I don't know the meanin' of but one word in this last, and that, is 'terpretation, which is somethin' 'bout the Scriptures, that ministers know all 'bout ; but I don't. I can't see how you can either. Poor child, ain't you never goin' to speak English again ? Sure's I live I believe you're betwitched, same as folks used to be when 'twas the fashion to burn and hang 'em. What is to be done ? I shall have to explain to Ebenezer, and have somethin' done for you right off. Mehet. Dear demi-mother, I see that subsequenchically from this date, I shall be obliged colloquially to dispense with my erudition, and address my demi-maternal parient in my an- teriorly abandoned phraseology. Mrs. Scud. Just so, Hitty, jus' so : I guess you're right, if that means you're goin' to squench your college and dispensary talk, and take up that of your aunties and material parients. Mehet. "What I mean, is this. I am convinced that I must drop my education when I speak to my parients, and come down- to plain, vulgar English. Fact is, I'm going to write for a prize. I've got my books, and have been studying night and day for weeks, and I guess I've got 'em thorough, seeing I've proved that ignorant folk don't know a word I say. Mrs. Scud. Well, I declare, if that don't beat all ! I begin to think you hain't got a particle of influenzy 'bout you, Hitty, and if you'll start out on plain, sensible English, I'm sure I can cure you right off, if there's any virtue in tongue salve. You've been savin' them dizzy long words, and studyin' 'em so continually that your brain has got a mite twisted, that's all. If you keep on so very much longer I know 'twill bring on sof t'nin' of the brain. It 'most allays does. Now you give it up just as quick as you can get all the longest words together in shape, and send them along to the prize man. He'll fix them all right for you. Then you can trust to luck for gettin' the prize. How much is it to be ? Mehet. One hundred and fifty dollars, mother. Mrs. Scud, (raising her hands in surprise). One hundred and fifty dollars ! You don't say ! Well that is worth workin' for. What is your plan for gettin' it, Hitty ? Mehet. Well, you see Miss Grace is writing for this prize, and one day I thought to myself, why shouldn't Hetty Scudder try her luck ? The money would do her as much good as it would anybody ; so I bought a dictionary to learn the big words, and an encyclopaedia for the ideas and improved every moment I could get to study 'em. I think you have proved to me that I am fitted to begin my story, for I've learned so many words that you can't make out what I say. Mrs. Scud. That's so, Hitty ; but I's thinkin' what sort of use it is to write such a book as nobody knows what the words mean, but the ministers, and the doctors, and lawyers, who don't read many love stories, and their wives and daughters ain't plenty enough in these parts to buy many books. That, however, is the paper-man's look-out, and if he wants such I suppose you better keep on till you get the prize or not, and then give up the dic- tion'ries and cleopatrias, and speak Yankee English for the rest of your life, same as all your respectable relatives. Mehet. Yes, I've come to my rural home, to climb the rugged rocks, hang on the towering trees, jump into the raging cataracts, and get up a lovely heroine, who must be continually escaping torturing horrors, and experiencing break-neck adven- tures, that will chill the blood of the enchanted reader, until Mittie Jennie Scuddereau will become a famous novelist. Mrs. Scud. Seems to me you are slipping into the novelly words again. The name may be splendid enough, but it wouldn't be you, Mehitabel Jane Scudder, that would become famous. The Mitty and Jinny I can make out, but where on airth did you get the row ? That puzzles me. I can't help think- ing it will be rather dangerous for you to be climbing the steep rocks in wimmin's does, and I think you better get Sam Smasher to do that for you, likewise the hanging on trees, and jumpin' into water and such like doin's, for he is tough enough not to mind it a bit ; though I don't see the necessity of anybody's doin' so. Mehet. You needn't worry about that. I can get my ideas partly from the encyclopaedia and the words from the dictionary, and will not find it so very hard as you fear. Mrs. Scud. Well, Hitty, you must be tired and ought to go right to bed. I believe Ebenezer is half asleep in his chair, and I begin to feel like restin' my head for awhile too. (Exeunt, Curtain falls. .) ACT I. SCENE 2. MIDNIGHT. Enter Mrs. Scudder on tiptoe, holding a lighted candle in one hand and a box of letter-paper and a pencil in the other. Mrs. Scud. Well, I do declare I can't help feelin' sort o' curis up here, twelve o'clock at night to write a story. Who would ever think of my doin' such a thing ? Well, I've set out to try it, and Deborah Scudder, when she's made up her mind, don't give up at the first step. (Seats herself at the table, places the paper before her and touches the paper luith her pen but writes nothing.) Wouldn't Ebenezer laugh, though, to see me now ? I wouldn't let him know it for nothin' in the world, short of the prize money. ( Composes herself to write again, but cannot make any progress.} What if he should come in now ? But no danger of that, for I left him snoring. Well, I've got set down for it I must write somethin' though I do feel like a Newfoundland dog tryin' to play the pianny ! 'Tis awful awk'ard for me to write anyway, but ther's nothin' like tryin' ('cept succeedin') ; so I won't put off for tomorrow what can be done tonight. (Arran- ges her paper again.} Let me see ! I'm sure I couldn't do much with a reg'lar story. No, I won't try that. I will strike for po'try. That will be easier, I guess, for me. I think if I could only get started I might do well enough ; but I don't know exactly how to begin. (Brightens up, suddenly raising her hands.*) Yes, I have it, 1 knowed I should think of somethin'. Hitty said the paper-man only wanted the same big words as is in the diction'ry, and I can begin each of my lines with a big letter and get 'em all in from A to &, and the little ones will about all fall in between, I guess, in the words. As for the idees, I don't want no cleopatria for them. I've got the story all in my own head ; for it is a'most all true. Now comes the best part of my plan. I'll get the lawyer's wife to fix it all right, and gram- mar it up a little; for when I was young and went to school, grammar wasn't invented ; leastwise it hadn't got into our school. Oh dear ! it is queer that I can't never think without my tongue 9 goin' too";" so I suppose 'twill have to while I write. I'll have the subject j"'Lopin' " Just the thing for novelly girls of nowadays. (Repeats each word aloud while writing.') 'lopin'. Afore I write my po'try here 'Bout me and Ebenezer, Another tale I'll tell to you, That you may read at leisure. Beriah was his Christian name, No Christian, though, his t'other, Brown; But he set up a smashing shop When first he came to town. Celindy, richest girl in town, Soon bought out half his store. 'Cos he came home with me one day, She never bought no more. Dear me ! that she should jealous be, To me seemed sort o' queer, When for that spindle legged Brown One cent I didn't care. Ebenezer too came home; That made things kind o' bad. Em' Whitley told him all she heard, Which made him awful mad. Father never liked Brown, too, And turned him out of door, For which at heart I felt right glad, Though how Beriah swore ! Girls, now what I would say just here, Pray don't you ne'er forget; The man who steals his wife from home, Will show he's worthless yet. How ever that Beriah Brown Should dare that night to come, Entreatin' me to 'lope with him Would make a lawyer dumb. 10 I couldn't speak to him, of course ; But then, what could I do ? Why, take a tub of water cold And souse him through and through, And I did. Joe Jenkins chanced to see the sport And spread the news 'round town ; Sim Larkins said I served him right, That good-for-nothin' Brown." Knew I full well Beriah Brown, Ten thousand climes to one Was (if not orphan knave) at least, Some father's worthless son. I must stop right here, in my po'try ; for it's gettin'Jate, and I can't bother to find diction'ry words, let alone thejspellin'^and grammar. The rest of the words I must try and lump together. Let me see. L, M, f_N, O, P, Q, must get into this next verse. Lemiry, Mary, Nabby, Oh, Phcebe and Queenie, too, Kebecca, Ruth, Susanna, Tot, I give advice to you. Now the last I must try to get in V, W, X, Y, Z, & Venture with 'lopers, never, no. Warnin' from wisdom heed ; X — cept where truth lights up life's road, Y — Zly none can proceed. There ! I've got in all the big letters in the whole diction'ry, to say nothin' of the little ones, and if anybody can do better than that he ought to get the prize, say I. I can't help thinkin' they are excellent verses for Hitty to read ; for she does seem some like them girls as go hangin' out of windows to run away with a " 'loper." Well, I guess I'll roll up my writin' and try to get some rest 'fore mornin'. (Looking towards the door.y What's that ? I thought I heard a step. Mr. Scud, (looking very much surprised'). Why, Debby,. 11 is this you? I thought I just left you sound asleep. What can you be here for ? Mrs. Scud, (composedly'). Well, you see I wasn't asleep. What could I be here for, Ebenezer, but to pick out words for you to work up a story ? Nobody could tell a downright hair-breadth escapin' story better than you could. All the words is here in this diction'ry if you can only get 'em in order. Mr. Scud. That's it, Debby. That's just what I was thinkin'. Queer we should have been hold the same rope without knowin' of it. Ever since I heard that chit of a child talkin' 'bout writin' for a prize I've thought of the yarns I have spun, and could spin again, that would blow her novelly stories to the four winds. Mrs. Scud. Yes, Ebenezer, that's plain enough. The only difficulty that I can see is the grammary words. Mr. Scud. Yes, Debby, when it comes to writin' the grammary words 'tis rather puzzlin', and then the right letters to spell the words is a leetle of a bother, too, Debby. I could spin the yarn with my tongue easy as nothin'. Mrs. Scud. Since we've been talkin', a bright idee has struck me. You know, Ebenezer, you've been wantin' to buy the four-acre lot. Now seems to me there's a chance to get a good hundred dollars to buy it. Mr. Scud. That's so, Debby ; but the grammary words, how are we to get over them ? Mrs. Scud. That's just it. Now my idee is this. You know the new school-master and how slick he speaks in the meetin's in the school-house ? Mr. Scud, (all attention). Yes. Mrs. Scud. Well, I guess he knows the diction'ry by heart Any way, you can tell the stories in your own words, and he'll put in the grammary ones where they belong. He knows 'em, I'm sure, for I've learned some from him already : conglom- eration, propergandering, and, — and, well, I can't think now, but lots more. He boards 'round you know, and pretty soon 'twill be our turn to take him a couple of weeks. Now get your story all 'ranged by the time he comes, and offer him a five- dollar piece, if the story wins, and you're all right. 12 Mr. Scud. That does look reasonable, Debby. Mrs. Scud. Course it does. You've travelled all over the world with wild beasts and savage men, and could tell harro'in' stories 'bout 'em, that would take wonderful. I know you could. Mr. Scud, (looking toward the door). Didn't you hear somebody move, Debby? I thought two or three times that I did. Mrs. Scud. Yes, I dare say 'tis Obed stretched on your chest in the passage-way. (Taking the candle, and thrusting her head through the open door.*) Yes 'tis Obed. Obed Owler, why don't you go to bed like other folk, in a Christian manner ? You're rightly named, for I could never find you asleep. Eyes wide open, ears and mouth the same ; yet never seein' nor hearin'. If you won't go to bed, just take your blanket into the kitchen here, and spread it if you like. I'll leave the candle for you ; only be sure and blow it out. Mr. Scud. Do you suppose, Debby, he has heard anything we have said? Mrs. Scud. No. What an idee ! He's too stupid to understand what prize writin' is. Mr. Scud. Lucky for us he is ; for I wouldn't have it get out for nothin'. Mrs. Scud. Nor I ; but there's no danger, I'm sure of that. (Exit Mr. and Mrs. Scudder.) Obed (entering with his blanket. Standing in the middle of the room, stretches himself as tall as possible). Stupid is he ? " Can't hear nothin' ? Can't see nothin' ? " Can't he ? Well, maybe not. Pretty good thing, though, to have eyes like an owl's, to see what he wants to see. Long ears, too, are just right to catch what he wants to hear. And a tongue is handy when 'tis time to tell what he sees and hears. I've got an idea behind all this writin' and talkin' sideways and gettin' things confused. 'Tis this : There's to be a prize- fight somewhere. That's the main fact. All the writin' they make so much fuss about, and the talkin' is no account to me. They're awful sly writin' 'bout it. I s'pose 'tis necessary to 13 write the whole story, and who beats, so's they can read it 'mong themselves, arter it's all over. Let me see now. The next thing to find out is, who's to do the fightin' ? Can't be Mr. Scudder agin the school-marster ? No, p'r'aps 'tis ; but tain't likely. Mrs. Scudder 'ginst Mitable ? No, course not. Nor Mrs. Scudder 'ginst the school-marster. No, no ; that can't be of course. Now who are the fighters ? That's the question. Let's see, let's see ! Now, Obed, be sharp. Yes, yes, I begin to see. (His countenance showing great delight at some new light, he awkwardly moves his arms up and down somewhat like an owl flapping its wings. Suddenly bending one knee, and slapping it with satisfaction, he exclaims) I've got it now, and no mistake, I knowed I should. 'Tis Sam Smasher, for sure, and t'other is Cheatem the school-marster. All I've got to say is Cheatem '11 get awful smashed, he ! he ! he ! I'll bet five dollars on Smasher. (Suddenly looks serious.) But, stop. I don't know 'bout that. Let me see. If I let the perlice know 'bout it I'll get five or ten dollars, maybe fifteen. Let's see ! That's better'n to pay out five for Sam. I'll do this. How shall I bring it about, though ? Let me see. Be sharp, Obed, be sharp ! Yes, I have it. I've got to go with a load of wood to town day arter tomorrow, and I'll just go to the magistrate, and tell him there's to be a — what do you call it ? Not prize-fight, 'xactly. There's a genteeler name. Let's see, somethin' like do — do — do — ill. Yes, that's it ; for I b'lieve it's 'bout some young lady, and they allays call them doills. And the young lady is Hitable for sartin. I won't tell that part, though. On the whole, I guess I'll say 'tis a prize-fight. As I's sayin', I'll go 'form the magistrate. First, though, I'll buy a couple of rockets ; then I'll go to the magistrate, and tell him there's to be a prize-fight somewhere within a couple of weeks, and if he'll be on the lookout I'll send up a couple of rockets, the evenin' it is comin' off. Let's see agin. I'll let some fellers on the way that I can trust know that there's to be fun near our place the evenin' that I throw up the rockets. I'll tell 'em to come to a sartin spot, and I'll lead 'em. Won't that be jolly ? They'll get there in time to see the 'restin' of the fighters, and themselves, too, if 14 they don't look out. That'll pay 'em for pokin' fun at Obed Owler. Good, good. That'll teach 'em that owl's eyes and ears wasn't made for nothin', if they do grow on Obed Owler's head. Now I've got all 'ranged, guess I'll take my blanket and leave. Mrs. Scudder thinks I'm an owl and never sleep nights. When there's nothin' to listen to, noi game to catch, a good bed is as soft for Obed Owler as for anybody else and a good sleep too, he ! he ! he ! (Exit Obed Owler. Curtain falls.) ACT II. SCENE 1. MORNING. Mr. and Mrs. Scudder seated at table. Mrs. Scud. How much more have you got to write to fin- ish your story, Ebenezer ? Mr. Scud. Only two or three pages, I should say. Mrs. Scud, (after a pause). I have been thinking a deal since Mr. Cheatem has been writin' for you, and I've come to conclude that he ain't to be trusted. Now what is to prevent him after he has got the story all writ, from puttin' his name to the end of it and takin' the prize himself ? Mr. Scud. Nothin', Debby, nothin', and do you know I b'lieve he means to do it ? I've watched him, and he wants to be the one to take it to the office; but 'twixt you and me he's never to lay hands on them papers again. My mind's made up on that. Obed is harnessin', for I'm goin' to town, and I'll take the papers to Mrs. Holbrook, the doctor's wife and she'll copy it and finish it as I say. I'll sign my own name to it and take it to the office myself. Won't Cheatem splutter, though, when he comes to fin- ish it and finds we have outwitted him, hey, Debby? I'm not used to prize writin' nor prize-fightin', but I've got my eyes open to all sorts of men. If he should come while I'm gone you needn't tell him that I have taken the papers, but let him know that we don't want his help any more. (Enter Obed; slips into the corner of the room unnoticed. ~) 15 Obed (aside). I heard him say prize-fightin' and how he's goin' to take the papers. I'm all right, he ! he ! he ! (In a louder voice.') The team is all ready, Mr. Scudder. (Mrs. Scudder goes for the papers, and soon returns with them tied in a neat package which Mr. Scudder puts in his pocket, with a knowing turn of the head toward Mrs. Scudder.) Mr. Scud. Won't there be music when he comes, Debby, hey ? Mrs. Scud. Well, he can't help himself. (Exit Mr. Scudder and Obed. Mrs. Scudder from the window watches their depar- ture, talking to herself.) Mrs. Scud. That's a right out-and-out good story, and not many words that you have got to hunt up in the dic- tion'ry to find out what they mean, like Hitty's. I know Ebene- zer thinks it will win, and what he reelly thinks I've noticed gen'ally is so. If I do say it, he has got a good head on his shoulders, and the best kind of a heart, too, and in the right place for that matter. I suppose I have seen the time that I wished he might be a leetle more dandified ; but such foolish days are all over. It's a notion I s'pose of most girls 'fore they get wisdom. There's Hitty, now, I make no doubt, wishes that Sam had a leetle genteelness like the school-marster's while she well knows that one shake of his great honest fist is worth mor'n all the bowin' and scrapin' and flourishin' and the grammary words in the bargain ; but the team has gone quite out o' sight while I've been musin' here, and I've got lots to do this mornin'. (Suddenly starts back as she is about to shut the door.) Oh ! is that you Mr. Cheatem? Walk in. (Enter Mr. Cheatham.) Wasn't lookin' for you this mornin'. Thought you was in school. Won't you take a seat ? Mr. Cheatham. Thank you, madam. I was impressed this beautiful morning that my youthful charges were sadly in need of recreation, and they are now roaming the woods and meadows in search of early autumn flowers and fruits. I have availed myself of this opportunity to finish the manuscript. Mrs. Scud. How unfortunate for you, Mr. Cheatem. Mr. Scudder has gone to town, and won't be home until noon likely. 16 Mr. Cheatham. That is a little unfortunate, yet it doesn't so much matter after all. You will allow me to take the papers. I will copy them at my room where I am stopping this week, and drop around tomorrow evening and get the rest of the story from Mr. Scudder. I can then take it to the post next day. Mrs. Scud. To tell you the truth, Mr. Cheatem, we've come to conclude, Ebenezer and I, that we won't trouble you to write any more. Mr. Cheatham (astonished). I not write any more? What can you mean, Mrs. Scudder ? It is no trouble, but a pleasure, I assure you, madam. Mrs. Scud. Well ! If that's so, we don't want to please you to write any more. Mr. Cheatham. Has Mr. Scudder lost his senses, madam ? I know you are a woman of too much judgment to throw rashly away an opportunity that will bring you so large a sum. I am sure you will get the prize, if you will allow me to finish it properly. Mrs. Scud. Very well said, Mr. Cheatem. I know, spite of your flattery words about my judgment being better than Ebenezer's, that there ain't no truth in 'em. {Looking indig- nant.') Why, I tell you now, Ebenezer has got more good sense than you or I, or both of us and Hitty in the bargain. He don't want you to have any more to do with the papers, except to get the five dollars he promised if the story wins nor more do I. Mr. Cheatham (biting his lips with vexation). Why, woman, you must be beside yourself ! Mrs. Scud. I guess we can manage it, Mr. Cheatem. You know Hitty is pretty glib with the biggest grammary words, and we've come to conclude what the paper-man wants. Mr. Cheatham. I'm sorry for your throwing away such a chance. You cannot surely object however to my, finishing the manuscript, and then after you have written another, compare the two and make your choice between them ? Mrs. Scud. Yes, I do object, Mr, Cheatem, for Mr. Scudder is not willin' for you to take them. (Turns as if to leave the room.) 17 Mr. Cheatham. Well, if that's the case I suppose I may as well go. I bid you good morning, Mrs. Scudder. (Aside.) I saw Mehetable out by the brook seated on a mossy rock writing. I'll go and talk with her awhile and persuade her to get the papers for me. At all events I must get those papers. (Exit.) Mrs. Scudder. Well, for my part I'm glad the papers are out of the house, and more'n that Cheatem's gone too. I never could get it out o' my head that he was one of the 'lopin' kind, even if he did know diction'ry words. He did a'most beat Hitty on them, though, and when they got to talkin' they might have all been 'lopin' words, for all I could say to the contra'y . ( Curtain falls.) ACT n. SCENE 2. i^IGHT. Candle on the table burning. Clock strikes eleven. Obed Owler at the window, which is slightly raised, listening and watching for something outside. Obed. Jolly! There's somethin' up. I see a man jump over the stone wall, and now he's creepin' slyly towards the house. 'Tis Cbeatem, I'll bet. Now I'll just dodge out and send up the rockets, and be back in a jiffy. (Exit for a few minutes; returns, taking his seat at the window.) Guy! What's that? I heard a winder raised. Yes, 'tis Metable, and that sneak of a Cheatem is tryin' to get her to 'lope long o' him, cos he don't want to fight Sam Smasher. (Listening again.) She tells him she can't find the papers. Good ! Guess she can't. Mr. Scudder's looked out for that. (Listening.) Says tain't treatin' father, mother, and Sam right to 'lope, and (listening) she means to marry Sam if he asks her again. That's where she knows somethin'. But laws ! laws ! What's that? 'Tis a big bear sure's I've got eyes, come out o' the woods, and he's huggin' the school-ma rster, and I'll bet he'll kill him in less'n five minits. Gorry ! Hear him holler. He's carryin' him off to the woods. (Loud voice crying outside for help. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Scudder and Mehetable.) 18 Mrs. Scud. What is it, Obed? Is the house on fire? Is anybody murdered or robbed? You are wide awake, and ought to know somethin' 'bout it. What's them horrid yells for help ? (Looking out from the window.} See, Ebenezer, the people are coming with lanterns from all directions. Speak, Obed ! What does it mean ? Obed. Why! A monstrous bear has carried off the school- marster, and the perlice has come to 'rest Sam and Cheatem, and — and, lots more. I can't tell it all now. ( Opens the door excitedly .} I must be out and see the fun. (Exit Obed. Mehetable looks out the open door and falls fainting into a chair.} Mrs. Scud. Oh, dear, oh dear. What shall we do ? Here are the officers at the door. Ebenezer Scudder, what is to be done ? Mr. Scud, (composedly}. Why, see what they want, Debby. That's the first thing to do. What's wantin', gen- tlemen ? Magistrate No 1 . We've come to see who and where are the contestants. (Mr. Scudder opens his mouth to answer. Mrs. Scudder comes to his aid.} Mrs. Scud. He can't tell you, honored sirs ; but Hitable can. (Shaking the partly aroused girl.} Mehitable Jane Scudder, hurry out of that faintin' fit quick as you can, please, and look in your diction'ry, and see what corn-testers means. The officers want to know right away. Magistrate. Don't be alarmed, ladies. You don't seem to understand exactly. We only want to know who and where the prize-fighters are. We are sure you know something about it here ? Mr. Scud. Mrs. Scudder and Mehetable. Prize-fighters ! Mrs. Scud, (turning pale}. We are the ones, Mr. Officers. We all own up ; but 'twas prize writin', 'stead of fightin', and sure's I'm a livin' woman we didn't know that 'twas cont'ry to law. We'll take 'em back, and tare 'em to pieces, and burn 'em, if you'll do no more about it. Magistrate No. 1. Why, woman ! What are you raving about ? We don't want anybody burnt. Only tell us where to find 'em. 19 Mr. Scud, (stepping forward}. I see you are all in a muss here. Let me explain. I can't see exactly why 'tis, but the officers think there's a prize-light, somewhere about here, and they've come to arrest the parties ; but you see, Mr. Officers, there's some difference 'twixt prize-fightin' and prize writin', and we belong to the last named ; so you'll have to look further for your game this time, I reckon. Obed Owler (from outside, approaching}. We've cotched the bear. 'Tis Sam Smasher. (Enter Obed. Looks surprised, arid abashed at seeing the officers. Recovers himself immediately.') Oh ! Mr. Officers, I didn't know you was here. Guess you didn't see the bear, did you? Magistrate No. 1. (looking severe). We've seen no bear ; but we begin to see you are all implicated in this affair, and are trying to keep us until the fight is over. Mrs. Scud. Oh, Mr. Officers, don't say that ! True as I'm — Mr. Scud. Debby, Debby ! Don't you worry now. I'm just ready to laugh myself to death. You and Hitty will feel like doin' the same tomorrow. Let Obed tell. 'Tis the first time in his life that he's opened his mouth to say anything. He's told the officers somethin'. Now let him tell the rest of his story. Come, go on, Obed. Hoot out your story. Obed. Well, you see I knowed 'twas Sam Smasher soon as he grabbed Cheatem. Didn't he carry him easy, though ? Didn't he give him a good huggin' ? Served him right ; sneakin' round and try in' to 'suade Hitable to 'lope long o' him. Guess he won't bother us no more. Sim Hodge's tame bear died, you know, t'other day, and Sam got the skin, and just as Hitable told Cheatem she wouldn't go, up jumped Sam in the bear's skin, and 'loped with Cheatem, instead. Wa'n't that a good one ? He ! he ! he ! Mrs. Scud. There, Ebenezer! That's what I allays said. Cheatem was nothin' but a 'loper, and so he wasn't, and my po'try, — well, never mind ; that's all. (Curtain falls.) 20 ACT III. SCENE 1. EVENING. Mr. and Mrs. Scudder and Mehetabel sitting at table variously employed ; Obedin the corner. Mrs. Scud. What's that, Ebenezer? Don't you hear a horse's hoofs ? Me. Scud. Yes I do, Debby. Sounds like Sam ; he's coming on the canter. (All arise from the table. Mr. Scudder opens the door. Enter Sam Smasher.') What's the news, Sam? Anything the matter at your house ? Sam Smasher. No, sir ; guess again. Mrs. Scud. Good news, I'm sure, by your looks. Sam Smasher Yes, 'tis good news'; for Mr. Scudder has won the prize. Read it for yourself, Mr. Scudder. Mr. Scud, (reads aloud). The first prize, one hundred and fifty dollars, is awarded to Ebenezer Scudder for the " Best Story of Adventures." Mrs. Scud. That's too good to believe, Ebenezer ; though I do believe every word of it ; for it's just what I told you in the first place, that you'd get the prize. Now you will buy the lot. Mr. Scud. Yes, Debby, and you shall have a nice gig, such as you've been wantin', just for your havin' said so ; for if you hadn't a said so, I never should a spun that yarn for a paper- man. Mrs. Scud. But, Hitty, don't the paper say nothin' 'bout Hitty's story ? Mehet. No, mother ; for I never sent it. I came to know that I was not able to write anything that stood any chance of winning. My experience since I undertook writing it has been such that I have profited much more than I should to have gained the prize. Mrs. Scud. Let me see the paper, Ebenezer. Isn't there any- thing 'bout anybody else winnin' ? (Takes the paper Mr. Scud- der hands her. 21 Mr. Scud. Anybody 'd think that you had been writin' for the prize too, Debby, judging from your looks. Mrs. Scud. Me ? Ha ! that would be funny, and no honest school-marster to help me out either. Sam Smasher. Dogs take it now ! I almost forgot. Miss Lawson sent ten dollars for some poetry she said for Mrs. Scud- der. (Hands ten dollars to Mrs. Scud.) Mr. Scud Then you did write after all, Debby. Now you'll own up, you sly-boots ! Mrs. Scud. Well, Ebenezer, I wasn't quite sure I'd get any- thing for it. I wonder why they didn't put it in the paper, or say somethin' 'bout it ; but I s'pose Miss Lawson knows how to explain that. She's a liter'y woman and I'll ask her some- time. Mr. Scud, (with a knowing look). Yes, Debby, I reckon she does know a little more about it than anybody else. Mrs. Scud, (with some spirit). Why ! what do you mean, Ebenezer Scudder? Mr. Scud. Nothin', Debby, nothin' ! I was only reflecting a little. Come, Hitty, my daughter, can't you nave somethin' cheery to say on this occasion ? Sam told me today that you thought you could be happy in his new house on the old Smasher farm. If that's so, I promise you it won't be mine nor Debby 's fault if you don't have a merry wedding, and plenty to carry into the house too. One thing I'll add. If ever I have a little Smasher grand-child, I hope she'll be as pretty and good as you are, and that you will teach her to repeat by heart the verses of her grandma Deborah Scudder, about " 'Lopin," causing her to make choice of as good a husband as you have, or will have in Sam Smasher. (G-rasps the hand of Sam.) Mr. Smasher, here's my right hand of f athership on that. ( Takes the hand of Mehetabel.) Take her, Sam. She's been a little high flyin' same as Debby was, and now she's got all over that, same as Debby did, and will make you a first-rate wife, same as my Debby has me. Obed. (aside). By jolly ! there hasn't been no fightin', but this's pretty near as good. The perlice won't pay me nothin' 22 I'm sartin ; but I ain't asleep. I'm Obed Owler, and I'll just get Sam to pay me for informal". He can't say no, cos I'll tell him I want to buy an all-killin' suit to wear to his weddin', he ! he ! he ! Prize-fightin' may be fun ; but I tell you, prize writin' pays better by a long shot. That's my 'pinion, and seems to be the 'pinion of all in this 'ere house likewise. {Curtain falls. ,) THE END. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 016 102 681 5 4>