P s LIBRARYO^CONGRESSJI j^UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. I THE VENDETTA A Farce. By WM. E. McKENNA. V/Tfry Copyright, 1893, by Wm. E. flcKenna. ^ i^\k t THE VENDETTA A FARCE CHARACTERS. Angelo Cavatina. {hi love with Lucia.) Edgardo Ultramarino. {His friend.) GiACOMO Franconi. {Father of Lucia.) Ugolino Pestelini. {Apothecary.) Antonio Poniardi. {Boss assassin.) GUGLIELMO BUFFALONIO. {Journeyman assassin.) PlETRO BOLOGNI. {O^ce boy.) Lucia Franconi. {A beautiful Corsican.) Elvira Franconi. {Her sister.) SCENE— Corsica. THE VENDETTA ^-^♦-4- SCENE I.— Office of Poniardi & Co. Antonio. Yes, there is no question about it; busi- ness is dull. I don't know what's the matter. We have as fine a band of assassins as there are in all Corsica — skillful, experienced, reliable — competent in every way. Our prices are certainly low enough to attract patronage. And yet I am afraid we shall have a very poor fall trade. Pietro ! Pietro !— where is that confounded boy ? Pietro. Yes, sir. Here I am, sir. Antonio. Pietro, I am surprised you can't take a little interest in this business. What time did you get down this morning? Pietro. Six-thirty, sir. Antonio. When I was your age I thought nothing about going to work at 5.45 a.m. Boys are not like what they used to be then. Where have you been for the last two hours ? Pietro. I went to Signor Franconi's to see about that contract. Antonio. Does it take two hours to go to Signor Franconi's ? 6 THE VENDETTA. PlETRO. He wasn't in and I waited for him. Antonio. Ah ! that is the one point in which the boys of the present excel those of all past generations. When it comes to waiting for a man who isn't in, they can defy antiquity to produce their equals. I am sur- prised you ever came back. PlETRO. I thought you might want me to come back. Antonio. Satire is wasted on him. Say, didn't you know better than to wait two hours? Did you think the office ought to seek the office boy, and not the office boy the office ? I'd discharge you on the spot if there was any chance that your successor would be any improvement on you. But I suppose there is no use expecting to get a boy to think of any- thing but his vacation and the Saturday half-holiday movement. What did Signor Franconi say ? PlETRO. Said he'd be down to see you right away. Antonio. He must be a mighty slow poke to let you get here ahead of him. Ah ! here he is. {Enter Franconi.) Franconi. Good morning. Hot weather, isn't it? Antonio. Extremely. Take a chair. Franconi. Thanks. Well, I came down to con- sult you about that little affair of mine. I suppose I had better tell you something of the circumstances. In the year 1762 my family and that of Signor Ales- sandro Cavatina were neighbors, and I may say friends. THE VENDETTA. 7 This friendship, which had continued for many years, was suddenly interrupted and changed into deadly enmity by a certain youthful and (it must be admitted) fresh Franconi, who alluded to a white horse in the presence of Signora Cavatina. The next morning the head of the Franconi was found dead in his bed — his throat cut from ear to ear. The day after, a grey- bearded Cavatina was stabbed to the heart. Within a week, one morning when the sun was lighting up the azure firmament and the birds were carolling in their leafy nests, another Franconi, who had been out all night and was taking a cocktail, was set upon by a band of masked ruffians; and when he was gathered to his fathers he was so disfigured that they couldn't recognize him. And so the vendetta has continued, handed down from father to son, and the score now stands 64 to 53 in favor of the other side. Antonio. And you naturally want the affair settled up. Franconi. Yes. 1 am an old man now and it makes me tired. To come to business. There are twenty-one of the Cavatinas left. I can give you their names and addresses. What will you take to put them all out of the way ? Antonio. Do you want them to shuffle off this mortal coil under circumstances of brutal atrocity ? Franconi. No. A simple, every-day shuffle will fill the bill. Antonio. Exceptional atrocity doesn't cost a great 8 THE VENDETTA. deal more, sir. Might as well have it done in style. We have a little argument on the tariff on hoop-skirts, with statistics to match. It is regarded as particu- larly excruciating. We are also introducing a trolley system, which we think cannot fail to please our pa- trons. Franconi. Can't afford it. What is your lowest wholesale cash price for the ordinary article ? Antonio. One florin per shuffle. Ten per cent, off for cash. Franconi. Well, I won't quarrel with you. Ml send you the names and addresses in the morning and you go ahead. A confoundedly expensive thing this family feud is. Not to speak of the cost of re- moving the Cavatinas, I have to pay the funeral expenses of all the Franconi they kill. The family vault is constantly out of repair, and I have a pile of undertakers' bills home that would astonish you. Once I was a rich man— so rich, Antonio, that I was frequently obliged to lie awake at night wor- rying over the possibility that the money market might not be tight. Well, good day. Antonio. Good day. {Exit Franconi.) Well, there's an order, anyway. Now, Pietro, let me see that circular I prepared yesterday. (Pietro hands hhn the circular, tvhich he reads.) Hum! '' Satisfaction guaranteed." Good. ''Prompt attention to orders by wire. Office hours ten to four. Murder in the first degree a specialty. Exceptionally THE VENDETTA. 9 low rates on plumbers and baseball umpires. Trial orders solicited." All right, Pietro ; send four thou- sand of these off by mail ; be sure you fold them carefully, and you can go home when you get through. Good day, Pietro. SCENE II.— On the Bank of a River. Angelo. Yes, 1 am alone on the bank of this beautiful river, and I will seize this occasion before anybody comes to indulge in a soliloquy. Nothing like a soliloquy to inform the pubhc who you are, and what you are doing, and what you have on your mind and so forth. Oh, cruel fate ! to think that I, the scion of a noble house, should be forced to become a bob- tail car driver. Yes, I, even I, Angelo Cavatina, have come to this ; and he, even he, Franconi, the ancient foe of my father's house — he is president of the road. Oh, misery ! oh, poverty ! oh, degradation ! And you can't knockdown a cent. Who says inven- tions benefit the laboring classes ? Let him look at the bell-punch and soak his head. But a truce to philosophy. Let me soliloquize about love and inform the public that Lucia Franconi is the sweetest, noblest, most beautiful — there, the public will under- stand the rest. I met her riding in one of her father's cars. Noble girl ! she declined to drop a nickel in the box. A fellow feeling sprang up between us. Many a secret interview have we had since then, and now we live but for each other. What though I am lo THE VENDETTA. penniless; she cares not. Willingly would she marry me in the springtime. Oh, Lucia ! Ah ! she is here. {Enter LuciA.) Lucia. Ah, Angelo, it is you ! Angelo. Of course it is. My darling ! My darling ! Lucia. Did you, then, speak to my father ? Angelo. I did, my love. I did. Lucia. And what said he, Angelo ? Angelo. The facts concerning the interview, my Lucia, v^ill shortly be made known to yourself and the expectant public. The company, you know, allows thirty minutes for dinner to those of its em- ployes who feel that they can afford to indulge in such extravagance. I seized those fleeting moments and made my way into the presence of your father. He consented to hear my story. I told him the circumstances of our acquaintance, concealing nothing but my family name, which I thought he would consider an insuperable bar to our union. I scorned to ask him to endow his daughter with any portion of his princely fortune, 1 told him 1 was earning eleven dollars per week, which munificent sum he himself had frequently stated in published interviews ought to be sufficient to satisfy any man. I explained to him that nine or ten dollars per month would pay the rent of an apartment on the top floor of a seven-story flat, which flat would only be occupied by twenty-seven other families, and would form a THE VENDETTA. ii secluded retreat for the beautiful bride of toil. Beautiful bride of toil was all right, wasn't it? Lucia. Oh, Angelo ! And what did he say ? Angelo. He looked at me with a stony. glare, but he didn't say anything. I told him that eminent statisticians had proved that a family of fourteen or less can live luxuriously on three dollars per week ; and then allowing eight or ten dollars per month for beer, there would remain a surplus out of my salary sufficient (if allowed to remain long enough at com- pound interest) to wipe out the national debt. Then I paused for a reply. Lucia. And what did he say? Angelo. Nothing. At first I thought he was paralyzed. Lucia. Well, silence gives consent, does it not? Angelo. It may, Lucia, and then again it may not. When the silent party fires an ink-bottle at the head of the party who has spoken, then, Lucia, it is doubt- ful if silence gives consent. The act of hurling the ink-bottle may not be intended to inflict personal injury, but merely to express emphatic dissent and to spatter the wall-paper. Lucia. Oh, Angelo! And what did you do? Angelo. My darling, can you ask? I dodged the ink-bottle and skipped. Your father is a lively man considering his age ; but with a handicap of one flight of stairs, your devoted admirer defies him to do his worst. 12 THE VENDETTA. Lucia. Oh ! I am so glad you are safe. What shall we do now ? Angelo. The first thing I shall do, Lucia, will be to look for a job. When found (in the language of Captain Cuttle) I shall make a note on't. 1 will ad- vertise in the Daily Wind-Bag. The Wind-Bag, you know, has a larger circulation than any other paper in the country. Everybody reads the Wind-Bag. The editor savs so. Lucia. I do hope you will be successful ! Angelo. And now, Lucia, I want to speak to you about another matter. A few days ago, when I re- vealed to you the fact that I am a Cavatina, we agreed that our engagement was not to interfere with the family feud, except so far as we ourselves are con- cerned. It was understood that I am to beat liberty to murder any of your relatives should an oppor- tunity offer. Lucia. Oh, certainly ! I am not going to be un- reasonable. Angelo. Very well. I did think of making an exception of your father if he had acted at all hand- somely to-day. But, by the bones of my buried an- cestors, that ink-bottle shall be avenged. I will marry you, Lucia, when the robins nest again; but ere to- morrow's sun sinks into the west, the dagger of an in- jured Cavatina shall pierce your father's heart. Lucia. Oh, not my father, Angelo, please ! Any one but him. I have several first cousins who are of THE VENDETTA. 13 no earthly use, and there are a number of fellows who are brothers to me. I will help you to murder some of them if you wish. But not my father, dearest, please ! Angelo. Well— well, you are hard to resist. I will think it over. And yet the ink-bottle Well, your father shall have a stay of proceedings, at any rate. And now, my darling, when shall I see you {Enter Antonio and the assassins^ Antonio. There he is — flirting with Franconi's daughter, too. Angelo Cavatina, we have discovered your identity. Prepare to die. Angelo. At this early stage of the proceedings ? Never ! Fear not, Lucia — fear not, loved one. I don't know how I am to get out of this, but I have a serene confidence that something will turn up to avert the impending catastrophe. Two to one, base wretch (to Antonio), that I don't pass in my checks this time. Antonio. Strike, Guglielmo. Strike the scoun- drel to the heart. Why hesitate ? Strike ! Guglielmo. I detest punning, sir, but we are all going to strike— for shorter hours and more pay. Antonio. What, now ? when I have a contract on my hands? Guglielmo. Experience has taught us, sir, that it is no time to strike when there's no work to do. Antonio. It's always the way. The ungrateful wretches forget that I furnish them with employment. 14 THE VENDETTA, You couldn't conveniently postpone this strike until some occasion when I have no use for your services? GuGLiELMO. We w^ould be very happy to accom- modate you, but we feel it our duty to our wives and children to get all the wages we can, and we always do our duty. If we did not, remorse would gnaw at our vitals. You do not blame us for cherishing our vitals with tender solicitude? Antonio. You decline, then, to annihilate this Cavatina? GuGLiELMO. At present rates — yes. So far as we are concerned, the whole tribe of the Cavatinas may live to be as old as Methuselah's goat. Antonio. You heathen wretch ! GuGLiELMO. I repeat it— as old as Methuselah's goat. Should they attain the age of that celebrated animal, we will contemplate their astonishing longev- ity with stoic indifference. Antonio. Farewell, then. Ere the spring returns to fill the earth with beauty, you will be masticating snowballs. Then will you regret your madness. {Exit.) Angelo. Lucia, did I not tell you 1 was too young to die? Come and have an ice-cream soda. {Exeunt.) SCENE III.— The Franconi Mansion. Franconi. My daughter, I am surprised and shocked to think that you should lend a willing ear to the suit of young Cavatina — that you should look THE VENDETTA. 15 with favor on a bobtail car driver and the enemy of your father's house. Are you not aware that 1 have long since destined your hand for Signor Fresco- baldi, aged forty-five, rich as Croesus Lucia. Pardon me, papa, Croesus is not rich- he may have been once, but he hasn't a cent now. I have little doubt that any contributions for the benefit of his bereaved descendants would be gratefully re- ceived and promptly acknowledged. Franconi. Well, well— as rich as Croesus was. Do not wander from the question. And Signor Frescobaldi comes from one of the best families in the country. One of his ancestors came over on the Plymouth Rock ; another took a highly important part in the conquest of England by the Mormons ; a third paid Csesar's fare when he crossed the Rubicon by the four o'clock boat. Lucia. Yes, pa. Franconi. Lucia, am I to understand that " Yes " as an acceptance of Signor Frescobaldi ? Lucia. No, pa. When you speak to me of the wealth and nobility of Signor Frescobaldi, an irre- sistible desire seizes upon my soul to reply '' rats" or '^ chestnuts," as those expressions, however objection- able on the score of antiquity or vulgarity, are best calculated to convey my opinion on the point. Franconi. Then, Lucia, you refuse Frescobaldi? Lucia. I do. Franconi. It would seem that the Fates have sent me an opportunity to spread myself as a stern parent. i6 THE VENDETTA. And I must say that the Fates were remarkably level- headed when they selected me for that purpose. If there is any man in the neighborhood who under- stands the stern parent business, that man is yours truly. Lucia, I will give you twenty-four hours to consider. If you then refuse, I will take stern meas- ures — what measures, T do not know as yet ; but 1 will say that you may reasonably anticipate that there will be blood on the face of the moon, or words to that effect. {Exit Franconi.) Lucia. Now, that I am alone, let me seek in tears the solace of a breaking heart, (ii/z/^r Elvira.) Ah, Elvira, you little know the sorrow of your sister. Elvira. What is the trouble, Lucia? Lucia. I will tell you briefly. I have two lovers. One is Signor Frescobaldi whom I don't care about. The other is Angefo Cavatina. Elvira. Angelo Cavatina — how is this? Where did you meet him ? How Lucia. That doesn't matter now. But I love him with all my heart. I have promised to marry him, and father has just told me that I must marry Fresco- baldi. I refused, and he threatens me with ven- geance. Elvira. Oh, it is a terrible situation. I don't know what on earth you can do. Father does not know of your love for Angelo ? Lucia. He does. Woe to Angelo if he ever comes within reach of the paternal boot. THE VENDETTA. 17 Elvira. You will not marry Frescobaldi ? Lucia. Never. Elvira. It is horrible. Angelo Cavatina—I don't see what course you can possibly take. Lucia. Oh, I have made up my mind. I shall commit suicide. Elvira. Ah, to be sure. I never thought of that. Lucia. Yes, it is the most romantic course open to me. I will prove to Angelo the depth of my de- votion. He will know that I would rather die than be another's bride. You will promise me, Elvira, will you not, that the reporters shall have all the particulars ? Elvira. With pleasure, Lucia. Have you decided in what manner you intend to take your departure from this weary world ? Lucia. I have. Anticipating the result of an in- terview with my cruel father, I notified a neighbor- ing druggist, Ugolino Pestelini, to call on me this afternoon. I marvel that he is not here already. Ah, he comes ! {Enter Ugolino.) Ugolino. Ah, madam, you are the lady that is ill. Lucia. No, I am not ill. I Ugolino. Pardon me, madam. You fancy, no doubt, that it is a slight indisposition. But you ar^ mistaken. To the experienced eye of science it is ap- parent that the canker of disease is slowly consuming i8 THE VENDETTA. the seeds of jour vitality, and that you, notwithstand- ing- your seeming health and vigor, are on the verge of the grave. It is well that you sent for me. If I had arrived a moment later I would not answer for the consequences. But do not be alarmed, madam ; it is not too late. A few bottles of my Universal Panacea Lucia. What are you talking about ? I don't want your panacea. I Ugolino. Just one moment, madam. Others have said they didn't want my panacea. They were in- duced to try it, madam, by the urgent solicitations of their friends. To-day these people are raising their voices in canticles of praise. Permit me to show you some of these canticles which I have received by mail. Lucia. But Ugolino. Don't be impatient, madam. Here is one from the eminent painter, Raphael, certifying that after having been for twenty- eight years a con- stant sufferer from cholera infantum, he was com- pletely cured by using two bottles of my Universal Panacea. Here is another from the celebrated states- man, Ma^hiavelli : " Dear Sir, — My son, George W. Machiavelli, has just recovered from a severe attack of our great national disease, spring fever. I am happy to say that I attribute his recovery entirely to the use of your panacea." Lucia. Yes, that is all very well, but THE VENDETTA. 19 Ugolino. And here, madam, is a letter from the poet Dante : " For years 1 have been a victim to de- lirium tremens. Regularly I used to imagine myself in the infernal regions. I consulted many physicians. They all told me that I must give up drinking or die. With stoic resignation 1 prepared for my approaching end. A friend advised me to try your panacea. I did so. I found that after using three bottles my wildest fits of delirium never carried me further than purgatory, and I am able to state that now, after a continued use of your valuable remedy, I regularly experience the joys of Paradise. Yours truly, Dante." Lucia. Yes, but Ugolino. One letter more. It is from Jabber Khan, the Ameer of Afghanistan : '' Dear Sir,— Six months ago I had the pleasure of receiving a package of your panacea. To-day, I am glad to inform you, there is not a single undertaker in all my dominions." You will allow me, madam, to recite some stanzas which I have composed on the subject of my panacea : If you want a never- failing cure for gout or for gastritis, Burns, bunions, or bronchitis, or broken bones, or bumps, Sore throat, or scarlet fever, small pox, spinal meningitis, Melanosis, or malaria, or measels ; or for mumps, Corns, cholera, or consumption, or cancer, or catarrh, Hydrophobia, or whooping cough, or headache— here you are ! I have flattering letters in my possession From the ablest men m the profession. 'Tis said by Galen and Hippocrates (In classic Greek) to be "just the cheese." And I may remark that, according to Iloyle, * It's quite as good as St. Jacob's Oil. 20 THE VENDETTA. Lucia. But you cannot cure the disease with which I am inflicted. Oh, Angelo ! Ugolino. Yes, madam ; my panacea will cure Angelo. Angelo, it is true, is a disease which has been making frightful ravages in this country, and it has long been regarded as incurable. But, that is a mistake. With my panacea I have cured forty-seven cases of Angelo within two months. I have here a letter from a man who had Angelo for thirty-six years. Elvira. But this lady hasn't Angelo. If she had, it would be all right. Lucia. 1 don't want your medicine. Angelo is the name of my lover — not of my disease. I want to end my life — not to prolong it. Give me the deadliest poison you have. Ugolino. Ah,- madam, you are so hasty. I was about to remark, if you had not interrupted me, that my panacea is not only the best known cure for all diseases, not excepting that frightful malady, Angelo — strange coincidence that your lover should be so named — but it is also specially adapted for suicidal purposes. I can show you letters from thousands of people who have used it. Their only regret is that they are Tiot alive to commit suicide again. What, may I ask you, is the cause of the slender population of Alaska? It is the fact that I have long since ex- ported to that fortunate region two cases of my panacea. It is the most deadly drug ever discovered, THE VENDETTA. 21 warranted to cause death in two minutes. Permit me to show you this letter from Lucrezia Borgia, the celebrated murderess, stating that she uses it ex- clusively ; and excuse me for troubling you with some verses which I composed on receiving this epistle : This letter from Lucrezia, now, will give you an idea. Observe you in what glowing terms my drug she recommends. "In all my future murders I shall use your panacea, And I'll gladly introduce it to my suicidal friends." Many other testimonials of like value I could show, And I hope to have another, soon, from you and Angelo. Of the many thousands whose lives it's ended, By all it is highly recommended As much superior to strychnine. Or prussic acid, or paris green ; And even by some, in Kingdom Come, It's greatly preferred to laudanum. Lucia. Well, I will try a bottle. Ugolino. Thanks. Will you take one, madam ? ( To Elvira). Elvira. No, thank you. Ugolino. Well, good-day. Lucia. And now I must take the fatal potion. (^Enter Angelo and Edgardo). Angelo. Lucia ! Lucia. Ah, Angelo, you are just in time. I am about to commit suicide. See, I have here a bottle of deadly poison. We will die together. Will you have some, Angelo ? 22 THE VENDETTA. Angelo. Thanks, dearest; I am not thirsty at present. Edgardo. May I inquire what the trouble is? Lucia. Oh, my father insists on my marrying Signor Frescobaldi. He would never consent to my marrying Angelo. Edgardo. And has it never occurred to you that you can marry Angelo without your father's con- sent? Lucia. There, now, Elvira, you never think of anything. Elvira. But what is the use ? Father would make their lives a burden to them. There is no place in Italy where they would be safe from his wrath. Edgardo. Then let them leave Italy. Let them go to America. Lucia. Could we do that? What kind of a place is America? Edgardo. Oh, a very nice place. I have several friends there. Angelo. What could we do in America? How could we support ourselves if we should go there ? Edgardo. Why there is our friend, Lorenzo Benvenuti ; he went to America, and he writes me, offering to sell, at a remarkably low figure, his in- terest in a flourishing peanut business. Angelo. Flourishing is it? Why don't he con- tinue the business himself, then ? THE VENDETTA. 23 Edgardo. Alas, poor Lorenzo ! He stabbed a man a short time ago, and he is now serving ten years at hard labor. Elvira. Hard labor? What is that, Lucia? Lucia. Can't imagine, I'm sure. Never heard of such a thing in this country. Edgardo. I think it must be something connected with politics. Anyway, the politicians there are con- tinually talking about it. Angelo. I don't think my talents are equal to the successful management of the peanut business. Edgardo. Oh, you always were too modest. Well, here is another chance for you. You remember Guido Torelli, who went to America some time ago ? Angelo. Yes ; what of him ? Edgardo. Well, Guido is dead; and he has willed you all his property — an organ, two monkeys and a tambourine. Angelo. Poor fellow ! What did he die of ? Edgardo. Oh, he killed a man, too, and they hung him for it. Angelo. That settles it. You won't find me go- ing to America if such a state of things exists there. Life must be terribly insecure. I should think it is bad enough, you must admit, to have people kill one another ; but what an increase of mortality there would be if all the murderers were to be executed ! Edgardo. Oh, that was merely an accident, Guido's case. It very seldom happens. 24 THE VENDETTA. Lucia. Well, that alters the matter, doesn't it? I thhik it would be perfectly delightlul to go to America and continue Guido's business. Don't you, Elvira? Elvira. No; I think the suicide idea was ever so much better. Don't you, Angelo? Angelo. I don't know. I'll do just as Lucia pleases. Lucia. Oh, I am for going to America by all means. We will fly from this horrible country on the wings of love, will we not, Angelo? Angelo. Yes, darling ; it seems extremely proba- ble that we will be obliged to resort to some such mode of conveyance ; for, at the moment, I do not know where in thunder I could raise the price of a steerage ticket. But fear not, dearest ; young though I am in years, yet many a dead-head racket 1 have worked, and fortune will be cruel, indeed, if she de- serts me now ! Elvira. Well, this is all very well, but my father may come here any moment; and if he finds Angelo he will soon demolish your air-castles. I don't care — I think the suicide idea was much better. Edgardo. Your father may come? {Enter Franconi and the assassins.) Franconi. Villain, he is here ! {To Antonio.) I am glad everything is settled be- tween you and your men, so that I can now proceed THE VENDETTA. 25 to wreak my vengeance on my foes. Seize that man ! {Pointing to Angelo.) {They do so.) Lucia. Oh, spare him, father ! He is my lover, my affianced husband ! Franconi. I will spare him, Lucia, on one condi- tion — that you will marry Frescobaldi. Lucia. I cannot marry him — I will not marry him. Angelo. Reflect, Lucia. Do not rashly reject your father's alternative. He is older than we are, Lucia, and his judgment may be better than ours. Besides, if you will excuse an expression which the emotion of the moment wrings from me, as it were, he appears to have the bulge on us. I have not the same serene confidence that I felt the last time my life was threatened. Now that we are nearing the end, Lucia, how can we tell whether this is to be a tragedy or a comedy ? Lucia. Can you advise me thus? Oh, Angelo! Now, indeed, is the fatal potion welcome ! Farewell, bright sun, fair moon and twinkling stars ! Farewell, father — sister — Angelo ! {She drinks the potion.) Franconi. My daughter, what have you done? Run, some one, for a physician ! Lucia. It is of no use. The drug is warranted to cause immediate death. Franconi. Oh, in that case, we may as well go ahead with my projects of vengeance. Antonio, strike off that scoundrel's head at once. 26 THE VENDETTA. (Lucia zvhispers to Elvira.) Elvira. One moment. Lucia would rather not see Angelo killed. She wishes you to wait until she dies. It won't take a minute. Franconi. Certainly. No hurry, Lucia. Elvira. Do you feel yourself growing fainter, darling ? Lucia. No, I can't say that I do. Elvia. You don't feel your life ebbing away? Lucia. It don't seem to ebb to any remarkable extent. I wonder if he could have given me the wrong stuff ? Elvira. The wrong stuff? Oh, the fraud ! The trickery of these people is simply disgusting. An- tonio, you are familiar with poisons, examine this. {^He docs so.) Antonio. It wouldn't harm a baby. Franconi. The scoundrel I I'll teach him to cheat my daughter ! Who is he, Elvira? Elvira. Ugolino Pestelini. Some one go and bring him. There will be no trouble in finding his place. {Exit an assassin.) Franconi. Now, Antonio, we will proceed. {Enter^FlY^TKO. He hands a letter to Antonio). Antonio.' {Reads.) '' Check of Signor Franconi, de- posited in the Sand Bank of Corsica, returned — no funds." Sir, that check must be made good before we do another stroke of work. THE VENDETTA. 27 Franconi. Oh ! Elvira, your poor old father is ruined. I thought to avert this blow, but it comes at last. Edgardo. Are you now free to do a little work for me, Antonio ? Antonio. Certainly, sir. Cash in advance. Edgardo. Of course. You don't suppose I ex- pected credit. How fortunate that my uncle, who recently died, should have left me a million in green- backs ! T propose, Antonio, to start the Co-operative Mutual Assassination Company, to be organized under the laws of New Jersey, with a capital of one million ducats, half in preferred stock paying 25 per cent, dividend, and half in common stock. On what terms, Antonio, can I secure the services of yourself and your associates ? Antonio. Make me treasurer and say no more about terms. For the rest, Guglielmo must speak. GuGLiELMo. Our demands shall not be exorbitant. We will be satisfied, in addition to our present wages, with 100 per cent, of the profits of the concern. Edgardo. This is more moderate than I expected. Are those the entire conditions ? Guglielmo. Well, as to our hours. We will work from 12 o'clock, noon, until i P. M., with an hour off for lunch. Edgardo. Well, I hope you won't overexert yourselves. Will you throw in ten minutes' work now? .Will you execute my orders? 28 THE VENDETTA. GUGLIELMO. We will, sir. {Enter an assassin ivitJi Ugolino.) Edgardo. Ah ! Apothecary. I will talk to you in a minute. Now, just see me arrange the tableau. Signor Franconi, you will consent to Angelo's mar- riage to your daughter. If not, Antonio will cut your throat. Franconi. Bless you, my children. Edgardo. That is edifying. Secondly, you and Angelo will terminate this absurd family feud and swear eternal friendship. Otherwise Antonio Franconi. {To Angelo.) Under the circum- stances — let bygones be bygones. Angelo. With all my heart. Edgardo. Now, apothecary, what do you mean by giving this lady as deadly poison, a liquid, which my learned friend here, after a careful analysis, pro- nounces to be perfectly harmless ? Ugolino. I made a mistake, sir. I gave her the wrong drug. My panacea is all that I claim. I can show you testimonials. Edgardo. What is the use of your testimonials ? How can I tell whether it is deadly or not ? Ugoljno. Try it, sir. If it don't kill you in two minutes I will make no charge. Edgardo. Well, I'll take your word for it. Ugolino. I beseech you to try it, sir. I would be glad to have a testimonial from you. Edgardo. All right. I'll give you one. What is the principal ingredient in your drug, apothecary ? THE VENDETTA. 29 Ugolino. The advertising, sir. Edgardo. The advertising? Ugolino. Yes, sir. Nothing succeeds Hke adver- tising, as Napoleon said. " The man v^ho has no music in his heart," said William Shakespeare, " is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils ; but if he don't advertise he won't get any spoils." Shakespeare, sir, was a man of considerable intelligence, and when he made the aforesaid remark he was old enough to know what he was talking about. Edgardo. In that case, I don't feel like contradict- ing him. What is your method of advertising, drug- gist? Ugolino. Well, sir, I believe in putting in a se- ductive little notice at the end of a column of news, beginning with an allusion to some topic of interest or some familiar quotation, and winding up with an allusion to the panacea. For instance : " Whom the Sfods love, use the Universal Panacea." " I want to be an angel. Do you? Use the Universal Panacea, and if you do not shortly become an angel, it will be because you have already spoiled the raw material." Edgardo. I see, apothecary. Well, I will forgive your mistake. See that it is never repeated. And now, Elvira, will you be the bride of one who has loved you with wild devotion for the past fifteen min- utes ? Elvira. If I refuse, I suppose Antonio will cut my throat. 30 THE VENDETTA. Edgardo. Oh, do not compel me to manifest such a proof of my devotion, Elvira. Well, anything to help your tableau. Edgardo. My darling ! And I know your father will not refuse to bless our union. If he should, An- tonio—— Franconi. Bless you, my children. Edgardo. Thanks, kind father. And now, who is there among us that is not happy ? I pause for a reply. What, none? Then— one, two, three — tab- leau ! THE VENDETTA. A Farce. By WM. E. McKENNA. Copyright, 1893, by Wm. E. flcKenna. I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS