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 A FISHERMAN'S LUCK. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 
 
BAKER'S DARKEY PLAYS 
 
 Edited and arranged for publication from the well-lcnoivn repertoire of 
 
 " SCHOOLCRAFT AND COES " with all their original 
 
 '■'gays" and " stage business." 
 
 BY GEO. H. COES. 
 
 Price 15 cents each. 
 
 ''Luke Schoolcraft" and "George Coes " are too well known to admirers of 
 Negro Minstrelsy to require comment, ami the following selections from their 
 admirable reperi. ry of nieces have no need of other recommendation. No one 
 who has seen these artists in any of the following list of sketches needs assur- 
 ance-of their humor and good acting quality. Twelve are now ready, and others 
 will follow as the demand arises. 
 
 Mrs. Didymus' Party. In One Scene. Two male characters. 
 
 Scene, a plain room. An immensely humorous trifle. Flays 
 
 twenty minutes. 
 Music VS. Elocution. In One Scene. Two male characters. 
 
 Scene, a plain room. Always very popular. Plays fifteen minutes. 
 Mistaken Identity. In One Scene. Eight male and one female 
 
 characters. Can be played in "white face" if desired. Plays 
 
 fifteen minutes. 
 Oh, Well, It's No Use. In One Scene. Three male characters. 
 
 A very funny sketch, full of genuine darkey humor. Plays 
 
 twenty minutes. 
 Here She Goes, and There She Goes. In One Act. Eight 
 
 male and one female characters. An uproariously funny piece 
 
 of great popularity. Plays twenty-five minutes. 
 A Finished Education. A Finale for the "First Part" of a 
 
 Minstrel Entertainment. Three speaking characters. No change 
 
 of scene 
 Black Blunders. In Two Scenes. Nine males and three females. 
 
 Scenery simple; costumes eccentric. Very lively and amusing. 
 
 Plays twenty-five minutes. 
 The Old Parson. A "First Part Finish" for a Minstrel Enter- 
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 Sublime and Ridiculous. In One Scene. Three male characters. 
 
 Scenery and costumes very simple. A sure hit for a good burlesque 
 
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 Everyday Occurrences. A "First Part Finish "for a Minstrel 
 
 Entertainment. Three speaking characters. No change of scene. 
 Badly Sold. In Two Scenes. Four male characters and supers. 
 
 A very funny piece. Can be played " white face " with equally 
 
 good effect. Plays twenty minutes. 
 Our Colored Conductors. In Two Scenes. Three male char- 
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 No. 23 Winter Street - BOSTON, MASS. 
 
A FISHERMAN'S LUCK 
 
 ® Comet^Brama in JFour acts 
 
 BY 
 
 W. P. GETCHELL 
 
 as first performed under the auspices of the plymouth band 
 
 at Davis's Opera House, Plymouth, Mass., 
 
 April 3D and 4TH, 1891. 
 
 
 fEi 19 1894 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 1893 
 
1=S &35 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 As originally cast in the first performance of the piece at Davis 's Opera 
 House, Plymouth, Mass., April 3d, i8gi. 
 
 TOM MANLY, a poor fisherman Mr. W. P. Getchell 
 
 WILLIAM FARREN, alias Squire Hammond, Mr. L. Allen Bradford 
 
 JAMES HAMMOND, Farren's son Mr. A. S. Burns 
 
 DAVID MORRIS, known as Uncle Davie .... Mr. F. H. Perkins 
 
 SILAS KIDDER, stage-struck Mr. J. H. Damon 
 
 REV. GEORGE MEDHURST Mr. C. M. Doten 
 
 ROSE PRESCOTT, Hammond's ward Miss Maria B. Knapp 
 
 MRS. MANLY, Tom's mother Mrs. Annie Morey 
 
 RUTH MANLY, Tom's sister Miss Sarah H. Fuller 
 
 LITTLE NELLIE, a waif of the ocean Miss Emma C. Brown 
 
 Costumes. — Modern and appropriate. 
 Time. — The present. 
 
 Copyright, 1891, by Wendell P. Getchell. 
 Copyright, 1893, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 Notice. — The author of " A Fisherman's Luck " reserves to himself all right of 
 performing the play in any part of the United States. This publication is for the benefit 
 of such managers or actors as may have been duly authorized by the author or his agents 
 to produce the drama. All other persons are hereby notified that any production of this 
 play without due authority will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. 
 
 To Amateurs. — The above notice does not apply to amateur dramatic clubs, which 
 may perform the drama without permission. 
 
 tZ-3Z$"/F 
 
SYNOPSIS. 
 
 ACT I. — Tom Manly' 's home on the coast of Maine. "Home, sweet 
 home." A villain's scheme. Father and son. " For the land's sake, who's that 
 man bringin' here ? " Rose Prescott's return. A stage-struck rustic. " I 
 'dough' know." "Ah, Mother, home again!" Tom's surprise. Hammond's 
 vow. " She shall be mine ! " The lottery ticket. Uncle Davie tells his story. 
 Si in a box. A fisherman's love. " Darn it, it's something you've got to 
 get used to ! " A villain's proposal. The old home threatened. The lucky 
 number. " There stands the criminal ; I bought that ticket of him." 
 
 ACT II. — Scene i. Interior of High Point Lighthouse. Si and Ruth at 
 love-making. Uncle Davie interrupts. Tom's fortune. Too late to save the 
 old home. A wild night. Nellie's appeal. " Don't go, Tom ! " The plot 
 thickens. The robbery.. Scene 2. Exterior of Lighthouse. Into the waves. 
 " My God, it's Nellie ! " Saved ! 
 
 ACT III. — Scene i. Hammond's home. The forged letter. James re- 
 news his proposal. " I*d rather die than marry you ! " Scene 2. Tom 's home 
 in Boston. James's visit. A message of love. Si's letter. Ruth indignant. 
 " Si, come right here to your mother." Scene 3. A Child's vision. Death 
 of little Nellie. " O God, Thy will be done ! " 
 
 ACT IV. —Rose's home in Maine. Tom's disclosure. Uncle Davie's joy. 
 " There's something wrong here." Marriage bells. The accusation. " My 
 God, the fool has found, me out ! " " Hug him, Ruth, he deserves it ! " A wed- 
 ding interrupted. "That girl is my daughter!" A villain foiled. "We're 
 going to have a wedding here yet ! " A Fisherman's Luck. 
 
 One week is supposed to have elapsed between Acts One and Two, one month be- 
 tween Acts Two and Three, and one year between Acts Three and Four. 
 
A FISHERMAN'S LUCK 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — Tom Manly's kitchen. Door, c. ; windows, c. and r. ; 
 grain-box, it. ; chairs, etc., r. and l. ; table, R. c. At rise of curtain 
 Mrs. Manly stands listening to the boys singing off L. As they 
 cease she speaks. 
 
 Mrs. Manly. Talk about your high-toned opera, but that's 
 what I call real music. It can't help being good, it comes from the 
 heart. Lord, bless 'em ! A happier set of fellows never lived. 
 There they are out there on the Reach watching for Tom's vessel ; 
 but if they see her before little Nell does, they'll have to look sharp. 
 But, for the land's sake, Tom's coming home to-day, and here it is 
 the middle of the forenoon, and no work done yet! Ruth is off in 
 that boat of hers, I s'pos'. (Looks offh.) Well, if here ain't Squire 
 Hammond coming up the walk. 
 
 (Goes to table, r. c, and kneads dough. Squire enters, l. c.) 
 
 Squire. Good-morning, Mrs. Manly. Busy as usual, I see. 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land's sake, Squire, how do you s'pos' poor 
 folks is going to get a living if they ain't busy? And good, honest 
 work won't hurt anybody; besides, it keeps them out of mischief. 
 
 Squire. Then you don't have much time for mischief, do you? 
 (Sits in chair.} 
 
 Mrs. M. No, I don't ; and I think it would be just as well if 
 some of my neighbors had less; but there, some folks expect to get 
 a living out of other people, and I suppose they do. 
 
 Squire. Why, what do you mean, Mrs. Manly? You surely 
 cannot think that I would try to get my living from other people. 
 
 Mrs. M. That's just what I do think, and what's more, I think 
 you are here now for the sole purpose of seeing about the mortgage 
 on this place, when you know we haven't got a cent to pay you. 
 
 Squire. Well-er-yes, I did call to see if you have the money; 
 you know it becomes clue to-morrow. 
 
 Mrs. M. So soon ? And then, I suppose, you will turn us out 
 of this dear old home (with emotion), the only place I care for in 
 the whole world. Here my children were born ; here my dear hus- 
 band died; but I — I suppose we must leave it. 
 
 5 
 
6 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Squire. My dear Mrs. Manly, I have no desire to turn you 
 from your home, but business is business, and I must have my 
 money. It was an honest transaction ; your husband came to me 
 and borrowed the money. Had he not been so foolish — 
 
 Mrs. M. Look here, Squire Hammond, don't you call my hus- 
 band foolish. If he was alive and here to speak for himself, you 
 wouldn't dare to. 
 
 Squire. Oh, very well. But I must have the money or the 
 place, and I had just as soon have the place, as Rose is coming 
 home to-day, and I intend to make a match between her and my son. 
 With a little renovating, this will make a good place for them to 
 begin life in. 
 
 Mrs. M. Well, Squire Hammond, when I was young, girls 
 married men because they loved 'em — not because somebody else 
 wanted 'em to. {Slaps the flour off hands and exit.) 
 
 Squire. The old lady doesn't seem in the best of spirits this 
 morning. Well, she has lived here quite a number of years, and I 
 suppose she feels badly about leaving. Ah, Farren, it was a good 
 speculation when you took a mortgage on this place, for you have 
 more than doubled your money. {Enter James Hammond hur- 
 riedly.) 
 
 James. Why, halloo, Guv'nor ! I thought you went to the station 
 after Rose. 
 
 Squire. No, James, I have sent the carnage after her, and, as 
 I had a little business to attend to with Tom Manly, I came here. 
 
 James {aside). What business can he have with Tom, I wonder? 
 Well, I am going down to Barton's to look at his new horse. They 
 say she's a beauty. {Going.) 
 
 Squire. James, I have something to tell you before Rose 
 comes home that is of great importance. 
 
 James. W T ell, be quick about it, as I am in a hurry. 
 
 Squire. Don't be so impatient, James. I think this matter will 
 interest you as well as myself. 
 
 James {comes down). Oh, ho ! Well, if it's so interesting, let's 
 hear it. 
 
 Squire. Well, then {turns ; looks about stage, and then co?nes 
 close to James), I am not worth a dollar in the world. 
 
 James {starts back). Not worth a dollar in the world ! Why, 
 what do you mean ? 
 
 Squire {looks about stage). Listen, and I will tell you. Some 
 years ago I was returning from a distant part of the country. On 
 our voyage home I became acquainted with, a man who was 
 immensely rich. Our acquaintance ripened into friendship. His 
 wife had died some time before, and he was returning to the home 
 of his childhood with his only child, a little girl. Well, during the 
 voyage he became very sick, and, knowing he could live but a 
 few hours {becoming agitated), he called me to his bedside, and told 
 me he had no relatives in the world, and asked me to be a father to 
 his child, to give her a good education, and, when she became of 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 7 
 
 age, to give her all the money there was left after taking enough to 
 pay me for my trouble. 
 
 JAMES. And that child is Rose. 
 
 Squire. Yes; and she will soon become of age. Then, if she 
 should become acquainted with the secret of her birth, we would 
 be left penniless. 
 
 James. But — but — she need never know it ; there is no one 
 to inform her but yourself. 
 
 Squire. Yes, I know; but — er — the fact is, James, I want 
 you to marry Rose. Then, should she ever discover the secret we 
 hold, we should feel a good deal easier ; and five hundred thousand 
 is too much money to lose by trifling. 
 
 James. Marry her? You seem to forget, Guv'nor, that it takes 
 two to make a bargain of that sort. Perhaps Rose won't agree to 
 the union. 
 
 SQUIRE. Rose has always been a dutiful child, and I have no 
 doubt will accede to my wishes. Why should she not? 
 
 James. You know before she went away to school she professed 
 a great liking for Tom Manly. 
 
 Squire. Yes ; but that was only a childish whim. She is now 
 a young lady, and can see the folly of a marriage with a poor 
 fisherman. 
 
 James. Well. Guv'nor, I can't say that I like the situation very 
 well, but it will be a little out of the general course of every-day 
 life here, and will afford a little amusement, anyway, so I will do 
 my best to please her. {Exit, c. L.) 
 
 Squire {watching him off). Little does he think what it has cost 
 me to keep that secret so long. The days of fear, the nights of — 
 my God ! I must not think of them ; I must not think of them. 
 And I have done it all for him. (Mrs. M. enters.} Ah, I have 
 suffered too much to lose that money now ! Yes, Rose must marry 
 him. By Heaven, she shall ! 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land's sake, Squire, ain't you gone yet ? If you 
 want to see Tom you'll have to call again, as he ain't got home 
 yet. 
 
 Squire. Very well. Mrs. Manly, very well. When he comes, be 
 kind enough to tell him I wish to see him. Good-morning. {Exit, 
 C. L.) 
 
 Mrs. M. {looking after him) • Well, they say it takes all kinds 
 of people to make a world, but it does seem as though we might get 
 along just as well without some of them. {Goes down R.; Ruth 
 a/ui^NELLiE enter, r.) So I'm to send Tom to see him when he 
 comes home. Poor Tom! He has worked so hard to pay off that 
 mortgage, but luck seems to be agin him, and I s'pOs' we have 
 got to lose the old place. 
 
 Ruth (c. back). Ship ahoy! 
 
 Mrs. M. {starts). For the land's sake, Ruth, why don't you 
 scare anybody to death, and done with it ? 
 
 Ruth. Did we startle you, mother? We didn't mean to; but 
 
8 a fisherman's luck. 
 
 weVe had such a lovely sail, my feelings had to find vent somehow. 
 We've been way around the point, and down on the other side to 
 the old wreck. They say it is haunted ; but we didn't see any 
 ghost, did we, Nellie ? 
 
 Nellie. No ; but Mr. Kidder gave me a cent if I wouldn't tell 
 anybody he kissed Ruth. But you won't tell anybody, will you, 
 Grammy? {Runs to Mrs. M.) 
 
 Mrs. M. So that's what made your sail so lovely, is it? Now 
 look here, Ruth ! I don't know but what Si Kidder is all right, but 
 you ain't old enough to have a beau yet; and if I see him around 
 here again, he'll catch it — that's all. 
 
 Ruth. I don't believe you'll catch him, for he can run like a 
 deer; but what's poor Si clone? He hasn't done nothing. 
 
 Mrs. M. No ; and, what's more, he never will. He's got his 
 head stuck into one of them play actor books all the time ; and sech 
 men never amount to nothing. 
 
 Nellie. O Grammy, guess what we saw when we was coming 
 home ? 
 
 Mrs. M. I don't know, darling. What ? 
 
 Nellie. Tom's vessel, way off on the water ; and he'll be at 
 home to-day, sure, won't he, Grammy ? 
 
 Mrs. M. I hope he will, dear. (Aside.) My boy coming to-day! 
 God bless him ! But how did you know it was Tom's vessel ? 
 
 Nellie. Because we looked through the glass, and saw the flag 
 you and Ruth made for him. Didn't we, Ruth ? 
 
 Ruth. Yes, we did. Why, mother, I believe she would pick 
 Tom's vessel out from among a thousand. (Looks off l.) Well, 
 as I live, if here ain't Uncle Davie coming with a woman ! 
 
 Mrs. M. Now who on airth is that man bringing here ? (Takes 
 pan of dough from table and looks off l. c.) Come, Nellie, if we're 
 going to have company you must be fixed up a little ; and Tom's 
 coming to-day. (Puts pan on chair R., and looks off L.) Now, who 
 can it be? Ruth, you'll have to put the spare room in order. 
 Come, Nellie. (Exit Nellie and Mrs. M., r. 3 e.) 
 
 Ruth (looking of l.). Well, if it ain't Rose Prescott — and 
 ain't she lovely ? Tom always did like her before she went away ; 
 wonder what he will think of her now ? (Comes down R.) 
 
 Uncle Davie (outside ; speaking as he enters'). Right up this 
 way, Miss. 'Tain't like city sidewalks; but, Lard bless ye! it's 
 something you've got to get used to. (Puts Rose's satchel 
 down c.) 
 
 Rose. So here I am, home again. Why, Ruth Manly, you 
 dear old darling ! (Embraces her.) 
 
 Ruth. Rose, I'm so glad to see you. But why did you come 
 with Uncle Davie ? 
 
 Rose. Well, you see I was standing on the platform at the 
 station looking for our carriage, and what should appear before my 
 startled vision but Tom's chariot ; and such a one it is ! I should 
 know it anywhere. Well, I hailed the driver, who proved to be 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 9 
 
 that gentleman there {pointing to Uncle Davie), and asked in my 
 most bewitching manner, " Sir, will you be kind enough to take me 
 as a passenger to Mr. Manly's ? " He looked at me a moment, then 
 said {imitates Uncle Davie), " Sartin, sartin ; but you'll have to set 
 on a bag of taters all the way. 1 ' Well, I set myself, and here I am. 
 But we had just a jolly time, didn't we? Ah, I forgot we hadn't 
 been introduced yet. Ruth, ahem ! {Strikes attitude.') 
 
 Ruth {burlesque bits.). Mr. David Morris, allow me to introduce 
 you to my friend, Miss Rose Prescott. Miss Rose Prescott, allow 
 me to present my friend, Mr. David Morris. How's that? 
 
 David. Capital. Miss Prescott, allow me to congratulate you 
 on becoming acquainted with so distinguished a man as myself. 
 Ahem ! {Struts across stage.) 
 
 Rose. Ha, ha, ha! Well, there's conceit for you. 
 
 Uncle D. Conceit! That's nothing. It's something you've 
 got to get used to. But here I am dickering with you two girls, and 
 that poor old hoss waiting to be fed ; so jest make yourself at home, 
 Miss Rose, and if you should be lonesome, don't fail to call on 
 your humble servant. {Goes to c. and turns.) I have seen that 
 face before, but where could it have been? {Exit, c. l.) 
 
 Rose. O Ruth, isn't he jolly? I have only been acquainted 
 with him two short hours, and it seems as though I had known him 
 years. 
 
 Ruth. Yes ; he seems to be one of the best of men. He is so 
 obliging: there is nothing he will not do for me. 
 
 Rose. Ha, ha, ha ! Just like you. You always make the men 
 do as you want them to. But where did he come from ? 
 
 Ruth. Well, his history is somewhat obscure. One morning, 
 after a terrible storm, Tom found him on the beach almost dead. 
 He seemed to be in a kind of stupor, for when moved he would look 
 up into their faces so pitifully and murmur, " O God ! lefme die; 
 they stole my child, my child." Tom brought him home, and here he 
 has been ever since. Nellie called him Uncle Davie one day, and 
 he goes by that name altogether now. 
 
 Rose. Nellie ? And who is Nellie, pray ? 
 
 Ruth. Oh, another waif of the ocean. We've got a regular 
 Orphan's Home. She is about six years old, and Tom loves her as 
 he loves his life. 
 
 Rose. Happy Nellie ! I envy her already. Uncle Davie, as you 
 call him, told me Tom was coming home to-day. Oh, I would so 
 like to see him ! 
 
 Ruth. And Tom would like to see you, or I am no judge ; 
 for there is hardly a week that goes by, that he does not speak of 
 his " Little Sweetheart," and wonder how she is getting along in 
 her studies. 
 
 Rose. Oh, I'm so glad ! As the poet says, " 'Tis sweet to be 
 remembered ; " and you know I always regarded Tom as a brother. 
 But where is Aunt Ruth ? I must see her, and then cut across the 
 field home, where, I suppose, Guardy is anxiously waiting for me. 
 
IO A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Ruth. She and Nellie just went into the other room. Shall I 
 show you the way ?' 
 
 Rose. No, thanks ; I will steal in and surprise her, for I know 
 she will not expect to see me. {Exit, r. 3 e.) 
 
 Ruth {looking after Rose). Well, she is the same jolly girl as 
 ever. She regard Tom as a brother- indeed ! If she don't love him 
 because he's somebody else's brother, then I am no judge of love, 
 that's all. Ah, love, love! If that Si Kidder had any wit, he 
 wouldn't have kissed me before that child. I knew she would tell, 
 and now if he falls into mother's clutches, no knowing what will 
 happen. Well, he brought it all on himself. (Si enters c. L. and 
 comes down c, reading drama ; falls over Rose's satchel.} 
 
 Si. How has the mighty fallen ? {Rises, looking at book.} Let 
 me see, where was I ? Oh, yes ; the villain crosses to left and 
 then — {As he speaks he crosses to L., and stands face to face with 
 Ruth.) Why, holloa, Ruth. I was just rehearsing my part in 
 this play. 
 
 Ruth. Yes, you are always rehearsing, but that's all it ever 
 amounts to. O Si ! why don't you go to work as you ought to ? 
 
 Si. Work! work ! Why, Ruth, those hands were never made to 
 work. You can't stop the throbs of ambition that beat beneath this 
 vest with common tabor. You may as well try to stop the fire of 
 Hades with a common squirt-gun. 
 
 Ruth. Well, if mother catches you round here, your throbs of 
 ambition will stop in a hurry. 
 
 Si. Do you mean me to infer that your beloved parent has for- 
 bidden me to exist en these premises ? 
 
 Ruth. That's just what I do mean. 
 
 Si. Then I'm supposed to be dead for the present. Now, just 
 listen to this. {Crosses stage and looks at book ; strikes attitude.) 
 You here? You? On such a night as this? Ten years have I 
 looked for you ; you thought to escape me, you — (Stops; looks at 
 book, and begins again.) You thought, perhaps, that after all these 
 long years of suffering, I would forget you ; but did you think that 
 after such a monstrous wrong, I could forgive you? No! no! you 
 knew better — you knew me too well to ever expect forgiveness. 
 Even as I speak, visions of the past come before me — (Looks at 
 book.) All is repose ; slumber rests heavily on the eyelids of the 
 city ; the great bell in the distant belfry disturbs the peaceful 
 dreams of the sleepers with its clanging herald of midnight. In a 
 small attic chamber stands a woman bending over the sleeping 
 form of a child, with an uplifted dagger. She pauses a moment, 
 then plunges it into his heart, and for this I have followed you here. 
 (Looks at book.) Now you are in my power (crosses to L.), and 
 you shall not escape. Ha, ha, ha! You shall die as did the 
 child. (Seizes Ruth by the arm, with one hand uplifted as if to 
 strike ; Ruth strikes him in the face.) 
 
 Ruth (aside). Now then, to beat him at his own game. 
 (Strikes attitude.) Unhand me, sir ! I am no fool. You accuse 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. I I 
 
 me of being the perpetrator of one of the most terrible crimes that 
 a person can be guilty of, and I do not deny it ; but, as I sent him 
 to his last home, so I will send you to yours. Look ! Do you see 
 this dagger? (Shows duster.) 'Tis the same with which I killed 
 the other. (She rushes at Si, who backs to r.) You shall have 
 just three minutes to live. (Pauses.) Thus, then, do I rid the 
 earth of this monster. (Stabs him with duster ; he staggers back, 
 and sits into the pan of dough; pause.) Ha, ha, ha! . Why lies 
 that old man there ? (Points to Si.) 
 
 Si. I dough know. (Enter Mrs. M., Rose, and Nellie.) 
 
 Mrs. M. "What's all this noise about? (Sees Si.) For the 
 land's sake, what are you sitting in that dough for ? 
 
 Si. O Lord ! Has my ambition brought me to this? (Pises.) 
 
 Mrs. M. You lazy, good-for-nothing scamp, you, get out of 
 this house ! (Grabs broom and chases him round room ; the second 
 time around she drops broom and grabs dough ; as he exits c. D. 
 she throws it at him ; he dodges, and it strikes James Hammond, 
 who enters.) Heavens and earth, if it ain't Mr. Hammond! Sir, 
 I'm sorry I dirtied your coat. 
 
 James. Oh! it's of no consequence. (Pushes to Rose.) Ah, 
 Rose, I have just this moment heard of your arrival, and hastened 
 to welcome you home. 
 
 Rose (with reserve ; takes his hand). Ah, James, I am happy 
 to know you think so well of me. How's Guardy? 
 
 James. Quite well; but very impatient to see you. How did 
 you happen to miss the carriage? 
 
 Rose. I didn't; the carriage missed me. Ha, ha, ha! I 
 came home with Mr. Morris. (Gun heard ; Nellie, who has been 
 watching off 'c, waves handkerchief.) . 
 
 Nellie. There's Tom ! there's Tom ! Look, there's his vessel 
 now! Grammy, where's my hat? I must go and meet him. (Nel- 
 lie gets hat, and rushes off C. L.) 
 
 Mrs. M. That child would break her neck to see Tom. (Look- 
 ing off c.) There she is just rounding the point. Ain't she a 
 fairy? Ain't she a picture for a painter? That's Tom's new yacht. 
 Startled Fawn he calls her, and I guess she's rightly named, for 
 there ain't another boat in these parts that'll keep up with her. 
 
 Rose. Oh, isn't she lovely ! Just look at her, James ! 
 
 James (turning away). She looks well enough, but I never 
 cared much for the water, and of course I have no interest in such 
 matters. 
 
 Rose. Oh, I love the water, and shall take a sail in that boat 
 the first chance I get. 
 
 James (aside). I must get her away from here before he 
 comes. Well, Rose, don't you think father will wonder what has 
 become of you ? He will think something has happened. 
 
 Rose. True, I had forgotten all about Guardy. I will go home 
 at once. 
 
 James. And with your permission I will accompany you. 
 
12 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Rose. Oh, certainly. Good-by, aunty — good-by, Ruth. I 
 will be — (Tom sings off l. ; they listen a moment.') That's Tom 
 coming. I will wait and see him before I go. {Looks off~L. ; Mrs. 
 M. and Ruth, R. ; Rose and James, l.) 
 
 Ruth. She is more anxious to see him than I ever was to see Si. 
 
 James (goin% to Rose). Rose, this is but a needless delay, and 
 will add greatly to father's impatience. You can see Mr. Manly 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Rose. Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day. 
 (Tom appears ate. d. with Nellie in his arms ; he puts her down, 
 and rushes to Mrs. M.) 
 
 Tom. Ah, mother, home again, and how good it seems to see 
 you once more ! {Runs to Ruth and embraces her.) Ah, Ruth, 
 little sister, how nicely you look ! {Kisses her.) Do you know, if 
 I was — by the way, where is Si? (Ruth makes all manner of 
 motions to make him see Rose, which he does not understand/or 
 some time. When he turns and sees her, he rushes to her, and 
 takes her hands in his.) Why, bless my heart, if it isn't my little 
 sweetheart of long ago! Ah, Rose, this is an unexpected meeting, 
 and an agreeable Surprise. But, how are you, anyway? 
 
 Rose. Why, just the same as ever, Tom, only a little older. 
 . Tom. Rose, 1 don't believe you have changed. I can see the 
 love of fun in those eyes yet. {Sees James.) Why, hulloa, James, 
 I didn't see you before ; how's your health ? 
 
 James. Quite good, thanks. {Aside.) The very air seems 
 scented with fish. How can Rose be so familiar with these 
 people ? 
 
 Tom. O Rose, I am so glad you are back again, and happier 
 still to think you have not forgotten us. 
 
 Rose. Pleasure is the flower that fades, Tom, remembrance is 
 the lasting perfume. But I must not keep Guardy waiting any 
 longer; I must go home at once. Good-by, all. Good-by, Tom. 
 Remember, I expect a sail in that yacht to-morrow. {Exit, c. L.) 
 
 Tom. And you shall have it. 
 
 James {aside). She loves him, I can see by her looks, and he 
 loves her; but so do I, and she shall be mine. {Exit, c. L.) 
 
 Mrs. M. Tom, that fellow is a deep one, and I don't think he's 
 as honest as he might be. 
 
 Ruth. Why, mother, he's real nice, I think. He gave me a 
 splendid ride the other day. 
 
 Mrs. M. He did, did he? Don't you ever dare to ride with 
 him again. You had better go and get some dinner for Tom. 
 
 Tom. Yes, do; I'm as" hungry as a bear. (Ruth exit.) 
 Mother, how would you like to have Rose for a daughter ? 
 
 Mrs. M. She's a noble girl ; but, Tom, my boy, she is not suited 
 to a place like this. 
 
 Tom. But she is so lovely, mother. 
 
 Mrs. M. I don't think she has any idea of being a fisherman's 
 wife. 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 13 
 
 Tom. Why, mother, my chance is as good as any one else's. 
 
 Mrs. M. Squire Hammond told me. this morning he wanted 
 her to marry his son. 
 
 Tom. But does she love him, mother? I — I — can hardly 
 believe it. 
 
 Mrs. M. Ah, Tom, my boy, he has got money, and that goes a 
 great way. That makes me think: Squire Hammond wants to see 
 you as soon as you have time. But there, I must go and help Ruth 
 about dinner. {Exit into house ; Nellie enters.) 
 
 Tom {sits in chair R., draws Nellie up to him). Well, little 
 one, are you glad to see me ? 
 
 Nellie. Well, I guess I be. You've been gone such a long 
 time, and I've been so lonesome ! 
 
 Tom. Have you, darling? Well, I'm back now, and we'll make 
 up for lost time. What shall we do? 
 
 Nellie. I've got something nice for you, Tom. Open your 
 mouth and shut your eyes. (Tom does so j she puts piece of candy 
 into his mouth.) There, ain't that nice? I kept that two whole 
 weeks for you. 
 
 Tom. You have? {Kissing her.) That's almost as sweet as 
 you are. 
 
 Si {enters, c. l.). Hullo, Tom ! By thunder, I'm glad to see 
 you ! How did you make out ? 
 
 Tom. Oh, we had a pretty good trip. The boys enjoyed them- 
 selves first-rate. Jones is going away for a while, and I am going 
 to keep the light while he is gone. I can earn a dollar that way as 
 well as any. 
 
 Si. That's so. By the way, Tom, I borrowed a dollar of you 
 when you went away, and promised to pay you in a month. Well, 
 the month is up, and I haven't got the money. 
 
 Tom. That's all right, Si ; pay me when you can. Perhaps you 
 are better off without money. They say 'tis the root of all evil. 
 
 Si. Well, give me plenty of the root, that's all ; but, Tom, I've 
 a proposition to make you : I've got two lottery tickets here. 
 {Takes them out of his pockets.) Now, if you'll call the bill square, 
 I'll give you one of them. {Strikes attitude.) You may draw fif- 
 teen thousand dollars. 
 
 Tom. Yes, and I may draw my breath. O Si, you shouldn't 
 spend your money so foolishly. I wouldn't give you one dollar for 
 a cartload of them. 
 
 Nellie. Tom, what are they ? 
 
 Tom. They are lottery tickets. {Takes one from Si, and shows 
 it to her.) 
 
 Nellie. Oh, ain't it handsome ? It's real money, ain't it, 
 Tom? 
 
 Tom. My dear, it's unreal money, as many a poor soul can 
 testify. 
 
 Nellie. Tom, can I have this to play with ? 
 
 Tom. Do you want it, dear? {She nods.) Then you shall have 
 
14 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 it ; and if you can get any enjoyment out of it, I am satisfied. Si, 
 I will take the ticket for her sake, and you can consider the bill 
 settled. 
 
 Si. All right, Tom; and I wish you luck. I forgot to tell you 
 that the drawing came off this morning, and as soon as the evening 
 papers come we shall know whether we have drawn anything or 
 not; but I must be going. {Aside.} This is rather dangerous 
 ground for me. {Exit, c. d. l. ; runs against Uncle Davie, who 
 comes 011 with a bag of ' ?neal ; strikes attitude.) "Proceed, Salmus, 
 to procure my fall, and by the doom of death end woes and all." — 
 Shakespeare. {Exit, c. L.) 
 
 Uncle D. Darn it, young fellow! it's something you've got 
 to get used to. {Puts bag down side of grain-chest.) That young 
 dude is around here all the time after Miss Ruth, and — why — 
 hulloa, Tom. {Grabs Tom's hand in both of his.) Darned if I 
 ain't glad to see you, boy ! Hulloa, Nellie, what you got there ? 
 {Looks at ticket.) A lottery ticket ? Where did you get it ? 
 
 Nellie. From Mr. Kidder. 
 
 Uncle D. From Mr. Kidder. Now, can you tell me the number 
 on it? It's a pretty big number for a little girl. S'pos' you can 
 tell it ? 
 
 Nellie. Yes, Uncle Davie ; it's eighty-six thousand three hun- 
 dred and eighteen. 
 
 Uncle D. Eighty-six thousand three hundred and eighteen: 
 yes, that's right. Ain't she smart, Tom? Well, I guess. She'll 
 make a good mate for some one one of these days, won't she, Tom? 
 I s'pos' t'would be a hard one for you, but it's 'something you've 
 got to get used to. 
 
 Tom. Yes, Davie, I s'pose I've got to lose her sometime ; but 
 it's a good ways off yet. Nellie, won't you run in and ask Grammy 
 if dinner is ready? 
 
 Nellie. Yes, Tom ; I'll fly. {Crosses stage, throws kiss at 
 Tom ; exit, r. 3 e.) 
 
 Tom. Now, Davie, you told me when I went away that you 
 would tell me something of your past life when I returned. While 
 we are waiting for dinner suppose you give me your history, for I 
 am impatient to hear it. 
 
 Uncle D. Well, Tom, it's a long story, but I will give it to you 
 if you will be patient. {Sits.) When I was a young man I was a 
 little wild. I got to drinking, and sank very low in the eyes of all 
 save one — my wife. {With emotion.) Ah, Tom, she was too good 
 for me ! One night, after a prolonged spree, she came and, kneeling 
 before me, asked God to keep me from drink, and to forgive her for 
 all the unkindness she had shown me. Ah, Tom ! that went straight 
 home, and God knows, I've been a better man since. Well, she 
 coaxed me to go away somewhere, to get away from my old com- 
 panions; and we went to California. I worked hard and prospered. 
 We had been there a year when our child was born — a little girl. 
 Ah ! then it was I took comfort. Well, the business grew, and I 
 
A FISHERMAN'S LUCK. 1 5 
 
 hired a clerk. In a few years I grew very rich. Then came the hard 
 blow of all — my poor wife died. So I sold out, took all my money 
 and my little girl, and started East on board the vessel " Queen. 1 ' 
 When we got out of sight of the land I found my clerk had followed 
 me. I thought nothing of that ; but that night' I was leaning over 
 the rail, looking into the water, when suddenly some one seized me 
 and threw me with all his might into the ocean. As I grasped for 
 the rail I saw the white face of my clerk, and he hissed between his 
 teeth, " I've got your money." Well, I was picked up and carried 
 back to land. 
 
 Tom. And didn't you look for your child? 
 
 Uncle D. Yes. As soon as I got money enough I came East 
 and searched everywhere for her, but I could not find her, or any 
 trace of her. Heartbroken. I returned to California, and have been 
 there ever since, until a little over a month ago. I wanted to come 
 East again and try once more to find my daughter. The ship was 
 wrecked, and I knew no one until I awoke here. Tom, you saved 
 my life. God bless you, boy ! God bless you ! 
 
 Tom. How old would your daughter be now? 
 
 Uncle D. Let's see: that was — that was fifteen years ago, 
 and she was four then. She would be nineteen now. 
 
 Tom. But do you think you could tell her if you should see her? 
 
 Uncle D. Yes, Tom, by this. {Takes piece of picture from 
 pocket.) 'Tis half of the mother's picture. She had a little locket 
 and chain around her neck with the other half of this picture in it. 
 Tom, do you know anything of Miss Prescott's early life ? 
 
 Tom. Only that she and her guardian came here twelve years 
 ago. Why ? Do you think she is your daughter, Davie ? 
 
 Uncle D. No; only her face" seemed strangely familiar. 
 
 Tom {rises). Uncle Davie, suppose she was your daughter, and 
 I wanted to marry her ; what would you say ? 
 
 Uncle D. (rises ; looks at Tom a moment, then takes his hand). 
 I would say, " Take her, Tom, and God bless you both." 
 
 Tom. Uncle Davie, I believe you are my friend, and I will con- 
 fide in you. I do love Rose, and but for our different stations in 
 life, I would ask her to be my wife. 
 
 Uncle D. Never mind the stations, Tom; ask her. If she 
 loves ye she*ll have ye, no matter if ye didn't have a rag on your 
 back. And if she don't, why, all she can say is no. It may make 
 you feel bad, but perhaps it's something you've got to get used to. 
 
 Tom. Uncle Davie, I'll do it. The next time I see her Til 
 know my fate. 
 
 Nellie (enters ; runs to Tom). Dinner's ready, Tom, and my 
 plate is right side of yours. (Takes his hands and pulls him side 
 of door.) 
 
 Uncle D. Come, Tom, and get filled up. You will be braver 
 on a full stomach. Ha, ha, ha ! ( They exit into house, R. 3 E. ; Si 
 looks cautiously on back c, then comes dow7i.) 
 
 Si. Nobody here ; the coast clear. Lord ! I wonder where Ruth 
 
1 6 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 is? It is quite evident my endeavors to win applause by tragic 
 impersonations are not appreciated in this locality. Heavens, ain't 
 the old lady a hummer? Now, she would make a good Lady 
 Audley. Didn't she tear round, though ? Ha, ha, ha ! I wonder 
 if she will ever be my mother-in-law? What a fate ! "Ay, there's 
 the rub," to dream of something after marriage, a broomstick or a 
 flat-iron perhaps ; and yet I love my little Ruth, and for her love I'd 
 brave a thousand flat-irons. (Ruth, who has entered, goes behind 
 him unseen, and speaks very loud and quick.) 
 
 Ruth. Leave this place at once ! (Si jumps and runs up c. ; 
 turns and sees Ruth who stands laughing.) Why, Si, what is the 
 matter? 
 
 Si. What is the matter? I thought — well — I — what is the 
 matter with your mother? 
 
 Ruth. Oh, mother's all right ; she never felt better in her life. 
 
 Si. I believe you. {Rubbing arm.) What did she say when I 
 was gone? 
 
 Ruth. She said, "'twas absence made the heart grow fonder." 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Si. She did? Does she know that I — that we — like each 
 other pretty well ? ( Takes her hands.) 
 
 Ruth. Yes, Nellie told her ; and she said I wasn't old enough 
 yet ; but — but — I am, ain't I, Si ? 
 
 Si. Of course you are! But Shakespeare says — you know 
 Shakespeare — he's a poet. Well, he says, — " For aught that ever 
 I could read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true 
 love never did run smooth." 
 
 Ruth. That's the reason there's so many friction matches in 
 the world, ain't it ? 
 
 Si. Yes, I suppose so. But as I look down the dim vista of ;he 
 future, I can picture a snug little home with domestic comforts. 
 
 Ruth. You can? O Si, how nice! 
 
 Si. Yes, and who do you suppose I pictured in that little home ? 
 
 Ruth. I'm sure I don't know. 
 
 Uncle D. {outside). All right, Tom. I'll be back in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Ruth. O Si ! somebody's coming. Hide somewhere. 
 
 Si {running about stage). Where — where shall I hide? 
 
 Ruth. Oh, anywhere. {Looks about stage, sees grain-chest.) 
 Here, get into this, quick! 
 
 Si {getting into box). I believe you are getting me into a box. 
 
 Ruth {shutting lid). You just keep quiet, and as soon as you 
 get a chance, skip. 
 
 Uncle D. (enters r. 3 e.). Why, Ruth, what's the matter? 
 You look as red as — as if Si had been sand-papering your cheeks 
 with his whiskers. 
 
 Ruth. Well, he hasn't. It's — it's — the sun. 
 
 Uncle D. Yes, Mrs. Kidder's son. Ruth, let me give you a 
 piece of advice. (Si sticks his head out of chest.) Don't have 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. \J 
 
 anything to do with that Si Kidder. They say he's a lazv, good-for- 
 nothing scamp. (Si shakes fist at Uncle Davie and disappears.} 
 
 Ruth. Well, what if he is ? That's none of your business. 
 
 Uncle D. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, I guess you are about right, 
 Ruth, and I'll have nothing more to say about it. But there, I 
 must get about my work. {Takes up bag.) 
 
 Ruth {aside). Oh ! What shall I do, Uncle Davie? 
 
 Uncle D. {drops bag). What is it, Ruth ? 
 
 Ruth. Well, I — {aside) oh ! what shall I do or say ? {Aloud.) 
 Well, I — I — thought perhaps you — I might get you to go down 
 to the store for me. 
 
 Uncle D. Why of course you can, just as soon as I empty this 
 bag. {Picks up bag.) 
 
 Ruth {pulling his coat-tail). Yes — but — but I want you to 
 go now. 
 
 Uncle D. Why, sartin, just as soon as I empty this bag. 
 {Empties bag into chest.) There now, Ruth, Til go to the store 
 for you. 
 
 Ruth. Uncle Davie, I guess you needn't go, after all. 
 
 Uncle D. Needn't go ? Well, now, if that ain't just like a 
 woman. First she says she will, and then she says she won't. 
 (Tom enters from house with lines, etc.; sits. l. c.) 
 
 Tom. Uncle Davie, will you go down and see if the dory is all 
 right? I didn't fasten her very securely, and she may drift off at 
 high tide. 
 
 Uncle D. That I will, Tom. {Exit, c. l.) 
 
 Ruth {aside). Oh, Tom will never go away. Poor Si will be 
 smothered ; but I must leave him to his fate. {Exit R. 3 E.) 
 
 Tom. And so Rose is at home again, and how she has grown ! 
 she went away a child and came back a woman — no, an angel. 
 Ah, what would I give to call her mine. But no, I fear 'tis as 
 mother says, she has lived in luxury all her life, and to exchange 
 her beautiful home for a place like this — Oh, pshaw ! I must not 
 think of it ; and yet I fancied I could see the glad light in her eyes 
 when I clasped her hands. (Rose comes down back of Tom, and 
 clasps her hands over his eyes.) 
 
 Rose. Guess who I am. 
 
 Tom {taking her hands in his). There is but one woman in the 
 world with hands like yours, Rose. 
 
 Rose. You know how to flatter just as well as ever, Tom; but 
 don't you think you have held my hands long enough? 
 
 Tom. No, Rose; I could hold them forever. I — I — mean — 
 er — have you come for that sail, Rose ? 
 
 Rose. Oh, no. I left my satchel and came back for it. What 
 are you doing, Tom ? 
 
 Tom. Oh, fixing up the lines a little, that's all. 
 
 Rose. Oh, can I help ? 
 
 Tom. Help ? Why, of course you can, if you want to ; but I 
 don't know how you can help any. unless it's to look on. 
 
l8 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Rose. Well, I'm an expert at that. (Sits.) Let me sit here 
 while you work, and we will talk over old times. 
 
 Tom. Those were happy clays, wan't they, Rose ? Don't you 
 remember the summer days when we used to play keeping house 
 down on the beach, where the waters break? 
 
 Rose. Yes ; and do you remember the day I slipped off the 
 ledge into the water ? Had it not been for your bravery I should 
 have been drowned. 
 
 Tom. I shall never forget it. When I pulled you from the 
 water and held you in these arms, I thought you were dead ; and 
 when you looked up and smiled — O Rose, that was the happiest 
 moment of my life. 
 
 Rose. Was it, Tom? One day at school I told my room-mate 
 about it, and she declared you quite a hero. 
 
 Tom. Then you — you did not quite forget me while you were 
 away ? 
 
 Rose. Forget you — why, there is not a fellow in the world that 
 it would be as hard for me to forget as you, Tom. 
 
 Tom. Those words give me new life, new hope, Rose. I have 
 known you since you were a little girl ; I have watched you grow 
 to womanhood. In those happy days of long ago, Rose, I loved 
 you with a childish love, and the years that have passed since then 
 have only served to strengthen that love. Rose, I am only a poor 
 fisherman, with no position to offer you, but I love you dearly and 
 truly. Rose, will you be my wife? 
 
 Rose (rises)* . I — I — O Tom ! why did you ask me? 
 
 Tom (aside). She does love him. I understand, Rose, I under- 
 stand it all. You love James Hammond. (Turns away.) And 
 I — I — know you will make him a good wife. 
 
 Rose. I don't love him. His wife, indeed ! No, Tom, I — I do 
 love you as dearly and truly as I believe you love me, and I will be 
 your — your wife. 
 
 Tom (clasping her in his arms). God bless you for those words, 
 Rose ! (Uncle Davie enters, c. d.) I believe I am the happiest 
 man in all the world. 
 
 Rose. And I the happiest woman, Tom. 
 
 Uncle D. (aside). I hate to interrupt them. I know they'll be 
 disappointed, for I've been right there myself. Ahem ! ( Rose 
 and Tom start away from each other.) Oh, don't stir on my 
 account. Ha, ha, ha! Don't blush so, Miss Rose, even if I did 
 see his arm around you. 'Tain't nothing ; it's something you've got 
 to get used to. Ha, ha, ha! (Rose, r., Tom, l., Uncle Davie, 
 C.) Here, Tom, give me your hand. (Takes hand.) Rose, your 
 hand, please. (Takes her hand and joins them; then places his 
 hand on their heads.) There, bless you my children, bless you! 
 and may the Devil take the first man that goes between you. 
 (They unclasp hands, and Uncle Davie goes between them and 
 crosses to R. ; both laugh.) 
 
 Tom. Uncle Davie, I'm afraid you are elected for the hotter 
 regions. You were the first man, you know. 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 19 
 
 Uncle D. {surprised; laughing*). Why, so I was. Well, I 
 suppose it's something we've got to get used to. Say, Tom, you 
 know the old tree down by the beach. (Tom nods.) Well, I've 
 built a seat clown there, just big enough for two. Now, I want you 
 two to go down there and see how it fits you. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Tom. But, Uncle Davie, I — Rose. 
 
 Uncle D. Oh, she's williiv. I can tell by the looks of her 
 eyes. 
 
 Rose (as they go off). Indeed ! My eyes must be very expres- 
 sive. (Exeunt R., u. e.) 
 
 Uncle D. Yes, they are ; and the expression is love. Oh, how 
 those two bring back the days of my youth ! (Sits, c. ) It seems 
 as though those happy faces had turned back the years of my life, 
 until I stand once more in the twilight before a little cottage and 
 my sweetheart is saying, " Davie, I am the happiest woman in the 
 world." O God ! Turn back Thy universe and give me once 
 again that one sweet hour ! (Bows head on hands and weeps j 
 enter James Hammond, c. d., and taps him on shoulder.) 
 
 James. My good man, can you tell me if Miss Prescott is 
 here ? 
 
 Uncle D. (springing up fiercely). That voice again! (Looks 
 at James; calms himself.) Yes, I s'pose I can. She is here, and 
 if you will wait I will send her to you. (Goes up c. ; turns and 
 looks at James.) 'Tis his voice, but too young — too young. 
 (Exit, it. u. e.) 
 
 James. Rose here, and no doubt with that fisherman. I must 
 press my suit at once, for were they allowed to be together much, 
 I believe he would try to win her love. (Enter Squire Hammond 
 hurriedly.) 
 
 Squire. Have you seen her yet, James? 
 
 James. No ; but she is here, and I believe at this moment is 
 with Tom Manly. I told you she cared more for him than you 
 thought. (Looking off k.) Ah, here she comes ! Leave me alone 
 with her — go. (Squire exit, l. ; Rose enters, c.) 
 
 Rose. Uncle Davie told me you wished to see me. 
 
 James. Yes, Rose. Forgive me for following you. If you only 
 knew how dear your presence was to me. 
 
 Rose, My presence — dear to you? Why, what do you mean ? 
 
 James. Simply this, Rose. I love you. I have wealth and 
 influence, and you shall have everything the heart can wish. (Pause.) 
 You surely have given me cause to hope, Rose. Will you be my 
 wife ? 
 
 Rose. I am sorry you have been so mistaken. I regret it all 
 very sincerely, Mr. Hammond. But, believe me, I never intention- 
 ally allowed you to suppose yourself more than a valued friend. 
 
 James (with force). You would have cared for me if this Tom 
 Manly had not come between us. 
 
 Rose. I never could have cared for you as you would like. 
 
 James. I supposed you thought of our ultimate engagement as 
 
20 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 a matter of course. Our marriage is the clearest wish of my father, 
 your guardian. (Squire enters unseen.) 
 
 Rose. But it can never be. I do love Tom Manly, and I am 
 proud in that love. 
 
 Squire (comes doivii fiercely). Then take him if you will, but 
 never darken my doors again. I am done with you forever. 
 
 Rose {drawing herself up). Squire Hammond, you have always 
 been kind to me, and for that I thank you. (Tom and Mrs. 
 Manly e?iter from r. 3 e.) But I would rather live in a hovel 
 as Tom Manly's wife, than marry your son and live in a palace. 
 
 Tom {faking her hand). You shall never have cause to regret 
 those words. Rose, you are now without a home. I have strong 
 arms and an honest heart, and I'll protect you. 
 
 Squire. Honest poverty is at a discount these days. Protect 
 her indeed! A nice protector you'll make — you haven't got a 
 dollar in the world. I hold a mortgage on this property. It 
 becomes due to-morrow. I shall foreclose, and you shall be "turned 
 into the street. 
 
 Tom. Until then, this place is mine. Squire Hammond, leave 
 my house ! (Points offc. ; Uncle Davie runs on c. with paper ; 
 he hugs first one then another.) 
 
 Uncle-D. Hooray! Hooray! Look, Tom, look. {Gives Tom 
 Paper.) 
 
 Squire (starting back aghast; aside). My God! Davie 
 Morris ! 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land's sake, what's the matter with the man ? 
 
 Tom (reads). "Regular monthly drawing of the Louisiana 
 State lottery. Ticket eighty-six thousand three hundred and eigh- 
 teen draws three hundred thousand dollars. 
 
 Uncle D. That's it — that's it! Hooray! Tom, you're a rich 
 man. 
 
 James. Mr. Manly, what does he mean ? Have you got that 
 ticket ? 
 
 Tom. No ; sir ; I have not. 
 
 Nellie (enters, c. d. with Ruth ; Nellie runs down to Tom, 
 waving ticket} . No ; but I have. 
 
 James. Where did you get that ticket? Did you know the 
 sale of those tickets was a crime ? 
 
 Si (rising from chest all covered with meal). There stands the 
 criminal. I bought that ticket of him. (Points to James.) 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 21 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene. — Interior of lighthouse, r. and l., chairs ; doors R. and 
 L; Ruth discovered arranging a skein of yarn. 
 
 Ruth. Well, if this ain't a pretty scrape. For some reason or 
 other Tom didn't get his money till it was too late to save the old 
 place, and that old Shylock took it away from us. And here we've 
 been nearly a week, cooped up like so many hens on the roost, 
 with nothing but water all around us, and the clear sky above. 
 Our front yard is about two feet square. Oh, I wish I were a man! 
 If I — {Long whistle heard.) What's that ? {Goes to door and 
 looks out.) Why, it's Si. {Speaks off.) Just row round this way. 
 {Pause ; then Si enters.) 
 
 St. Hullo, Ruth ! {Looks around room., then kisses her.) 
 
 Ruth. Why, Si, how can you act so? I've a good mind never 
 to speak to you again as long as I live. 
 
 Si. Why, Ruth, you know I haven't seen you before for a whole 
 week ; but if you're mad, why, I'll take it back. {Attempts to kiss 
 her ; she pushes him away.) 
 
 Ruth. Si Kidder, don't be a fool. 
 
 Si. Shakespeare says, " ' Tis impossible to love and be wise." 
 
 Ruth. I don't care what Shakespeare says. If you came to see 
 me, you've got to have a little wit, that's all. Now you've come 
 just in time to hold my yarn. 
 
 Si {looks around). Where's your mother? 
 
 Ruth. She's out in the other room getting supper, and Tom 
 has gone over to the village, so you needn't be afraid ; but, perhaps 
 you're too tired. 
 
 Si. Oh, dear, no — not at all. I rather like it. (Sits and holds 
 yarn.) 
 
 Ruth. That's funny. My brother Tom used to get so cross ; 
 he never held it half as nice as you do. 
 
 Si. Well, brothers don't understand this thing. I never hold it 
 for my sister. 
 
 Ruth. You don't, why? 
 
 Si. She don't wind as nice as you do. 
 
 Ruth. O Si ! (Drops ball; both stoop for it; their heads come 
 in contact ; she draws back timidly.) Oh, excuse me. 
 
 Si {gives her the ball). Beg pardon — all my fault. Did I hurt 
 you ? 
 
 Ruth. Oh, no. How stupid of me to drop that ball! 
 
 Si. I was too far off. Ought to sit nearer, don't you think so? 
 
 Ruth (timidly). 1 don't know. 
 
 Si (draws chair nearer). Hadn't I better sit here? 
 
 Ruth. Maybe so. 
 
22 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Si (sits nearer). I think that's better, don't you? 
 
 Ruth. Yes ; it don't wind so tight now. 
 
 Si. I wish you wouldn't wind so fast. 
 
 Ruth. Why? 
 
 Si. You'll get done too soon. 
 
 Ruth (quickly). Oh, I've got lots more. 
 
 Si {sits nearer). That's bully. I could sit here all day and do 
 this. 
 
 Ruth. You could? 
 
 Si. Yes. (Gets nearer.) You wind better when I'm closer to 
 you, don't you ? 
 
 Ruth. Ye-s. 
 
 Si. Now, isn't it funny? Do you know what I was thinking ? 
 
 Ruth. No ! 
 
 Si. I was thinking how mad your mother would be if she could 
 see us now. 
 
 Ruth. Oh, mother's getting old. You mustn't mind her. 
 
 Si. No ; I won't. (Gets nearer.) She don't like me, does she? 
 
 Ruth. She don't know you very well. 
 
 Si. Well, you — you know me very well. 
 
 Ruth. Yes. 
 
 Si. Well, you like me a little, don't you ? 
 
 Ruth. Well, I — that is — you have been very kind to me, and 
 I — I always like kind people. 
 
 Si. But' I don't mean that kind of like. I mean another word 
 like like, same number of letters but spelt another way. 
 
 Ruth. I don't know what you mean. 
 
 Si. I mean a word like 1-o-v-e. What's that spell? 
 
 Ruth. It spells love. 
 
 Si. That's it ; that's the way I want you to like me. Will you ? 
 
 Ruth. Oh, my ! Mother would be so angry. 
 
 Si. Your mother's getting old ;. don't mind her. 
 
 Ruth. Ain't you ashamed to say that? 
 
 Si. I — I mean she's older than we are. 
 
 Ruth. Of course she is. O Si, you're tangling that all up. 
 
 Si. And you're tangling me all up. Come, now, say you love 
 me a little, won't you? (Tries to hug her, but can't for the 
 skein.) 
 
 Ruth. Oh, my ! Some one's coming. (Enter Uncle Davie, c.) 
 
 Uncle D. What an innocent-looking couple. (Laughing.) 
 Don't you think you could wind better if you should sit nearer to- 
 gether. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ruth. Now, Uncle Davie, who's winding this yarn? 
 
 Si. Yes, who's winding this yarn? 
 
 Uncle D. When I came in 'twas pretty hard to tell who was 
 winding it. Ha, ha, ha ! But I see I'm in the way, so I'll take the 
 paper and read, till — till you get that yarn all wound up. (Exit, 
 l., laughing.) 
 
 Si (coming close to Ruth and taking both her hands). Now, 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 23 
 
 Ruth, we are alone once more tell me if you love me. (Uncle 
 Davie comes in, they start away from each other.) 
 
 Uncle D. Has either one of you seen anything of my — {/unit- 
 ing) my — I've hunted all over the house, and I can't find them. 
 (Ruth and Si look round room.) 
 
 Ruth {after looking). Why, Uncle Davie, what have you 
 lost? 
 
 Uncle D. Why, my specs. {He has them on his forehead.) 
 
 Si. They are on your forehead. 
 
 Uncle D. {taking them down). Why, so they be. Can't find 
 a darned thing in the house. {Exit, laughing.) 
 
 Si {watches him off ; same bus. as before). Ruth, at last we have 
 an opportunity to — {Enter Uncle Davie.) 
 
 Uncle D. {returning laughing). I forgot to thank you, Si, but 
 as I went by the window, I see Tom's boat coming, so I came back 
 to let him in. 
 
 Si {aside). The darned blunderhead ! Always round when he 
 'ain't wanted. That's right, Davie. {Goes to door R. and opens it.) 
 Yes; he's coming, and Miss Prescott with him. 
 
 Ruth. Oh, Tin so glad somebody's coming — 'tis so lonely here. 
 Uncle Davie, how long have we got to stay here in this place? 
 
 Uncle D. Why, till Jones gets back ; about a week, I guess. 
 Queer how things have turned out, ain't it ? Now there's Squire 
 Hammond — as soon as he finds out Tom is liable to get a little 
 money, he takes Miss Rose right back into his home, and seems 
 willing enough Tom should marry her. 
 
 Ruth. Yes ; but why did he take our home away from us? 
 
 Uncle D. Well, he's a mean old cuss, anyway. Tom didn't get 
 the money in time to pay off the mortgage, and he wouldn't stay 
 one minute on the place after it rightfully belonged to Squire 
 Hammond. 
 
 Tom {outside). Halloa! Halloa! 
 
 Si. Here you go, Tom. {Enter Tom and Rose, r. ; Nellie 
 runs on l., and throws arm around Tom's neck, who stoops to meet 
 her. Rose goes to Ruth and keeps up dumb show.) 
 
 Tom. Well, Nellie, have you kept house real nice since I've 
 been away ? 
 
 Nellie. Yes, Tom, I have. What did you bring me? 
 
 Tom. What did I bring you? Oh! something nice. {Takes 
 doll fr oi?t inside coat.) There ! what do you think of that? 
 
 Nellie. Oh! ain't she pretty? {Hugging her.)' I'll always 
 keep her, Tom ; so when I grow up to be a big woman, I'll have 
 her to remember you by, won't I, Tom? 
 
 Tom. Yes, darling ; but I hope you will always remember me 
 without. {He releases her j she runs off, l.) Ah, Si, didn't see 
 you before. How are you ? 
 
 Si. Oh, all right. {Aside.) Or should have been, if it hadn't 
 been for Davie. 
 
 Tom. Uncle Davie, are the lamps all right for the night? 
 
24 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Uncle D. No; I was just going up when you came. I'll go 
 right up and see to them. {Goes, l.) 
 
 Tom. That's right, Davie. I think we are going to have a 
 storm to-night. 
 
 Rose. Uncle Davie, may I go too? I do so want to see the 
 light. 
 
 Uncle D. Why, of course you can, and glad to have your 
 company. 
 
 Rose. Come, Ruth, will you go with us? 
 
 Ruth. To be sure I will. Come, Si. {All exeunt but Tom; 
 Mrs. Manly enters, l. i e.) 
 
 Tom. Well, mother, I have at last got the money. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, Tom ; but it came too late to save the old home. 
 {With emotion.} I don't believe we shall ever be as happy again 
 as we were there. Tom, we are wanderers now, we haven't got a 
 place in the whole world we can call home. When I think of all 
 the happy days we've spent in the dear old place— O Tom, 
 it's too much, too much. {Lays head on Tom's slioulder and 
 weeps.) 
 
 Tom {puts arm round her', James Hammond enters at back, 
 and stands listening). There, mother, don't cry, — don't cry, 
 mother. It won't bring back the old home, and when I see tears in 
 your eyes, why, my heart comes up in my throat. {Brushes away 
 a tear.) I — I — {Sees satchel.') Why, mother, we may not have to 
 lose it after all. {Opens satchel.) See here, mother — fifteen 
 thousand dollars ! 'Tis a big sum for a poor fisherman to have in 
 the house at one time, ain't it? 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes ; I shall be scared to death all the while it's 
 here. 
 
 Tom. Which won't be long. We'll put it in Nellie's room to- 
 night, and in the morning I'll carry it to the bank. We can buy 
 the old place back again. I shall see Squire Hammond about it 
 to-night. (James shakes fist and exit.) 
 
 Mrs. M. Oh, I hope you can, Tom ; but I shan't sleep a wink 
 to-night. (Enter Rose.) 
 
 Rose. Well, Tom, I have completed my tour of inspection. 
 The lights are wonderful, but I must say that the view from the 
 windows is anything but cheerful. Away on the right as far as the 
 eye can see is nothing but a watery waste, while on the left great 
 high ledges rise from the water. O Tom, I don't see how you 
 can be happy here. 
 
 Tom. And why not, Rose ? Here the music of the beating sea 
 rises incessantly, now soft and sad, now powerful and grand ; and 
 you know I always loved the sea. 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land's sake, them fish is all burning up! {Exit 
 hur?'iedly, l.) 
 
 Rose. Why, Tom, you don't mean to say you are happy here? 
 After — after you have lost your old home? 
 
 Tom {takes her hands). Yes, Rose, I — I have lost my home; 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 25 
 
 but I have found the love of a true woman — your love, Rose. 
 That's what makes me happy. But when I think of the beautiful 
 home you are leaving for my sake, I feel as though I wasn't doing 
 right. 
 
 Rose. O Tom, the house don't make the home, 'tis the love 
 that's in it. We've got the love, Tom, and now that Guardy has 
 given his consent, we have reason to hope for the home. 
 
 Tom. Yes, Rose ; and I am going to Squire Hammond to-night, 
 and try to buy the old place back again. 
 
 Rose. You are ? Oh, I know he'll sell it to you, and we'll be. 
 so happy, won't we, Tom? Won't we, Aunt Ruth ? {Turns to 
 speak to her.) Why she's gone. {Distant thunder.) What's 
 that? A storm coming? O Tom, I must go now before it 
 reaches us. {Lights gradually down ..) 
 
 Tom. You are right, Rose ; besides I want to get back as soon 
 as I can, as mother don't like to be left alone with the money. 
 {Calls oJFl.) Nellie ! {She runs on from L.) 
 
 Nellie. What do you want, Tom ? 
 
 Tom. I am going over to town with Miss Prescott, and I wanted to 
 kiss you good-night before I went, for you will be in bed before I 
 get back. {Thunder.) 
 
 Nellie. Oh, don't go, Tom ! 
 
 Tom. Why you ain't afraid of the thunder, are you? 
 
 Nellie. Not when you are here. Don't go, Tom. 
 
 Tom. But I must, darling, and if you are afraid while I am 
 gone, say the little prayer I taught you. Then you will be alt 
 right, won't you? {She shakes her head slowly.) 6 Rose, do you 
 wonder that I love the sea when it gives me such treasures as this? 
 It's just three years ago to-night that I found her, and if she was 
 my own child, I couldn't love her anv more than I do now. 
 {Kisses her ; rises.) I must tell Uncle Davie about the lights and 
 then we will go. {Exit L.) 
 
 Rose {puts arm round Nellie and kisses her). So three 
 years ago to-night Tom found you ; can you remember it? 
 
 Nellie. No, Tom said I was asleep when he found me, and all 
 covered with sea-weed; and, isn't it funny, he said he thought I 
 was a little fish ? 
 
 Rose {laughing). Did you believe him ? 
 
 Nellie. Yes'; for Tom says 'tis naughty to tell wrong stories, 
 and Tom ain't naughty. Oh ! I love him so, don't you ? 
 
 Rose. Yes, yes"! Three years ago to-night ! Why, this is your 
 birthday ; has Tom given you any present ? 
 
 Nellie. Yes, he gave me a great big doll. 
 
 Roe. Well, then. I'll give you something. {Takes locket from 
 neck and puts it on Nellie.) There, isn't that pretty? Always 
 keep that to remember me by. {Enter Tom ; thunder and 
 lightning.) 
 
 Tom. Come, Rose, there's no time to be lost, the storm will be 
 here before we know it. {Takes Nellie in his arms and kisses 
 
26 a fisherman's luck. 
 
 her.) Good-by, darling, I'll be back soon. (Rose and Tom 
 exeunt; Nellie throws kisses after them; Uncle Davie comes 
 on L., and speaks off right.) 
 
 Uncle D. Say, Tom, look out for her, and don't let her get 
 wet. Ha, ha, ha ! (Thunder and 'lightning-, Uncle Davie comes 
 down; Mrs. Manly comes on l.) I tell you it's going to be a 
 wild night. I guess Til go up and stay by the light. (Exit, L.) 
 
 Nellie {running to Mrs. Manly). O Grammy, just see what 
 Miss Rose gave me ! Ain't it pretty? 
 
 Mrs. M. (looking at locket). Yes, it is, child, and no mistake. 
 But come, Nellie, we must get ready for bed. (Thunder.) Oh ! I 
 do hope Tom will get back before the storm gets here. Come, 
 Nellie. (They exeunt, l. ; enter Squire, r. ; looks round cau- 
 tiously.) 
 
 Squire. Can it be possible that David Morris still lives? I 
 am sure that was he that I saw at Manly's. What if it should be, 
 and he recognized me ? A life in State's Prison. No, no, it can't 
 be he ; for I saw the dark waters close around him as he fell into 
 their embrace. (Becomes agitated^) I saw his white, upturned 
 face as he sank beneath the waves. That was years ago, years ago ; 
 but those eyes, those eyes, — I see them yet. Those eyes ! My 
 God, they pierce my very soul ! Fool ! The money — mine, mine ! 
 (Trembles ; enter James; as he comes down.) Back, back, or I'll 
 kill you ! (Sees James.) Why, how you startled me. You see 
 we've had our trip for nothing ; Manly has gone. But why are 
 you so anxious for me to see him? He can't have any very 
 pleasant feelings toward me after what has happened. (Thunder.) 
 
 James. Yes ; you came very near spoiling everything with that 
 temper of yours. I tell you, we must use a little strategy. Rose is 
 not the one to be forced into a marriage with one she does not like. 
 As for Manly, he loves her, but so do I, and I will win her yet, if 
 not by fair means, then, I swear, by foul. 
 
 Squire. Oh, ho! then you do love her, do you? 
 
 James. Love her? I never realized that I did love her till I 
 knew she cared for Manly ; but let him beware, he has come be- 
 tween me and the woman I love, and now, I swear, I'll have my 
 revenge. 
 
 Squire. That's the right kind of spirit, boy — the right kind 
 of spirit; but what do you propose to do? (Thunder and light- 
 ning. ) 
 
 James. You know after that scene at his home, I went to him 
 and told him you were very sorry you had been so hasty, and as 
 long as he had been lucky enough to get a little money, you were 
 willing he should marry Rose. 
 
 Squire. And did he believe it? 
 
 James. Believe it? Why, he's so blindly in love, he would 
 believe anything. Well, he didn't get the money in time to save 
 his house, and you know why. 
 
 Squire (starting). Don't speak so loud ; somebody may over- 
 hear you. 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 2j 
 
 James. To-day he got the money, and he is on his way now to 
 see you about buying the place back again. 
 
 Squire {thunder and lightning) . How do you know this ? 
 
 James. When I came in here a few moments ago, 1 heard a 
 conversation between him and his mother, so you must agree to 
 sell it. 
 
 Squire. But I don't want to sell it. I wouldn't sell it for twice 
 the money I paid for it. 
 
 James (coming close to Squire). Fool! Do you want to turn 
 Rose against you again? When he offers, you accept, no matter 
 what the price may be. He may make you an offer for the place, 
 but he will never buy it. 
 
 Squire. Why, what do you mean ? 
 
 James {looks round cautiously). Every cent of his money is in 
 that room, I saw him put it there. (Significantly .) That money 
 may disappear — somebody may take it ; and how can he buy the 
 place if he hasn't got the money? 
 
 Squire. Do you mean to say that you would steal it? 
 
 James. Yes ; if you choose to put it that way. All's fair in 
 love. 
 
 Squire. And what then ? 
 
 James. What then ? Why, he will have no home in the place. 
 I will get him a situation in Boston with a friend of mine. That 
 will separate them. Once get them separated and Rose will be in 
 my power. Do you understand now? 
 
 Squire. Yes, yes ; but it's a little risky. Suppose they should 
 suspect us ? 
 
 James. They can .prove nothing. Now, you see why we must 
 be on friendly terms with Manly, don't you? (Thunder and 
 lightning.) You take the boat and go home as fast as possible, so 
 as to see Manly before he returns. I will stay here and get the 
 money, then take the remaining boat and follow. (Thunder and 
 lightning.) 
 
 Squire. Yes, my part shall be done, never fear ; but be sure 
 you don't make any mistake — be sure you don't make a mistake. 
 {Exit, R.) 
 
 James (lights down ; thunder and lightning). It's a devil of a 
 night, but all the better for me. The darkness will aid me in my 
 work. (Goes into room and gets satchel.) Now, Tom Manly, we 
 shall see who will win. (Opens satchel.) Yes, here it is all safe. 
 (Stage dark ; Nellie enters, l. with doll; thunder and lightning.) 
 
 Nellie (at back) . Tom, Tom ! 
 
 James (puts satchel behind him). What's that? Some one 
 coming — curse the luck. ( Thunder and lightning.) 
 
 Nellie (coming down ; James keeps his face turned). Oh ! I 
 thought you was Tom. Ain't you afraid of the thunder, Mister? 
 
 James (disguising his voice; aside). 'Tis the young one. 
 (Aloud.) No, go to bed, quick, do you hear? 
 
 Nellie. You ain't a bit like Tom. Oh, I wish he was here ; 
 
28 a fisherman's luck. 
 
 then I wouldn't be afraid. I shall tell him when he comes. 
 {Exit, l.) 
 
 James {fiercely). Tell him when he comes. If she knows me, 
 then all will be lost. Curse her! Were it not for her I should not 
 have had this job. {Thunder and lightning.') She shall not tell 
 him — she shall die first. One toss and she is in the waves and 
 who will be the wiser. {Pause.) By heavens, I'll do it! This 
 chloroform shall silence her. {Takes bottle and handkerchief from 
 pocket?) Lucky I brought it with me, for my task will be easier. 
 {Exit, L. ; he re-enters with Nellie in his arms', pauses at c.) 
 'Tis a fearful job, but I must do it. {Goes to door R. Scene 
 changes to exterior of lighthouse ; after scene changes James opens 
 door and stands with Nellie/;; his arms.) Why do I hesitate? 
 I must do it. {Throws Nellie into water at back; Tom comes on 
 in boat from r. ; thunder and lightning?) 
 
 Tom {looking into water). What's that? My God, it's Nellie ! 
 {Throws off coat and jumps into water at back c. ; pauses, then he 
 appears at front c. ; comes up through waves with Nellie in his 
 arms ; she clasps doll in her arms.) 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Sitting-room in two. Table and Chairs, R. c. Rose 
 discovered reading letter. 
 
 Rose. There, I know he will be pleased to get that letter. 
 Dear old Tom, how I should like to see him ! 'Tis nearly a month 
 since he went to Boston, and oh ! what a lonely month it has been ; 
 but his letters are full of hope for the future, so I must be patient. 
 (Puts letter in envelope.) There, I'll not seal it till I get a few 
 violets to put into it. He used to love them so. Til go and get 
 them at once. {Exit, r.ie.; enter James, l. i e.) 
 
 James {looking around). Nobody here? I surely thought I 
 should find Rose here. {Sees letter.) Eh, what's this ? A letter, 
 'tis Rose's hand, and to that cursed fisherman. Will she never 
 cease to think of him ? Why, it's not sealed. {Looks about stage; 
 takes letter from envelope ; reads.) What rubbish ! I wonder if 
 I could imitate her writing. {Sits and writes.) Ah, that's good! 
 Now to write him a letter. {Writes.) There, that's better. 
 {Rises; puts letter in envelope.) Now, if she only — {Stops; 
 looks R.) Some one's coming. {Puts letter on table ; enter Rose 
 r. with violets.) Ah, good-morning, Rose ; so I have found you 
 at last. 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 29 
 
 Rose. Guardy is not here. 
 
 James. Thank you, Rose ; but I did not come to see father, I 
 came to see you, of whom I can never see enough. 
 
 Rose. I don't understand you. {Picks up letter and encloses 
 violets.) 
 
 J ames. I hope to make you do so before long. {Sits.) Won't 
 you come and sit down? 
 
 Rose. I prefer to stand. What did you wish to see me for? 
 
 James. Well, I am going to Boston to-day, and I thought you 
 might like to send some word. 
 
 Rose. You are very kind, but I have no word to send that I 
 cannot send by mail. 
 
 James {rises). Rose, why are you always so cold and distant? 
 You don't seem to be very friendly. 
 
 Rose. I am sorry, I do not wish to be unfriendly. 
 
 James. If you could get Manly out of your head, you would 
 think better of me. 
 
 Rose. It is quite useless to talk to me like that. 
 
 James. There is one thing that you overlook, though I am sorry 
 to have to pain you by saying it. Young Manly is no better than 
 he should be. I have made inquiries about him, and think that I 
 ought to tell you that. 
 
 Rose. If you think to find a passport to my affections or respect 
 even, by base and wilful traducing of one who is not here to refute 
 your vile slanders, you have undertaken a thankless and fruitless 
 task. Such conduct merits but one reward — the contempt and 
 scorn which is its due ; I will not listen to you. {Starts up C. ; 
 James catches her arm.) 
 
 James. You must and shall listen to me. I am sorry to have 
 to speak so roughly, but you have driven me to it. 
 
 Rose. What do you mean ? 
 
 James. You know well what I mean. You always avoid me. 
 If you knew what a hell there was in my heart and brain you would 
 not treat me so. 
 
 Rose. I do not understand you, unless, indeed, you are trying 
 to frighten and insult me. {Looks offK.) 
 
 James. There is no need for you to look for help. I wish 
 neither to frighten nor insult you. O Rose ! why can you not care 
 for me when you know I love you ? 
 
 Rose. You — love — me still? 
 
 James. Yes, I do. Why do you look at me like that? I cannot 
 help it. I loved you when I first saw you after you came home. I 
 have loved you more and more, and now I love you to madness. 
 O Rose ! you must marry me. 
 
 Rose. I marry you I 
 
 James. Oh, don't say you won't. Look, I beg you not to on 
 my knees. {Falls on knees.) 
 
 Rose. Such a thing would be quite impossible for many reasons, 
 but I need only to repeat one that you already are aware of. I am 
 engaged to Mr. Manly. 
 
30 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 James. Bah ! That is nothing; I know that. But you will not 
 throw away such a love as I have to offer for that of a poor fisher- 
 man. Write to him and tell him you have changed your mind. He 
 is not rich, he can hardly get a living. Don't marry a young beg- 
 gar like that. 
 
 Rose. Are you not ashamed to talk to me like this? I tell you 
 that my love is already given, which would have been a sufficient 
 answer to any gentleman, and you reply by saying that you are richer 
 than the man I love. Do you believe a woman thinks of nothing but 
 money, or do you suppose I am to be bought like a beast in the 
 market? I tell you once for all, that you will get nothing by kneel- 
 ing to me. I would rather die than marry you. {Exit, R. I e.) 
 
 James. You shall marry me yet, my fine lady, and if I do not 
 repay your gentle words with interest, my name is not James 
 Hammond. {Exit, L. i e.) 
 
 Scene II. — Plain room in three. Table and ckairs, r. c. Ruth 
 and Mrs. Manly discovered sitting at table. Ruth reading, 
 Mrs. Manly knitting. 
 
 Ruth. Oh, pshaw ! I can't get interested in anything to-night, 
 I believe I'll go to bed. The country was lonesome enough, but 
 here we've lived in the city almost a month, and don't even know 
 our next door neighbor yet. 
 
 Mrs. M. Ruth, what would I give to see some one from home? 
 Oh ! it makes my heart ache to think I may never see the old place 
 again. 
 
 Ruth. And yet, Tom has got a good situation, and his employ- 
 ers like him. It was very kind of Mr. Hammond to get him such 
 a place. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, I know, Ruth ; but I can't help thinking he had 
 something to do with our having to leave Harpswell. 
 
 Ruth. Why, mother, you don't mean to say that you think he 
 was the one that stole the money, and tried to murder Nellie, do 
 you? 
 
 Mrs. M. Well, I don't s'pos' I'd ought to say so, but you know 
 he and the Squire were about all the ones that knew we were to get 
 the money, and then he wanted to marry Rose, so why shouldn't he 
 want to get rid of Tom ? 
 
 Ruth. Why, mother, you wrong Mr. Hammond. I don't be- 
 lieve he cares for Rose, now that he knows she is going to marry 
 Tom, and as for Rose, if she is the true woman I think she is, she 
 would marry Tom in spite of a thousand Hammonds. 
 
 Mrs. M. {rises'). I hope so, Ruth, for if she didn't it would 
 break the poor lad's heart. Lord knows it's 'most broke now, 
 a-worrying over that poor child. She's been sick ever since that 
 awful night, and don't seem to get any better, poor little thing. 
 
 Ruth {rises). Never fear for her, mother, as long as Tom 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 3 1 
 
 watches her. Her slightest wish is a command for him. (Ruth 
 and Mrs. Manly exeunt, L. : enter James, r.) 
 
 James. Thus far everything has worked to a charm. Neither 
 Manly nor Rose suspects. She posted a letter this morning which 
 will decide my fate. 'Twas a bold step but — {Enter Tom Manly, 
 r.) Ah! here he is now. {They shake hands .) How do you do, 
 Tom? 
 
 Tom. Why, hullo, James, you are quite a stranger. When did 
 you come up? 
 
 James. This morning; and as I had a little time to myself, I 
 thought I would run over and see you. 
 
 Tom. Glad you did, James, glad you did. How are all the folks 
 in Harpswell? 
 
 James. Particularly Rose, eh? Ha, ha, ha ! Well, she's enjoy- 
 ing the very best of health, and seems to be as happy as ever. 
 How do you like your place, Tom? 
 
 Tom. ' First-rate ; and believe me, James, I don't know how to 
 thank you for getting it for me. 
 
 James. Then don't try. If you like it, I am satisfied. (Aside.) 
 Especially as it keeps him away from Rose. 
 
 Tom. Yes, James, I like my place, and shall try hard to make 
 a little fortune for myself. And when I do, oh ! then I shall indeed 
 be happy, for I shall make Rose my wife, (James turns away.) 
 I know this subject is not an agreeable one to you, but did — did she 
 send any word to me ? 
 
 James. No-o. I — I believe she said she had written. Why 
 do you think it is not an agreeable subject to me, Tom? To be 
 sure, I did try to win her, but as you carried off the honors, why I 
 must take my defeat with as much grace as possible, and besides, 
 I am not the one to brood over trifles. 
 
 Tom. The love of a pure woman is no trifle, James, 1 tis one of 
 the choicest gifts that Heaven can bestow. Hammond, when you 
 once get deeply and truly in love, you will see the truth of my 
 words. The only drawback to my happiness is my poverty. 
 
 James. Ah, Manly, Rose has always lived in luxury, and I fear 
 will soon tire of living in a cottage. Speaking of money, that 
 reminds me, have you ever got any information as to who stole 
 your money from the lighthouse? 
 
 TOxM. No ; and Pm afraid I never shall. If I had money I 
 would get a detective, but as it is, I must leave it to the one Great 
 Detective. (Points up.) And should he in his own good time 
 clear up the mystery, and show me the perpetrator of the deed 
 (fiercely), I'd kill him. 
 
 James (agitatea). Why, Tom, you — you would murder a man 
 because he coveted your money, would you? 
 
 Tom. James Hammond, there are worse things in the world 
 than the mere loss of riches. As long as I am strong and have my 
 health, I care little for the loss of the money, for it didn't come by 
 honest means any way, but when I see Nellie suffering on a sick 
 
32 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 bed day after day, ever since that night, and know that the fiend 
 that stole the money is the cause of all her misery, I have an 
 insane desire to grasp him by the throat, and hurl him into the 
 black waters as he threw her. 
 
 James (nervous). Can she not remember the — the scoundrel's 
 face, or give some description of him? 
 
 Tom. No ; she was so terrified at the time that she can remem- 
 ber nothing. 
 
 James (aside). Good, I can breathe freer now. 
 
 Tom. But, hark you, Hammond, I believe the time will come 
 when I shall stand face to face with him, and when I do — God 
 pity him, for I never will. 
 
 James. Why, Manly, you are working yourself into a passion. 
 Let's change the subject. Have — have you any word to send 
 Rose ? 
 
 Tom. To Rose ? Yes, yes ; tell her my love has grown stronger 
 since I cannot see her; tell her my dreams are of her; tell her — 
 O James, it must be hard for you to bear such messages as these, 
 and I will not burden you with them, but you — you will speak a 
 good word for me, won't you ? (He nods.) And here — (takes off 
 ring and gives him) here, take this ring and give her; 'twill be a 
 message in itself. And now you must excuse me, won't you, as I 
 must go after Nellie's medicine. (Exit, R.) 
 
 James. Oh, certainly. (Looks after Tom.) Poor fool, how I 
 hate him. Now, then, to consummate my plot and make good my 
 prophecy. No other woman has stirred me as this simple school- 
 girl has done, and she shall be mine, and never his. Once break 
 her faith in him and the rest is easy. {Looks at ring.) This ring 
 shall aid me. Ah, Tom Manly, you may boast of your gifts from 
 Heaven, — bah! he makes me sick with his nonsensical ideas — 
 but you haven't got them yet and what's more, you never will. 
 (Exit, R. ; pause; then Si enters, R.) 
 
 Si (looking offR.). Now I wonder what brings that fellow here? 
 No good, 1 bet. (Looks around.) So this is where Tom lives, is 
 it. I wonder if Ruth has missed me any since she has been here 
 in the city, or has she got some other poor fellow on the string. 
 The thought is madness. I wrote her a letter, and for fear it might 
 go astray I brought it myself. I'll (takes letter from pocket) just 
 lay it here on the table and wait for her. (Looks off L.) I sha'n't 
 have to wait long for here she comes, so I guess I'll hide and hear 
 what she says about it. (Hides behind wi?ig j enter Ruth, l.) 
 
 Ruth. Oh dear, I wish Tom was here. I can't sleep till he 
 comes, so I'll read. (Sits at table-, sees letter.) What, a letter? 
 And for me. It's from Si — I know the writing, the dear old fellow. 
 (Si comes down j she opens letter and reads .) " My dear Ruth " — 
 Oh, the old darling ! (Presses it to lips j bus. for Si.) " We are 
 having a singing-school here, and the other night I went home 
 with Mattie 'Earle"— He did, did he. (Reads.) "And she 
 called me in, and I stayed 'till eleven o'clock." Oh, the impudent 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 33 
 
 creature, how dare she? And as for Si, he may go with her if he 
 wants too ; he don't know anything, anyway. {Bus. for Si ; 
 reads.) " But ail the while I was there my thoughts were of you, 
 Ruth." Well, now, I don't know; Si ain't so bad after all,' but 
 he's a little bit too flighty. {Reads.) "And when I looked into 
 her eyes — oh, Ruth ! don't think I flatter, but your eyes are beau- 
 tiful compared with hers." {Presses letter to lips.) Si always did 
 like my eyes. He's just a darling, and if he were here, I'd hug 
 him this minute. {Bus. for Si ; reads.) " But I am so lonesome 
 since you went away, I think I shall go with her all the time. I 
 mean to get married and settle clown ; I would have loved you 
 if you had loved me in return." {Rising and crushing letter.) If I 
 had loved him in return ! Didn't I love him? {Crying.) But — 
 but the big fool didn't have brains enough to know it. {Buries face 
 in handkerchief; Si puts arm round her j she looks up.) O Si ! 
 {Throws arms round neck.) 
 
 Si. O Ruth. {Kisses her; enter Uncle Davie, l.) 
 
 Uncle D. O Moses! By thunder, Si, how are ye? {Shakes 
 hands.) You're quite a stranger round here; when did you come 
 up? 
 
 Si. This morning. 
 
 Uncle D. Quite a big town, ain't it? 
 
 Si. Well, now, 'tis. First time I was ever here ; bet there's 
 lots of fun here. 
 
 Ruth. Yes, Si, but I'd rather be back to old Harpswell again, 
 where there's plenty of room to move round in. 
 
 Uncle D. Yes, and where there's somebody to move around 
 with, hey, Ruth? Sorry you're so lonesome, but it's something 
 you've got to get used to. 
 
 Si. When I got through with my business (you know my weak- 
 ness), I went to the theatre. You know Shakespeare says, " All 
 the world's a stage, and all the men and women want to ride on 
 top," and I'm one of 'em. {Strikes attitude.) 
 
 Uncle D. Where did you go ? 
 
 Si. Went to the Globe. 
 
 Ruth. To the opera? Oh, my! 
 
 Si. Yes, to the opera. You know I never went to an opera before, 
 and I tell you I was in my element when I was shot out of a cab 
 into the midst of the blaze of lights in the theatre. There I was in 
 the thick of the tonies crowding up-stairs — the ladies were most 
 beautifully dressed, their shoulders were dazzling — lit up the whole 
 house ! I never saw so many real shoulders in my life before. 
 
 Uncle D. Well, glad you're enjoying yourself. How long are 
 you going to stay ? 
 
 Si. I've got to leave to-night, as I promised I would. 
 
 Ruth. O Si ! so soon ? Why must you go to-night? 
 
 Uncle D. Ha, ha, ha! There you go again. I tell you, it's 
 something you've got to get used to ; but there, I'll go and leave 
 you alone while you are here. 'Twon't be my fault if you don't 
 enjoy yourself. {Exit. l. i e.. laughing.) 
 
34 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Si. Well, you see, business is business, and if I am not busy 
 enough for business, why, business will not be busy enough to give 
 me business, see? 
 
 Ruth. Yes ; and now, Si Kidder, we are alone, I want to know 
 what business you had sending me that letter ? 
 
 Si. That letter ? Why, that was just for fun, that's all ! 
 
 Ruth. And — and you didn't go with Mattie Earle? 
 
 Si. Why, no, Ruth ; but would you have felt so awfully bad if 
 I had ? 
 
 Ruth. Well, — I — I don't know ! I might. 
 
 Si {looks around). Ruth, will you give me — 
 
 Ruth {aside). Oh, my! He's going to propose. Yes, Si, 
 what? 
 
 Si. Something to eat ; I'm awful hungry. 
 
 Ruth {pouting). Is that all you want? 
 
 Si. Well, that'll be all at present. 
 
 Ruth. Then you just wait, I'll get you something. {Exit.) 
 
 Si. Now, that's the kind of a girl to have. {Strikes attitude.) 
 " With eyes like open lotus flowers, bright in the morning rain," 
 Shakespeare. {Enter Ruth with pie.) 
 
 Ruth. There, here you are, Si. I know you'll like it, I made it 
 myself. 
 
 Si. Ruth, you are a darling. It will taste so much sweeter if 
 your fair hands have moulded it. {Takes bite, and speaks with 
 mouth full.) I always did like pie, especially your pie, Ruth. 
 
 Ruth. Did you, Si? I'm so glad. 
 
 Si. Yes ; and I've been thinking if — if — I — that is — if — well 
 — how nice it would be if I only had somebody to make pies for me 
 all the time. 
 
 Ruth. Why don't you get Mattie Earle? 
 
 Si. Oh, pshaw ! I don't want Mattie Earle ; I want you, Ruth. 
 {Puts arm around her ; has pie in other hand.) 
 
 Ruth. O Si, do you really? 
 
 Si. Yes, Ruth, just say the word and we two will be one, as 
 Shakespeare says. {Strikes attitude.) 
 
 Ruth. Now, look here, Si. Shakespeare ain't making love to 
 me. If you've got anything to say, just say it yourself. 
 
 Si. Then, Ruth, I swear to you by this junk of pie, that I love 
 you as I love my life. Will you give me the privilege of calling 
 you my better half? 
 
 Ruth. O Si! I'm — I'm — s'pos' I will, but you'll have to ask 
 mother. {Enter Mrs. Manly and Uncle Davie, l.) 
 
 Mrs. M. I've heard every word you've said. {Holding out 
 arms.) Si, come right here to your mother. 
 
 Si. Then you — you — give your consent ? 
 
 Mrs. M. Well, 1 s'pos' she might do better; but I'm so glad to 
 see anybody from home, I don't know but I'd give my consent if 
 old Jeb Doughty had asked her. 
 
 Uncle D. Well, it's something you've got to get used to. 
 
luck. 35 
 
 Mrs. M. Si, how's everybody down to Harpswell? We ain't 
 heard a word from there since we left. 
 
 Si. Oh ! all right. Hannah Richards got married to Deacon 
 Goodby the other day. 
 
 Mrs' M. What, that old maid ? 
 
 Uncle D. Lord, save the Deacon ! Anything else for excite- 
 ment down there, Si? 
 
 Si. Lish Meally's lost that brindle cow of his. 
 
 Uncle D. Sho! 
 
 Si {looking at watch). Jumping Jemima ! I've only got fifteen 
 minutes to catch that train. 
 
 Ruth. O Si ! I'm so sorry you must go. 
 
 Si. No more than I am to go ; but I'll come again some day and 
 stay longer, and say — {Shakes hands.) I'll send the ring as soon 
 as I can. ( Starts for door ; enter Tom.) 
 
 Tom. Why, hullo, Si ! {They shake hands.) I just see one of 
 your townspeople. 
 
 Si. Yes ; James Hammond. I saw him as I came in. 
 
 Tom. Si, do — do you see Rose very often ? 
 
 Si. No ; I guess she don't go out much. She goes to ride with 
 young Hammond once in a while. 
 
 Mrs. M. Well, I must say, I admire her taste. 
 
 Si {looking at watch). jerusha ! Only five minutes to catch 
 that train. Good-by all. {Puts arm round Ruth.) " Eyes 
 look your last, arms take your last embrace." Shakespeare. 
 {Exeunt Ruth, and Si, r. u. e.) 
 
 Tom. Weil, come, mother, I've got Nellie's medicine. We 
 must give it to her, and then you had better go to bed. You must 
 be tired. I will sit up with her to-night. {Exit, L. ; stage gradually 
 dark.) 
 
 Mrs, M. Poor boy! He's worrying himself to death. {Exit, l.) 
 
 Uncle P. {yawning). Well, I must go to bed myself. {Enter, 
 Ruth.) 
 
 Ruth. Yes, it's time for all little boys to be abed, and, Uncle 
 Davie, I bid you good-night and pleasant dreams. (Exit, L.) 
 
 Uncle D. If my heart was as light as yours, 1 might have them, 
 but no — no — 
 
 Scene III. — Chamber in four. Cot-bed, L., in which Nellie lies 
 asleep; table, c, with practical drawers; chairs, R. and L. ; enter 
 Tom l. i e.) 
 
 Tom (looking at cot). Oh, I hope she will be better in the morn- 
 ing. She sleeps, so I will not give her the medicine. {Enter Mrs. 
 Manly, l., with revolver.) 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land's sake, Tom, I wish you wouldn't be so 
 careless with that pistol. I found it on the floor of your room. 
 {Giving it to him.) 
 
2,6 a fisherman's luck. 
 
 Tom. It must have dropped from my clothes when I changed 
 them. It's one Mr. Brown gave me when I watched in the store 
 nights. {Puts it in table drawer; enter Ruth with letter.) 
 
 Ruth. Here's a letter Si brought Tom. I forgot to give it to 
 him before. {Exit l.) 
 
 Mrs. M. A letter. For the land's sake, who's it from? 
 
 Tom {looks at letter'). 'Tis Rose's writing. {Tears open letter; 
 reads ; then drops letter and staggers back.) 
 
 Mrs. M. Why, Tom, what is the matte 
 
 Tom. Oh, don't ask me — read that letter. She has broken the 
 engagement, and is going to marry James Hammond. 
 
 Mrs. M. {picking up letter). Oh, the disgraceful, unworthy — 
 
 Tom. Don't, mother, don't. No matter what she has done, God 
 help me, I love her still. (Sinks into chair, buries face in hands.) 
 
 Mrs. M. I told you, Tom, that money was the most powerful. 
 
 Tom. Oh, don't speak to me — don't. Go, go, mother, and 
 leave me to myself ! 
 
 Mrs. M. Don't take it so hard, Tom, she ain't worthy of your 
 love. {Exit L.) 
 
 Tom. O Rose, Rose, would to God I had died, before I 
 learned of your perfidy. (Bows head j Nellie calls.) 
 
 Nellie. Tom ! (Pause.) Tom ! 
 
 Tom {springing up; goes to her). Yes, dear, do you want your 
 medicine now? 
 
 Nellie. No, Tom ; I feel so much better I don't want any more. 
 (Tom sits on cot, and takes her in his arms.) 
 
 Tom. Oh, I'm so glad, darling. 
 
 Nellie. Oh, I've had such a nice dream, Tom. I thought I 
 was sailing on such a beautiful river, and you was with me, Tom, 
 you and Rose, and the sun shone on the water until it sparkled like 
 little diamonds. And as we sailed along I thought mamma stood 
 on the shore and beckoned me to come ; but I couldn't leave you, 
 Tom — and then I awoke. I think I am going to die, Tom. 
 
 Tom. To die ? Oh, don't say that, darling, don't ! My heart 
 is broken already, and to have you taken away, it would kill me. 
 
 Nellie (taking locket from neck). Tom, Miss Rose gave this 
 to me to keep as long as I lived. Now, Tom, you take it. (Tom 
 takes it.) And when I'm dead, give it back to her and tell her to 
 always wear it for my sake, and tell her I want her to love you as 
 much as I have, won't you, Tom? 
 
 Tom {aside). O God! I cannot. 
 
 Nellie. Won't you promise me, Tom? 
 
 Tom (pause ; looks at Nellie). Yes, darling, I — I will. 
 
 Nellie. O Tom, you have been so good to me, I hate to 
 leave you. Kiss Grammy and Ruth for me, and tell Uncle Davie 
 to be good, and, Tom, where are you? 
 
 Tom. Here I am, darling, don't you see me ? 
 
 Nellie. Tom, I want to go home to see Miss Rose. Won't 
 you take me, Tom? I would so much like to see the water 
 
A FISHERMAN" S LUCK. 37 
 
 once more, and there is such a noise here. Can't we go back, 
 Tom ? 
 
 Tom. Yes, darling, when you get better. 
 
 Nellie. O Tom, listen. (Paused) Don't you hear that beau- 
 tiful music ? And — see — see, there's mamma. See, she wants 
 us to come, Tom ; won't you go, Tom ? Please come. (She gasps 
 and dies, and falls back in his arms ; he lays her down gently, 
 rises and stares at Nellie.) 
 
 Tom. Dead! dead! My little Nellie dead. {Bows head and 
 weeps.) Home gone, Rose — Rose — gone — Nellie gone! My 
 God, it is complete ! Oh, what have I got to live for now ? I wish 
 I was dead — dead ! Yes, and in that drawer is the instrument of 
 death ; a slight pressure of the trigger and I should be beyond all 
 pain and sorrow, and be with little Nellie. {Weeps.) By Heaven, 
 I'll do it! (Opens drawer for pistol, and gets Bible instead ; looks 
 at it, then reads.) Mother, yes ! I have got something to live for, 
 — something to protect. I was wrong to think of self-destruction. 
 (Bends over cot.) Dead! No — no — not that, not that. Come, 
 Nellie, we'll go back — we'll go back. (Takes her in his arms; 
 enter Mrs. Manly.) 
 
 Mrs. M. Did you call, Tom? 
 
 Tom (down a). Come, mother, get your things on; we are 
 going home — Nellie and me. 
 
 Mrs. M. (at back ; weeps). The poor lad's lost his mind. 
 
 Tom. We are going home; we are going to see Miss Rose, 
 ain't we, Nellie? (Looks at Nellie, then drops on one knee.) 
 Nellie, won't you speak to me ? (Pants.) Dead — dead. (Slowly 
 raises his hand toward heaven.) O God, Thy will be done ! 
 
 SLOW CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene. — Rose's home in Harpswell. A rich room scene. Chairs, 
 R. and L., and anything that will indicate wealth. Sofa, L., on 
 which is Tom at rise of curtain. Uncle Davie stands at head, 
 with hand on Tom's brow. 
 
 Uncle D. Well, we're here at last ; started this morning from 
 Boston. Tom was bound to come. The poor lad was awfully cut 
 up, but — (sighs) I s'pos' it's something he's got to get used to. 
 Hulloa ! (Listens; quartet sings old song off stage at back; Tom 
 rises as song ceases.) 
 
 Tom. I — where am I? Where have I been? Oh, it's you, 
 Davie. How strange you look — I must have been dreaming. 
 
 Uncle D. Have ye, Tom? 
 
$S a fisherman's luck. 
 
 Tom. Yes ; the clouds were rolling over, purplish, dark, and 
 threatening, and ere they broke a little hand — my Nellie's hand — 
 parted the vapory curtain, and through the aperture thus formed 
 came streams of dazzling light, lighting our pathway to a beautiful 
 paradise beyond. 
 
 Uncle D. Well, Tom, I ain't much on dreams, but that sounds 
 good. I hope it will bring you good luck. 
 
 Tom. Oh, I hope so, Davie; bat sometimes when I think of my 
 past luck, I wish I was dead. 
 
 Uncle D. Come, come, Tom, you must not take on like that. 
 Those things happen to most men in the course of their lives. 
 Why, Tom, you are all right. Don't you call that luck when old 
 Hammond offered this place for sale, and you got the chance to 
 buy it? 
 
 Tom. Yes; and luckiest of all in having such a friend as you, 
 Davie. What would my little family have done, but for you? O 
 Davie, how can I ever repay the kindness? 
 
 Uncle D. There, there, Tom, don't talk like that. Didn't you 
 snatch me from the very jaws of death ? And ought I not to be 
 good to you and yours? You are the only friends I have in the 
 world. 
 
 Tom. Don't say that, Davie, I'm sure you've got lots of friends ; 
 but have you ever learned anything of your daughter? 
 
 Uncle D. No, Tom ; since you have been sick, I have searched 
 everywhere, but 'tis no use, Tom. I don't believe I'll ever see her 
 again, and if you will let me I want to live here with you till the 
 sun of my life goes down, and then perhaps I shall see her there. 
 (Points tip.) But, Tom, why did you come to this place after they 
 had gone? You — you can't have any very pleasant thoughts 
 about — about Rose. 
 
 Tom. Don't speak of her, Davie ; let her memory be dead be- 
 tween us. I loved her with my whole life, and believed she loved 
 me; but she — she sold herself. What do I care what the price 
 was, whether it was money or position. You know I have passed 
 the happiest hours of my life here, and the good book teaches us 
 to forgive and forget. 
 
 Uncle D. Yes ; but it's darned hard to forget, ain't it, Tom? 
 
 Tom {nods). I came here to keep my promise to the dead. 
 
 Uncle D. What? I don't understand. There's nobody dead 
 here. 
 
 Tom (tenderly). No, Davie ; but when Nellie died she made me 
 promise to give this little locket to Ro — Miss Prescott. (Pulls 
 locket from pocket.) 
 
 Uncle D. (takes locket and looks at it eagerly). Tom, Tom! 
 (Staggers back.) For God's sake, Tom ! where did you get it ? 
 
 Tom. Why, Davie, what is the matter? 
 
 Uncle D. -Never mind me, where did you get that locket? 
 
 Tom. Why, I told you Nellie gave it to me. 
 
 Uncle D. Yes, yes ; but who gave it to her? 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 39 
 
 Tom. Why, Miss Prescott gave it to her on the very night she 
 was thrown into the water. Why, did you ever see it before? 
 
 Uncle D. (Joyously). Ever see it before? I should say I had. 
 Tom, that dream of yours is coming true. Nellie's hand has 
 parted the curtain, and I can see the light already. Tom, will you 
 let me take that locket for one hour? 
 
 Tom. Why, of course I will, two if you like. 
 
 Uncle D. Oh, thank you, Tom, thank you. (Puts handker- 
 chief to eyes.) Don't mind me, Tom, but my scuppers are running 
 over. I tell ye there's an old saying, " It's always darkest just be- 
 fore dawn. 11 We've been groping around in the dark for the past 
 year, but now I can see the sun rising, and before it gets much 
 higher, we will have a picnic here — no, it'll be a regular circus. 
 But come, Tom, we'll go over to the old place and I'll tell ye all 
 about it. {They exeunt, c. d. ; enter Rose, l. i e.) 
 
 Rose. I must have been mistaken, but I thought I heard voices 
 in here. (Sits.) Oh, how long must I endure this torture, this 
 pain. One year ago I was happy — oh, so happy; but now all the 
 beauty and light have gone out of my life, and I — I think if I have 
 to endure much more of the anguish which I sometimes suffer, I 
 shall go mad. (Bows head and weeps ; Davie enters, c. D.) 
 
 Uncle D. I left Tom sitting on a rock staring at the water as 
 if he had never seen any before, and hurried back to find Rose. 
 Tumbled over that darned wall and nigh broke my neck. (Sees 
 Rose.) Oh, there she is! Yes, the same proud head, the same 
 hair. Oh, she must be my child ; and if she is, things will be 
 mighty uncomfortable for old Farren, or Hammond, as he calls 
 himself. (Taps table.) Rose! (Taps again.) Miss Prescott! 
 (Rose looks up, sees Uncle Davie, runs to meet him.) 
 
 Rose. O Uncle Davie, I'm so glad to see you ! 
 
 Uncle D. Are ye ? Same here ; but, bless me, what is the 
 matter with you ? You look as though you wasn't happy and — 
 where has your smile gone to, Rose? 
 
 Rose. Never mind me ; you must tell me all about yourself 
 first. Where have you been, and what have you been doing all 
 these long months? 
 
 Uncle D. Oh, I've been knocking round as usual, but I got 
 tired of it, so here I am back again. But, Rose, you look as though 
 you had been crying. What's the matter? 
 
 Rose. I have been thinking. Uncle Davie, that it is one year 
 ago to-day that Tom died. 
 
 Uncle D. (aside). The devil he did! There is something 
 wrong here. (Aloud.) Yes, so he did — so he did. 
 
 Rose. O Uncle Davie, were you with him when he died? 
 What did he say? 
 
 Uncle D. Y-e-s I — I was with him, but I — I've forgot what 
 he said. 
 
 Rose. Forgot? O Davie, how could you? See (takes letter 
 from bosom), here is the letter he wrote me. (Gives him letter.) 
 
40 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Uncle D. {reads). "Dear Rose: — Good-by. I am dying of 
 fever. James will kindly give you my ring when it is over. Try 
 and forget me and be happy without me. Too weak to write more. 
 Good-by. Tom. 1 ' {Aside.) The miserable cuss ! 
 
 Rose. What were you saying? 
 
 Uncle D. Oh, nothing, nothing. {Aside.) I see it all now ; 
 but we'll see — we'll see, William Farren. {To Rose.) Rose, who 
 gave you that letter? 
 
 Rose. James gave it to me when he gave me the ring. He was 
 there when he died, you know. 
 
 Uncle D. Yes. {Aside.) It's a wonder his delicate nerves 
 stood it. But, Rose — was — was you real sorry that he died? 
 
 Rose. Uncle Davie, if all your heart and soul were wrapped 
 up in one person, and she died, would you not be sorry ? 
 
 Uncle D. {aside). I wish Tom could hear that; he'd be glad 
 he was dead. Yes, I s'pos' I should ; but ain't ye happy here, 
 Rose ? 
 
 Rose. O Davie, I suppose I should be, for they are so good to 
 me, and — I most forgot, this is my wedding-day. 
 
 Uncle D. Most forgot your wedding-day! You can't feel as I 
 did when I was married. That was all I could think of. 
 
 Rose. Oh, tell me about it, do. Was — was the bride pretty? 
 
 Uncle D. Yes, Rose, she was — pretty and good. She looked 
 a great deal like you, Rose ! 
 
 Rose. Now you have descended to flattery. 
 
 Uncle D. Rose, did you ever see this before? {Shows locket.) 
 
 Rose. Why, yes ; I gave it to Nellie on her birthday. Where 
 did you get it? 
 
 Uncle D. Tom gave it to me. 
 
 Rose. Tom ? 
 
 Uncle D. I — I mean Mrs. Manly. {Aside.) Come near 
 letting the cat out that time. Will you tell me where you got it? 
 
 Rose. Why, certainly. My mother, of whom I have the faint- 
 est remembrance, gave it to me. 
 
 Uncle D. {joyously). She did? Can you remember your 
 father? 
 
 Rose. Oh, I wish I could ; then perhaps, I should find him if 
 he were alive ; but all I can remember is a kind face and strong 
 arms that used to toss me in the air. 
 
 Uncle D. Rose, s'pos' — s'pos 1 you found him, and he was 
 poor like — like — well, like me, what would you do? 
 
 Rose. If I should ever find my father, no matter if he was beg- 
 ging in the street, I would do all that a daughter's love could do. 
 
 Uncle D. God bless you for those words, Rose. I knew you 
 would. {Weeps.) 
 
 Rose. Why, Uncle Davie, what are you crying for ? 
 
 Uncle D. I ain't crying; but, Rose, tell me, do you honestly 
 love the man you are going to marry to-day? • 
 
 Rose. James has been very good to me, but — but I shall 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 41 
 
 never love any one as I did Tom. {Sinks into chair.) O Davie, 
 I am wretched. 
 
 Uncle D. {aside). I'll go and tell Tom this minute. Darn it ! 
 If I stay here much longer I shall bust. {Puts hand on Rose's 
 head.) Cheer up, little girl, you feel badly now, but before night, 
 I'll make your little heart so glad, you won't know you ever had 
 any sorrow, darned if I don't. {Exit c.) 
 
 Rose. O Uncle Davie, I wish you could but {looks up) — why, 
 he's gone. What did he mean? Can it be that he knows of my 
 father? Oh, it can't be true. And his questions about James. I 
 don't understand it. Before night he will make me so happy. 
 {Sighs.) He seemed surprised when I showed him Tom's letter. 
 Can it be they are deceiving me? No, I can hardly believe that! 
 Ah, before another day dawns I shall be James's wife. Am I doing 
 right? I do not love him and he knows it; but he loves me, and 
 'tis Guardy's wish ; yet, there is something tells me it should not 
 be. If I thought they were deceiving me I never would marry him. 
 {Enter James.) 
 
 James. Ah, Rose, you here? {Going to her side. .) 
 
 Rose. Have you been looking for me? 
 
 James. Yes ; I wish to ask if there is any thing you wish me to 
 do in regard to our coming marriage? 
 
 Rose. If you have come here with any evil in your heart or with 
 the intention to deceive, pause before you say more. I am an 
 almost friendless woman, and have no claim upon you except your 
 compassion, so on your honor as a gentleman and in the presence 
 of the God who made you, speak to me only such truth as you will 
 utter in his judgment. Now answer — have you ever deceived me 
 in regard to Tom Manly ? 
 
 James {aside, agitated). What can she mean? Has anyone 
 told her? {Aloud.) Why, Rose, can you think me so base? I 
 have never deceived you; Tom Manly is dead — has — has any one 
 told you differently ? 
 
 Rose. No, James ; but — but sometimes I think I am not doing 
 right by consenting to this marriage. 
 
 James. Not doing right? Why, Rose, what should make you 
 think so? You know that I love you dearly, truly. 
 
 Rose. And yet you know that I still love Tom, though he be 
 dead, and that I shall, in all probability, love him always. 
 
 James. O Rose, you do not care for me now, but you will in 
 time, for I will make you so happy. 
 
 Rose. Very well, then, I will carry out my promise, dreadful as 
 it is to me. But remember, it is only because you and Guardy wish 
 it, and the responsibility of its consequences must always remain 
 with you. I will be ready in time. {Exit, L. C. e.) 
 
 James. Why does Rose act so strangely ? Can it be that she 
 has heard anything? I have noticed of late she has been in a state 
 of melancholy and depression, from which nothing seems to arouse 
 her. There can be only one reason for this — our coming mar- 
 
42 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 riage. She loves that fisherman, and were she to know that he 
 still lives, my chances would be slim. But pshaw! Til not think 
 of it, for before the sun sets to-night she will be my wife, and then 
 Tom Manly can come if he likes ; he'll not get her. {Enter Squire, 
 reading letter. ) 
 
 Squire. Well, James, I have been very successful in disposing 
 of the property. My agent writes me, he has sold both the farms. 
 This place goes to a Boston man, and Manly's to a Western gen- 
 tleman. He didn't give the names. 
 
 James. Why did you wish to sell them at all? You know 
 Rose likes here, and I can't see how you are going to better 
 yourself. 
 
 Squire. Why, James, you know Manly wishes to come back 
 here, and I think you will admit that it would be rather unpleasant 
 to have Rose learn of our little deception. 
 
 James. True, I had not given it a thought. But tell me, is 
 that all the reason you have for leaving here ? 
 
 Squire {aside). Can it be that he knows of my perfidy? 
 
 James {louder}. I say, is that all the reason you sold this 
 place ? 
 
 Squire. Why, yes! yes! Did you think I had any other? 
 Your happiness is everything to me, James. {Aside.} That's a 
 lie, and I believe he knows it, but I can't bear to tell him the real 
 cause, he would disown me. No, no, I cannot. 
 
 James. Then you would sacrifice your own happiness for mine, 
 for I believe I have heard you say that you liked this place better 
 than any you had ever been in. 
 
 Squire. Well, well ! A man is liable to change his mind, you 
 know. But are the arrangements for the wedding all completed? 
 
 James. Yes, everything is done that can be done, and I must 
 go and dress or I shall be late ; I must not keep Rose waiting. 
 
 Squire {rubbing hands'). Yes, yes, that's right, that's right. 
 Always be punctual. I will drive over and get the Rev. Mr. Med- 
 hurst. {Aside.) I shall be glad when this business is over, and 
 we are well out of this place. {Exit c. d.) 
 
 James. There is something about my father that I cannot 
 fathom. He seems to have something on his mind. He seems to 
 be groping along in the shadow of some gloomy past. What the 
 mystery is that envelops him, I neither know nor care to inquire, 
 but I'm sure there is one. {Looks at watch.) I shall have to 
 hurry or I shall be late. {Starts L. ; Si enters, c.) 
 
 Si. Beg pardon, but if you have time, I will give you the privi- 
 lege of an interview. 
 
 James. You are very kind, but if you have anything to say, you 
 will have to be quick, as I am in a hurry. 
 
 Si. You should never be in a hurry, James. Look at me, I 
 never hurry. Remember the hare and the tortoise ; consider me 
 the turtle. 
 
 James {impatiently). Well, what brought you here ? 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 43 
 
 Si. My feet. I came here to return your property. {Shows 
 
 watch chain.) 
 
 James. Yes, I lost it some time ago. Where did you find it? 
 
 Si. I found it in the lighthouse the night of the accident, and 
 here's your paper-weight. {Shows weight.') 
 
 James {agitated). Sir, that's not mine — where — where did 
 you get it ? 
 
 Si. Sir, that is yours, for here is your name, and you know 
 where I found it — in Tom Manly's satchel where you threw it 
 into the water. So you are the one that gave Nellie her bath, are 
 you? 
 
 James {aside). My God ! this fool has found me out. {Fiercely.) 
 Come, no more of this ; if you don't leave here immediately I'll 
 kick you out. 
 
 Si {strikes attitude). To be or not to be, that is the ques- 
 tion, whether it is nobler in the mind to get kicked out, or go out 
 quietly. He doesn't look very bad. so I guess I'll stay. 
 
 James. Are you going? {Si folds arms.) 
 
 Si. Lay on, Macduff! 
 
 James. Very well then, if you are not out when I return I'll — 
 I'll kill you. {Exit hurriedly, L.) 
 
 Si. What a loss to art my death will be. Ah, James Hammond, 
 I know your secret, and I know you, and I'll introduce you to 
 somebody before very long. {Enter Ruth and Mrs. Manly, c.) 
 
 Ruth. O mother, here's Si. {l?uns to him.) I knew you'd 
 come. 
 
 Si {embracing her) . Of course you did. Never told a lie in 
 my life. Ah, Mrs. Manly, how do you do? {Goes to her.) You're 
 looking nicely. 
 
 Mrs. M. Now look here, Si, don't go to flattering the first 
 thing, though I am feeling pretty well. But you look as slick as a 
 new pin. That's a real pretty necktie ; what did you pay for it? 
 
 Si. Ha, ha, ha! That cost me the munificent sum of fifty 
 cents, and what's more, I worked hard to get it. 
 
 Mrs. M. Now look here, Si, don't you go to lying the first 
 thing. 
 
 Si. Fact ; and what will surprise you still more {strikes attitude), 
 behold the possessor of thousands ! 
 
 Ruth. O Si ! 
 
 Si. No, I've sighed enough. When at my work, I've sighed 
 for the little girl I left behind me ; in my dreams I've sighed for 
 her, and when {taking her hands) I received your note, ses I, 
 Si, sigh no more, and here I am and shall waste no more sighs on 
 your size, for I intend to make us both of one size. 
 
 'Ruth. There's many a slip 'twixt lip and cup, you know. Ha, 
 ha! 
 
 Mrs. M. Well, Si, you may have a little more money than 
 
 you had when you went away, but you ain't got any more wit. 
 Ruth. O Si, are you really rich ? How di< 
 
 did you do it? 
 
44 A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 
 
 Si. Oh, as the poet says, " I've passed though many a chan- 
 ging scene since last I sat by thee." 
 
 Mrs. M. Never mind the poet, Jet's hear the story. 
 
 Si. Well, you know when 1 left, I joined a travelling theatrical 
 company. Ah, then I longed for the stage, but in three short 
 weeks I would have been satisfied with a horse-car, for we busted. 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land's sake ! Busted? 
 
 Si. Yes, busted — stranded upon the shores of adversity in a 
 little town in western Pennsylvania. I didn't have money enough 
 to pay my fare home, so, sad to relate, I had to go to work. I 
 worked six months for a woman who gave me two acres of barren 
 land for my pay. 
 
 Ruth. Oh, the wretch ! 
 
 Mrs. M. That's worse than old Simpkins, making his hired 
 man take his pay in moth-eaten stocking yarn. 
 
 Si. Well, for once I was in luck, for I only had it two months, 
 when they discovered oil on it, and I sold it at my own price, so 
 here I am. {Strikes attitude!) Rich, respected, and reformed ! 
 
 Ruth. So, I'm to marry a rich man after all. {Clapping 
 hands.) 
 
 Si. There's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip, you know. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Mrs. M. A poor girl had better be in her grave than married, 
 that is, if she can't marry a decent man. 
 
 Ruth. I — I don't think I'll ever marry anyway. 
 
 Si. Oh, yes, you will. 
 
 Ruth. To quarrel with my husband? I guess not. 
 
 Si. Think how nice 'twill be to have a husband to quarrel with. 
 
 Ruth. What villains men are, anyway. 
 
 Si. Yes, they are. 
 
 Ruth. To bring grief upon poor woman, and what fools women 
 are. 
 
 Si. They are — they are. 
 
 Ruth. , I mean to notice them. 
 
 Si. Oh, well, now you've heard my story, let's hear about your- 
 self and Tom. Where's Tom ? I haven't seen him yet. 
 
 Mrs. M. O Si, Tom ain't the man he was when you went 
 away. Since Nellie died he hasn't seemed like himself. 
 
 Ruth. More like since Rose gave him up. You know that let- 
 ter you gave me for him the night you went away ? (Si nods.) 
 Well, in that letter she gave him up. 
 
 Si. I can sympathize with him; I've been given up myself. 
 
 Ruth. You know Nellie died that same night, and the two 
 coming together most killed him. He was taken with brain-fever, 
 and is just getting over it. But Uncle Davie pulled us through — 
 he's just a darling. 
 
 Mrs. M. I only wish you was going to get as good a man. 
 
 Si. Yo.u'll repent all your rudeness to me one of these days. 
 
 Ruth. Well, he has taken care of us all since Tom has been 
 sick. He got some money that was clue him in California, and gave 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 45 
 
 it to Tom to buy this place with. He tried to buy the old place, 
 but it was sold, and he took this one, though it cost a good deal 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, but I'd give more for one foot of the old place 
 than I would for this whole farm. 
 
 Si. Will you take back everything you've said about me, if I'll 
 give it back to you ? 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, Si Kidder; now if you've got money and will 
 get the old place back again for me, I'll take back everything I've 
 said 'and everything I'm going to say. 
 
 Si. And will you take me to board, and treat me as an aristo- 
 cratic son-in-law should be treated? 
 
 Mrs. M. Yes, I'll promise anything, if you'll only get it back. 
 
 Si. Get up in the morning and build the fire? 
 
 Mrs. M. Well — - er — I don't know — well, yes. 
 
 Si. Then prepare for another surprise. When I first came back 
 I see by the papers it was advertised for sale. The very thing, ses 
 I, for a wedding present to my bride ; so I bought it. {Looks at 
 Ruth.) But I've changed my mind, and I give it to you. (Gives 
 Mrs. Manly deed.) And for you, Ruth, I've got something 
 else — myself. Will you take me? 
 
 Ruth. O Si, you know I can't refuse". ( Throws arms around 
 neck.) 
 
 Mrs. M. That's right, Ruth, hug him ; he deserves it. Si 
 Kidder, I'll never say another word agin ye as long as I live. Ye 
 ain't half as big a fool as ye look. {Throws arms round neck from 
 behind ; Ruth still keeps hers around him in front.) 
 
 Si. Shades of the departed Hamlet! I bathe my weary spirit in 
 sweet visions of the future. (Enter Davie, c. d.) 
 
 Uncle D. Si, I guess you're in it, but it's something you've 
 got to get used to. Tom wants you all to come down on the beach ; 
 he has found something he wants to show you. (Aside.) I've got 
 to get them away from here somehow, or they'll spoil everything. 
 
 Ruth. Come, Si, we'll go for a sail. 
 
 Si (strikes attitude). Lead on, my adorable; I will follow thee. 
 (All exeunt c. d. ; pause, then enter Squire and Medhurst.) 
 
 Squire. Now, Mr. Medhurst, James wished me to say to you 
 that he wanted you to be as concise as possible. He is in some- 
 thing of a hurry to have it over with. 
 
 Medhurst. Very well, sir, if he wishes it, but — 
 
 Squire. But what? 
 
 Med. Well, I never like to hurry through so sacred a ceremony 
 as this. (Music, wedding march; enter Rose and James, l., in 
 wedding costume; they stop c. ; Medhurst comes down, music 
 stops.) 
 
 Med. If any man can show just cause why they may not be 
 lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever 
 hold his peace. (Davie and Tom enter c. d. hurriedly^) 
 
 Uncle D. I do. (All start back; Rose rushes to Tom and 
 embraces him.) 
 
46 • a fisherman's luck. 
 
 Squire. Tom Manly! You here? Once you told me to quit 
 your house ; now I order you to leave mine. {Points c.) Go ! 
 
 Tom. Yours no longer. I bought it of your agent yesterday, 
 and here is the deed. {Pulls deed from pocket.) So, you see, 
 Squire Hammond, it is once more time to bid you go. {Points c.) 
 
 Med. By what authority do you stop this marriage ? 
 
 Uncle D. By the authority of a father. That girl is my 
 daughter. 
 
 Rose {runs to Uncle Davie). My father ! Ah ! you have in- 
 deed made me happy. 
 
 Squire {aside; agitated). I must not betray myself now. 
 You claim my ward as your daughter — why, what do you mean? 
 
 Uncle D. Your ward? What do I mean? You devil! I 
 mean this. Years ago I had a wife and child. The child was 
 stolen from me. For years I thought she was dead, and when, an 
 hour ago, Tom showed me that locket {holds up locket), and told 
 me it was hers, 1 knew she was my child, and that you was the 
 miserable cuss who attempted my life. 
 
 Si. Go down on your knees and beg for the privilege of hanging 
 yourself. 
 
 Squire. Not so fast ; I gave her that locket. 
 
 Uncle D. You did? Have you got the other half of this pic- 
 ture ? (Squire starts back.) No, you ain't, for I have. {Shows 
 picture}) 'Tis the picture of her mother. 
 
 Rose. My mother ! Oh, do let me see it ! {Enter Mrs. 
 Manly and Ruth.) 
 
 Squire {extreme l. ; aside). This, then, is the end. I felt it 
 was coming. What is there left me ? 
 
 Uncle D. Time has brought its revenge ; and if, before you 
 are forty-eight hours older, you do not make acquaintance with a 
 bitterness worse than death, my name is not David Morris. I'll 
 repay every darned bit, with interest, too. You may not like your 
 new quarters, but it's something you've got to get used to. 
 
 Squire. I trust you will allow me to go into the library for a 
 moment, will you not? {Aside.) I never can go to prison alive. 
 
 Uncle D. Yes ; go anywhere ye want to. Ye can't get away. 
 (Squire exit l.) 
 
 Tom. Now, James Hammond, 'tis my turn. 
 
 James. Yes ; and I suppose you will make the most of it. 
 {Exit Ruth l.) 
 
 Tom. Si has told me everything. Do you remember I told y'ou 
 I would one day stand face to face with the man who threw Nellie 
 into the breakers ? I told you I would have no mercy; but, oh, 
 James Hammond, you thought me a fool, and I was, compared 
 with you, but I'll show you that even a fool can have mercy. James, 
 you have done me a great wrong, but you have done yourself a 
 greater one, so I'll give you one chance, and that is, to leave the 
 country. Take the money you stole and go. I do not blame, but 
 I pity you. 
 
A FISHERMAN S LUCK. 4/ 
 
 James. Pity ! don't pity me. I will not be pitied by you. Mock 
 me, it" you will ; it is your turn now. But why, why do you do this ? 
 
 Tom. A short while ago a poor woman came to me and proved 
 to me beyond a doubt that Nellie was her child ; and when I told 
 her she was dead, she fainted, and was taken to the hospital, and 
 died the next week. That woman was your wife. 
 
 James. My wife ! My wife ! 
 
 Tom. Yes, your wife, James Hammond, whom you so cruelly 
 deserted. And the baby you murdered was your own child. 
 
 James. My God ! Not that — not that ! 
 
 Si. Shakespeare says, and he knows, " many a good hanging 
 prevents a bad marriage. " 
 
 Rose. Oh, this is terrible! 
 
 James. Rose, I — I've been bad enough, but I have loved you 
 sincerely. Will you forgive me ? 
 
 Rose. You ask forgiveness of me, and say that you have done 
 wrong! Do you know that you have, to gain your own selfish 
 ends, blighted my life? Do you understand that you have done 
 me one of the greatest injuries one person can . do to another ? 
 You whom I thought the very soul of honor ! Do you know all 
 this, James Hammond ? And, knowing it, do you still ask me to 
 forgive you? Do you think it possible I can forgive ? {Pause.) 
 No, James Hammond, I can never forgive you, and I pray God 
 that he may never let my feet cross your path or my eyes fall upon 
 your face again. {Points to c. D.) 
 
 James. Yes, I'll go. {Meekly.) I'm not fit company for such as 
 you. We may never meet again, but in thinking of all the injury I 
 have done you both, remember that my punishment is proportionate 
 to my sin. Good-by. {Goes to c. D ; stops, looks back, and exit.) 
 
 Si. Thafs an emetic for him, ain't it ? 
 
 Med. Well, as my services are no longer required, I'll bid you 
 good-day. 
 
 Uncle D. No, hold on ! We are going to have a wedding 
 here yet. Rose — Tom, are ye willin 1 ? 
 
 Rose. O Un — I mean, father ; isn^ it rather sudden ? 
 
 Si. Hold on a minute and Til make it four-handed. {Pistol- 
 shot heard ; Ruth rushes on screaming.) 
 
 Ruth. Oh, come quick — come quick! Mr. Hammond has 
 shot himself. 
 
 Mrs. M. For the land sake —right on that best carpet. 
 
 Med. I'll attend to it. {Exit L.) 
 
 Tom {to Rose). God has given you back to me, Rose, and only 
 he knows how I thank him for the gift. I can hardly believe it is 
 but a dream, but when I look around me and see so many kind 
 friends, and a happy home again after all the sorrow and pain, and 
 know I have got the best little woman in the world, I think I am 
 right in saying I have had more than A Fisher/nan's Luck. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
A NEW COMEDY. 
 
 That Box of Cigarettes 
 
 A FARCE IN THREE ACTS. 
 
 BY 
 ROSEMARY BAUM. 
 
 Four male and four female characters. Scenes, two interiors, very simple. 
 Costumes modern. This clever piece is in the light vein that has proven so pop- 
 ular in Miss Grace Fiirniss' pieces, and while its sentiment is honest and true, it 
 has few serious dramatic moments. Its characters are lively young people and 
 genial old ones, its story is entertaining and cleverly told its dialogue is vivacious 
 and bright, and its incidents abundant, humorous, ingenious and original. Those 
 who wish to be amused rather than excited will find an admirable means to this 
 end in Miss Baum's play. 
 
 Price 15 cents. 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 ACT. I. Hanging the " Mistletoe." Fred and the Anti-Tobacco League. Tom's 
 love affair. A " flame" "which must have "no smoke." Casting her shoe. 
 A "slippery" trick. Fred and Phyllis. The dude and the budlet. Miss 
 Blucher's bonnet-strings. Signing the pledge. A hitch. "Whose coat is 
 this?" The Box of Cigarettes. Ending in smoke. 
 
 ACT II. Life in a flat. The Oldboys. A long-lost father. Unpleasant truths. 
 Tom and Molly. " Aunt Ana shan't trample on me ! ' ' Another " American 
 ■Revolution." Anastasia and Americus. " I still smoke, ma'am." Almost 
 an understanding. The Cigarettes again. Still smoky. 
 
 ACT III. Paying Phyllis' bet. Curling irony. Under the mistletoe. A plot 
 within a plot. Americus' little deal. The old boy gets gay. Freddy helps. 
 Tiddleywinks. Americus landed. An " insult " on the other cheek. Tom 
 and Molly. The mistake explained. No more smoke. 
 
 BAKER'S A. B. C. LEAFLETS. 
 
 We have recently added to this series the following monologues; 
 
 Price .... 5 cents each. 
 
 The Face Upon the Floor, A3 recited by Harry P. Keily. 
 A Voyage Around My Pockets. 
 
B 
 
 AKER'S SELECTED LIST 
 OF JUVENILE OPERETTA5 
 
 Designed especially for Church, School, and other Amateur Organ- 
 izations. Complete, -with all the music and full directions for 
 performance. 
 
 Grandpa's Birthday. In One Act. Words by Dexter Smith; 
 music by C. A. White. For one adult (male or female) and three 
 children; chorus, if desired. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 Jimmy, The Newsboy. In One Act. Written and composed by 
 W. C. Parker. For one adult (male), and one boy. No chorus. 
 Yery easy and tuneful. Price, 25 Cents. 
 
 The Four-leafed Clover. In Three Acts. By Mary B. Horne. 
 
 For children of from six to fifteen years. Seven boys, seven girls, 
 and chorus. Very picturesque. Price, 50 Cents. 
 
 Beans and Buttons. In One Act. Words by Wm. H. Lepere; 
 music by Alfred G. Robyn. Two male and two female characters ; 
 no chorus. Very comical and easy. Price, 50 Cents. 
 
 Hunt the Thimble. In One Act. Words by A. G. Lewis ; music by 
 Leo R. Lewis. Two male, two female characters and small chorus. 
 Simple and pretty. Price, 50 Cents. 
 
 Red Riding Hood's Rescue. In Four Scenes. Words by J. E. 
 Estabrook; music by J. Astor Broad. Three male, four female 
 characters and chorus. Price, 50 Cents. 
 
 Golden Hair and the Three Bears. In Five Scenes. By J. Astor 
 Broad. Three adults (2 m., 1 f.), eight children and chorus. Music 
 is easy, graceful, and pleasing. Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 R. E. Porter ; or, The Interviewer and the Fairies. In Three 
 Acts. Words by A. G. Lewis; music by Leo R. Lewis. Six male, 
 six female characters, and chorus. Very picturesque and pretty. 
 
 Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 Gyp, Junior. In Two Acts. Words by Earl Marble; music by 
 D. F. Hodges. Two males, one female (adult), three children and 
 chorus. Very successful and easily produced. Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 Alvin Gray ; or, The Sailor's Return. In Three Acts. Written 
 and composed by C. A. White. Ten characters, including chorus; 
 can be made more effective by employing a larger number. 
 
 Price, 75 Cents. 
 
 Catalogues describing the above and other popular entertain- 
 ments sent free on application to 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO., 
 
 THEATRICAL PUBLISHERS, 
 
 No. 23 Winter Street, - Boston, Mass. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 NEW OPERETTAS FOR CH 
 
 Odd Operas for Lie™." 
 
 A Collection of Short and Simple Musical Entertainments for Children. 
 
 By Mrs. C. N. BORDMAN, 
 
 Author of "The Kingdom of Mother Goo^e," "Motion Songs for the School- 
 room," "The Temperance Clarion," etc. 
 
 Complete -with all the music and full instructions for performance. This collection is 
 strongly recommended for its simplicity, originality of idea, tunefulness and perfect prac- 
 ticability. 
 
 Price 
 
 50 cents. 
 
 COUTE2JTS. 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE BROWNIES. A Musical Sketch for Chil- 
 dren. For any number of boys. 
 
 JIMMY CROW. A Recitation for a Little Girl. 
 
 MARKET DAY. An Operetta for Young People. Seven speaking parts 
 and chorus. 
 
 QUEEN FLORA'S DAY DREAM. An Operetta for Children. Six 
 speaking parts and chorus. 
 
 THE BOATING PARTY. A Musical Sketch for Little Children. Thirty 
 boys and girls. 
 
 SIX LITTLE GRANDMAS. A Musical rantomime for very Little 
 Children. Six very little girls. 
 
 A HOUSE IN THE MOON. A Recitation for a Little Girl. 
 
 ROBIN'S SPECIFIC; 
 
 OR, THE CHANGES OF A NIGHT. 
 A. Christmas Operetta in One Act. 
 
 Words by 
 AMELIA SANFORD. 
 
 Music by 
 ADAM CIEBEL. 
 
 For one adult and nine children from eight to sixteen years old, with eight very little boys 
 fcnd twelve little girls for Chorus. Three changes of scene, very easily arranged, costumes 
 varied but simple and readily procured. Very effective and easily gotten up. 
 
 Price 
 
 25 cents. 
 
 Catalogues describing the above and other popular entertainments sent free on application to 
 
 WALTER H. BAKER & CO., 
 
 THEATRICAL PUBLISHERS, 
 
 No. 23 Winter Street, - . BOSTON, MASS.