F OR PN NOONS Book_^.£L£ ^ FUN FOR FRIDAY AFTERNOONS -^ For Scholars of All Ag'es A Compilation of Humorous Dialogues for School Entertainments BY CARLETON B, CASE w SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. CHICAGO ^^^ Copyright, 1917, by Shrewesbury Publishing Co. APR II mr ©Ci44 60265 " I- 7^ PREFACE You find that many a boy and girl who dreads to ** speak a piece/' at the inevitable Friday afternoon rhetorieals^ will sustain a part in a little humorous dialogue with eagerness and pleasure. There is action, and someone to ** talk back/' It's different from stand- ing up alone before your fellows and reciting. Chil- dren take to dialogue. Encourage them in it. We have styled this collection of school dialogues ** Fun for Friday Afternoons." We believe scholars will agree that the title represents their sentiments ex- actly. It is ** fun " to learn a part and act it out, especially when the little play is cheerful and full of jollity, as those in this collection certainly are. The teacher who finds himself and his pupils weary of the usual Friday afternoon sameness week after week will wish to make use of our dialogue book to infuse new interest into the occasion. CONTENTS Advertising for a Companion Arabella's Poor Relations Assisting Hezekiah At Cross Purposes Auction Mad Awful Boots Elder Sniffles' Courtship Fix Fourth of July Oration, The Gunntown Woman's Association, The Ivery Inch a Gintleman Jimtown Lyceum Josiah's First Courting Mrs. Sniffles' Confession My Next Door Neighbor Unsuccessful Advance, An Village Meddler, The Will, The Wimmin's School of Felosophy, The . OYS GIRLS PAGE — 4 23 2 ^ 131 ^ 91 1 61 1 45 3 35 1 11 Q — 144 5 — 149 g 6 68 3 9 119 6 3 80 3 1 110 1 1 17 5 — 48 1 1 99 2 g 103 4 — 7 — 5 31 A WORD TO TEACHERS Use special care in the assignment of parts. You know your pupils; choose those best adapted to portray the several characters to be delineated. Be sure that all are perfect in their lines before the dialogue is given public presentation. Coach freely at the private rehearsals^ as to gesture^ action^ voice^ em- phasis, inflection, articulation, position and disposition of hands and feet, movement about stage, how to enter and exit, facing and addressing audience, and every de- tail that makes for a perfect performance. Be elocu- tionist, stage manager and property man as well as teacher. Remember that in all likelihood your young actors have everything to learn about stage matters and are dependent upon you to instruct them. Have at least two dress rehearsals, and more if needed. That means rehearsal in full costume, and with all properties, entrances and exits definitely ar- ranged, everything as it will be at the public perform- ance. We will not remind you to be patient; that's part of your regular business ! A WORD TO THE AMATEUR PERFORMER Learn every word of your part thoroughly, and as much of the parts of others who are **on'' with you as will aid you in coming in with your lines at the right place. In other words, learn your "cues'' as well as your lines. If your opposite in a dialogue makes a bungle of your cue, be prepared to speak your lines at the correct place, regardless of that. Keep your head and don't get rattled. Learn to face your audience, to speak toward them, and not to turn your back on them, even to exit. Learn where you are to come on stage (your en- trance), and where to go off (your exit). There is always one right place for this; have it definitely fixed before the performance. Wherever it reads *'Ha ! Ha !" in a dialogue, it means that you are to laugh naturally. The poor writer has no other word to express a laugh; but don't you say *'Ha! Ha!" Laugh, and keep on laughing, in your practice at home till you can do it as naturally as though you were '^tickled to death." Speak distinctly, articulating your words plainly, and gage your voice to reach to the far end of the room without becoming loud or boisterous. In all matters of stage action, as well as of voice and gesture, be guided by your instructor. Presumably he knows more about these things than you do. Briefly, learn your part perfectly, and then do as the stage manager tells you to. FUN FOR FRIDAY AFTERNOONS THE WILL CHARACTERS Mr. Sjviper^ a Brewer, Mr. Currie, a Saddler. Frank Millington, A Young Man. Mr. Drawl^ a Country Squire. Swiper. A sober occasion this, brother Currie. Who would have thought the old lady was so near her end.^ Currie. Ah! we must all die, brother Swiper, and those who live the longest only bury the most. Swiper. True, true ; but, since we must die and leave our possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care of us. Had the old lady her senses when she de- parted ? Currie. Perfectly, perfectly. Squire Drawl told me she read every word of her testament aloud, and never signed her name better. Swiper. Had you any hint from the Squire what dis- position she made of her property? Currie. Not a whisper; the Squire is as close as an underground tomb; but one of the witnesses hinted to me that she has cut off her graceless nephew with a cent. T 8 THE WILL Swiper, Has she, good soul ! has she ? You know I come in_, then, in right of my wife. Currie, And I in my own right; and this is, no doubt, the reason we have been called to hear the read- ing of the will. Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, though he is as air-tight as your beer barrels. But here comes the young reprobate ; he must be present as a matter of course, you know. {Enter Frank Millington,) Your servant, young gentleman. So your benefactress has left you at last. Swiper. It is a painful thing to part with old and good friends, Mr. Millington. Frank. It is so, sir; but I could bear her loss better had I not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only friend, and I knew not her value. Currie, It is too late to repent. Master Millington. You will now have a chance to earn your own bread — Swiper, Ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's boy, if you were not too old. Currie, Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a tight rein. Frank, Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has treated me as I deserve. I am above your insults, and only hope you will bear your fortune as modestly as I shall mine submissively. I shall retire. {Going he meets the Squire,^ Squire, Stop, stop, young man ! We must have your presence. Good morning, gentlemen; you are early on the ground. Currie. I hope the Squire is well to-day. Squire, Pretty comfortable for an invalid. Swiper. I hope the damp air has not affected the Squire's lungs again. Squire. No, I believe not; you know I never hurry. " Slow and sure " is my maxim. Well, since the heirs- at-law are all convened, I shall proceed to open the last will and testament of your deceased relative, according to law. THE WILL 9 Swiper {while he is breaking the seal). It is a try- ing scene to leave all one's possessions^ Squire^ in this manner. Currie, It really makes me feel melancholy when I look around and see everything but the venerable owner of these goods. Well did the preacher say, " All is vanity." Squire, Please to be seated, gentlemen. {All sit — The squire having put on his spectacles begins to read in a drawling, nasal tone.) ** Imprimis: Whereas, my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, and incapable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys, and property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swiper, of Malt street, brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly Court, Saddler " — {The Squire takes off his spectacles to wipe them.) Swiper {takes out his handkerchief and attempts to snivel). Generous creature! kind soul! I always loved her. Currie. She was always a good friend to me, and she must have had her senses perfectly, as the Squire says. And now, brother Swiper, when we divide, I think I shall take the mansion house. Swiper. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie. My wife has long had her eye on that, and must have it. {Both rise.) Currie. There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swiper. And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. Did I not lend her a new chaise every time she wished to ride ? and who knows what influence — Swiper. Am I not named first in her will? and did I not furnish her with my best small beer for more than six months ? and who knows — Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you. {Going.) Squire {who has been leisurely wiping his spectacles puts them on, and, with his calm, nasal twang, calls out.) Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not 10 THE WILL done yet. (All sit.) Let me see — where was I — aye, ** all my property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swiper, of Malt Street, brewer " (looking over his spectacles at Swiper), Swiper (eagerly). Yes! Squire. " And Christopher Currie, of Fly-Court, saddler," — (^Looking over his spectacles at him.) Currie (^eagerly). Yes! Yes! Squire. " To have and to hold — in trust — for the sole and exclusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Mil- lington, until he shall have attained to lawful age, by which time I hope he will have so far reformed his evil ways as that he may be safely intrusted with the large fortune I hereby bequeath to him/* Swiper. What's all this? You don't mean that we are humbugged? In trust! How does that appear? Where is it? Squire (^pointing to the parchment). There — in two words of as good old English as I ever penned. Currie. Pretty well, too, Mr. Squire, if we must be sent for to be made a laughing stock of. She shall pay for every ride she had out of my chaise, I promise you. Swiper. And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if two sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here, to be made the sport of a graceless profligate ! But we will manage his property for him, Mr. Currie ; we will make him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with. Currie. That we will — Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument is dated three years ago, and the young man must al- ready be of age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis ? Frank. It is, your worship. Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of the seal, according to law, you are released from any further trouble in the premises. Familiar Dialogues. ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 11 7 ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP CHARACTERS Widow Bedott, ) t t . T^ o } in character. Elder Sniffles^ ) The widow retires to a grove in the rear of Elder Sniffles^ house sits down on a log and sings in a plaintive voice. W. B. What peaceful hours I once enjoyed^ All on a summer's day ! But O^ my comfort was destroyed^ When Shadrack crossed my way ! I heerd him preach — I heerd him pray — I heerd him sweetly sing; Dear suz ! how I did feel that day ! It was a dreiful thing! Full forty dollars would I give If we'd continnered apart — For though he's made my sperrit live He's surely bust my heart ! {She sighs profoundly^ and the Elder advances un- expectedly,^ TV. B. Good gracious ! is that you^ Elder Sniffles ! how you did scare me! Never was so flustrated in all the days o' my life ! hadn't the remotest idee o' meetin* you here — wouldn't a come for forty dollars if I'd a s'posed you ever meander'd here. I never was here afore — but was settin' by my winder and I cast my eyes over here^ and as I observed the lofty trees a wavin' in the gentle blasts and heerd the feathered 12 ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP singsters a wobblin' their mellaiicolly music^ I felt quite a call to come over ; it's so retired and morantic — such an approbriate place to marvel round in, ye know, vrhen a body feels low-sperrited and unconsol- able, as I dew to-night. O, d-e-a-r ! E. S. Most worthy Mrs. Bedott, your evident de- pression jSUs me with unmitigated sympathy. Your feelings (if I may be permitted to judge from the lan- guage of your song, which I overheard) — TV. B. You didn't though. Elder! the dreiFul suz ! what shall I dew! I wouldn't a had you heerd that song for no money ! I wish I hadn't a come ! I wish to gracious I hadn't a come! E. S. I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, it was uninten- tional on my part, entirely unintentional, but my con- tiguity to yourself and your proximity to me were such as rendered it impossible for me to avoid hearing you — TV. B. Well, it can't be helped now; it's no use crying for spilt milk, but I wouldn't have you to think I know'd you ever come here. E. S, On the contrary, this grove is a favorite re- sort of mine; it affords a congenial retreat after the exterminating and tremendous mental labors of the day. I not unfrequently spend the declining hours of the evening here, buried in the most profound medita- tions. On your entrance I was occupying my custom- ary seat beneath that umbrageous mounting ash which you perceive a few feet from you ; indeed, had not your mind been much pre-occupied you could scarcely have avoided discovering me. TV. B. Oh, granf 'ther grievous ! I wish I'd staid to hum! I was born for misfortin' and nothin' else! I wish to massy I'd staid to hum to-night! but I felt as if I'd like to come here once afore I leave the place. {She weeps.) E. S. Ah! indeed! do you project leaving Scrabble Hill? TV. B. Yes, I dew; I calklate to go next week. I ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 13 must hear you preach once more — once more, Elder, and then ^ I'm gwine — somewhere — I don't care where, nor I don't care what becomes o' me when I git there. (She sobs violently.) E. S. O, Mrs. Bedott, you distress me beyond limitation — permit me to inquire the cause of this un- controllable agony? . t. .j i TV. B. O, Elder Sniffles, you're the last mdiwidual that ought to ax such a question. O, I shall die! I shall give it up ! ,. . . E. S. Madame, my interest in your welfare is in- tense; allow me to entreat you still more vehemently to unburden your mind; perhaps it is in my power to relieve you. W. B. Relieve me! what an idee! O, Elder, you uill be the death of me if you make me revulge my feelings so. An hour ago I felt as if I'd a died afore I'd a said what I hev said now, but you've draw'd it out o' me. E. S. Respected madame, you have as yet promul- gated nothing satisfactory; permit me— ^ ^ TV. B. O, granf'ther grievous! must I come tot; Well', then, if I must, I must, so to begin at the begin- nin . When I fust heern you preach, your sarmons onsettled my faith; but after a spell I was convinced by ver argefyin', and gin up my 'roneus notions, and my mind got considerable carm. But how could I set Sabberday after Sabberday under the droppin's o' yer voice, and not begin to feel a mor'n ordinary inter- est in the speaker? I indevored not tew, but I couldn't help it; 'twas in vain to struggle against the feelin's that prepossest my buzzom. But it's all over with me now ! my f elicitude is at an end ; my sittiwation is hope- less ! I shall go back to Wiggleton next week, and never truble you no more. E. S, Ah, Mrs. Bedott, you alarm — W. B, Yes, you never'll see no more truble with Prissilly. I'm agwine back to Wiggleton. Can't bear to go back thar, nother, on account o' the indiwiddu- U ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP als that I come away to git rid of. There's Cappen Canoot^ he's always been after me ever since my hus- band died, though I hain't never gin him no incur- ridgement — but he won't take no for an answer. I dread the critter's attentions. And 'Squire Bailey — he's wonderful rich — but that ain't no recommenda- tion to me, and I've told him so time and agin, but I s'pose he thinks I'll come round bumby. And Deacon Crosby, he lost his partner a spell afore I come away; he was very much pleased with me; he's a wonderful fine man — make a fust-rate husband, I kind o' hes- itated when he promulgated his sentiments tew me, told him I'd think on't till I cum back — s'pose he'll be at me as soon as I git there. I hate to disappoint Deacon Crosby, he's such a fine man, and my dezeased companion sot so much by him, but then I don't feel for him as I dew for — . He's a Presbyterian, tew, and I don't think 'twould be right to unite my destina- tion to hisen. E. S. Undoubtedly in your present state of feel- ing, the uncongeniality would render a union — TV. B. O, dear, dear, dear! I can't bear to go back there and indure their attentions, but, thank for- tune, they won't bother me long — I shall go into a de- cline, I know I shall, as well as I want to know it. My trubles'U soon be over — undoubtedly they'll put up a monnyment to my memory — I've got the de- scription all ready for it — it says : Here sleeps Prissilly P. Bedott, Late relic of Hezekier, How mellancoUy was her lot! How soon she did expire! She didn't commit self-suicide, 'Twas tribbilation killed her; O, what a pity she hadn't a died Afore she saw the Elder! ELDER SNIFFLES' COURTSHIP 15 And O^ Elder^ you'll visit my grave^ won't ye^ and shed tew or three tears over it? 'Twould be a conso- lation tew me tew think you would. E. S, In case I should ever have occasion to jour- ney through that section of the country, and could consistently with my arrangements make it convenient to tarry for a short time at Wiggleton, I assure you it would afford me much pleasure to visit your grave, agreeably to your request. W. B. O, Elder, how onf eelin' ! E, S. Unfeeling! did I not understand you cor- rectly when I understood you to request me to visit your grave? W, B, Yes, but I don't see how you could be so carm, when I'm talkin' about dyin'. E. S. I assure you, Mrs. Bedott, I had not the slightest intention of manifesting a want of feeling in my remark. I should regard your demise as a most deplorable event, and it would afford me no small de- gree of satisfaction to prevent so melancholy a catas- trophe were it in my power. W. B. Well, I guess I'll go hum. If Sally should know you was here a talkin' with me, she'd make an awful fuss. E. S. Indeed I see no reason to fear that my do- mestic should interfere in any of my proceedings. W, B. O, lawful sakes ! how numb you be, Elder! I didn't allude to Sal Blake — I meant Sal Hugle. She't you're ingaged tew. E, S. Engaged to Miss Hugle! You alarm me, Mrs. Be — W. B, Now don't undertake to deny it. Elder; everybody says it's a fact. E, S. Well, then, it only remains for me to assert that everybody is laboring under an entire and unmiti- gated mistake. W. B, You don't say so, Elder ! Well, I declare, I do feel relieved. I couldn't indure the idee o' stayin' here to see that match go off. She's so onworthy — so 16 ELDER SNIFFLES* COURTSHIP different from what your companion had ort to be— • and so lazy — and makes such awful poitry ; and then she hain't worth a cent in the world. But I don't want to say a word against her; for, if you ain't ingaged now, mabby you will be. O, Elder! promise me, dew promise me now 't you won't marry that critter. 'T would be a consolation to me when I'm far away on my dyin' bed to know — {She weeps with renewed energy,) O, Elder, I'm afeard I'm gwine to have the highsterics. I'm subjick to spasmotic affections when I'm excited and overcome. E, S. You alarm me, Mrs. Bedott! I will hasten to the house and bring the sal volatile, which may re- store you. W. B. For the land's sake. Elder, don't go after Sal; she can't dew nothin* for me. It'll only make talk, for she'll tell it all round the village. Jest take that ar newspaper that sticks out o' yer pocket, and fan me with it a leetle. There, I feel quite resusticated. I'm obleeged tew ye; guess I can manage to get hum now. (^She rises.) Farwell, Elder SniflSes! adoo! we part to meet no more ! E, S, Ah, Mrs. Bedott ! do not speak in that mourn- ful strain ; you distress me beyond all mitigation. {He takes her hand.) Pray reseat yourself, and allow me to prolong the conversation for a short period. As I before observed, your language distresses me beyond all duration. TV. B. Dew you actually feel distressed at the idee o' partin' with me? E. S. Most indubitably, Mrs. Bedott. W. B, Well, then, what's the use o' part in' at all? O, what hev I said ? what hev I said ? E, S. Ahem — ahaw, allow me to inquire — are you in easy circumstances, Mrs. Bedott? TV. B, Well, not entirely yet, though I feel consid- erable easier'n what I did an hour ago. E. S. Ahem ! I imagine that you do not fully ap- prehend my meaning. I am a clergyman, a laborer MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 17 in the vineyard of the Lord — as such you will readily understand I cannot be supposed to abound in the filthy lucre of this world ; my remuneration is small — hence — W. B. Oy Elder^ how can you s'pose I'd hesitate on account o' your bein' poor? Don't think on't — it only increases my opinion of you; money ain't no objick to me. E. S. I naturally infer from your indiiFerence re- specting the amount of my worldly possessions that you yourself have — TV. B. Don't be oneasy^ Elder, dear — don't illude tew it again; depend on't, you're jest as dear tew me, every bit and grain_, as you would be if you owned all the mines in Ingy, E, S. I will say no more about it. W, B. So I s'pose we're ingaged. E. S. Undoubtedly. W. B, We're ingaged, and my tribbilation is at an end. {Her head drops on his shoulder,) O, Shad- rack ! what will Hugelina say when she hears on't ? Francis M. Whitcher. MKS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION CHARACTERS Rev. Mr. Sniffles, A Country Parson, Mrs. Sniffles, His Wife, Formerly the Widow Bedott. Scene. — The dining-room of the parsonage. Mrs. Sniffles, I say I'm disgusted with this old house; 'tain't fit for genteel folks to live in; looks as if 'twas built in Noah's time, with its consarned old gamble-rufi" and leetle bits o' winders a pokin' out like bird cages all round. Painted yaller, too, and such a 18 MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION humbly yaller; for all the world jest the color o' calomel and j ollop ! Rev, Mr, Sniffles, But you are aware, Mrs. Sniffles — Mrs. S, I say 'tain't fit to live in. I'm ashamed on't. I feel awful mortified about it whenever I look at Miss Meyerses and Miss Loderses, and the rest o' the han'some sittiwations in the neighborhood, with their wings and their piazzers and foldin' doors, and all so dazzlin' white. It's ridiculous that we should have to live in such a distressid lookin' old consarn, when we're every bit an' grain as good as they be, if not ruther better. Mr, S. Nevertheless, the house is very comfortable. Mrs, S. Comfortable! who cares for comfort when gentility's consarned? I don't. I say if you're de- termined to stay in it, you'd ought to make some alter- ations in't. You'd ought to higher the ruff up and put on some wings, and build a piazzer in front with four great pillars to't, and knock out that are petition be- twixt the square room and kitchen, and put foldin' doors instid on't, and then build on a kitchen behind, and have it all painted white, with green winder blinds. That would look something like, and then I shouldn't feel ashamed to have ginteel company to come to see me, as I do now. T'other day, when Curnel Billins and his wife called, I couldn't help noticin' how con- temptible she looked round at the house and furniture — I actilly was so mortified I felt as if I should sink right through the floor. Mr, S, But you know, Mrs. Sniffles — Mrs, S. I say we'd ought to have new furnitur — sofys and fashionable cheers — and curtains, and mantletry ornaments, and so forth. That old settee looks like a sight. And them cheers, tew, they must a come over in the ark. And then ther ain't a picter in the house, only jest that everlastin' old likeness o' Bony parte. I'll bet forty great apples it's five hun- dred years old. I was raly ashamed on't when I see MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 19 Miss Curnel Billins look at it so scornful when they called here. I s'pose she was a counterastin* it with their beautiful new picters they're jest ben a gittin' up from New York^ all in gilt frames. I seen one un 'em t'other day in to Mr. Bungle's shop^ when I went in with Sister Tibbins to look at her portrait that he's a paintin'. I seen one o' Miss Billinses picters there. 'Twas a splendid one^ as big as the top o' that 'are table, and represented an elegant lady a lyin' asleep by a river, and there was a little angel a hoverin' in the air over her head jest a gwine to shoot at her with a bow and arrer. I axed Mr. Bungle what 'twas sent to his shop for, and he said how't Miss Billins wa'n't quite satisfied with it on account o' the angel's legs bein' bare, and she wanted him to paint some panta- lets on 'em, and he was a gwine to do it as soon as he got time. He thought 'twould be a very interestin' picter when he got it fixed. I think so tew. I dew admire picters when they ain't all dirty and faded out like old Bony there. Them Scripter pieces that Sister Meyers has got hangin' in her front parlor — them she painted afore she was married, strikes me as wonder- ful interestin', especially the one that represents Pharoh's daughter a findin' Moses in the bullrushes. Her parasol and the artificials in her bunnit is jest as natral as life. And Moses he looks so cunnin' a lyin' there asleep, with his little coral necklace and bracelets on. O, it's a sweet picter. And I like that other one, tew, that represents Pharoh a drivin' full tilt into the Red Sea after the Isrelites. How natral his coat-tails flies out. I think some Scripter pieces would be very appropriate for a minister's house. We might git Mr. Bungle to paint some fol* the front par- lor, and our portraits to hang in the back parlor, as Miss Meyers has theirn. But law me! what's the use o' my talkin' o' havin* picters or anything else that's decent.^ You don't seem to take no interest in it. You seem to be perfectly satisfied with this flamber- gasted old house and everything in it. 20 MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION Mr. S. My former consort never desired anything superior to it. Mrs. S. Your former consort! I'm sick and tired o' hearin about her. 'Tain't by no means agreeable to have dead folks throw'd in yer face from mornin' to night. What if she was satisfied with her sittiwation? 'Tain't no sign I should be. I s'pose she hadn't never been used to nothin' better^ but I have, Mr. S. But^ Mrs. Sniffles^ you must recollect that — Mrs. S. I say 'tain't to be put up with. I want to have some company — ben wantin' tew ever sence we was married; but as for invitin' any ginteel people a visitin' to such a distressid old shell as this is^ I won't dew it — and — so Miss Billins and Miss Loder and them would say I was tryin' to cut a swell^ and couldn't make it out. And I don't mean to accept no more in- vitations amongst them that lives in style^ for it ag- gravates me^ it does^ to think how different I'm sitti- wated. So you may make your pastoral visits without me in future^ for I've made up my mind not to go out none as long as we live in this ridicilous old house. Mr. S. But recollect^ Mrs. Sniffles^ this hous-e is a parsonage — I occupy it rent free. Mrs. S. I don't care if 'tis a parsonage. I say the congregation might afford you a better one^ and for my part I'm disposed to make a fuss about it. Mr. S. Mrs. Sniffles^ you must be aware that I am not possessed of inexhaustible means. I have never attempted to conceal from you this fact — therefore^ you must also be aware that there exists an entire im- possibility of my erecting a new residence on the plan which you propose. Nor is it at all probable that the congregation would be willing to make such alterations in this as you suggest. Yet^ I assure you that I have not the slightest objection to your employing your own means in the construction of a more elegant edifice. Mrs. S. My own means? Mr. S. Yes^ Mrs. Sniffles. Your dissatisfaction with the parsonage is so great that I have for some MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION 21 time past been expecting you would propose building a new residence ; and I repeat that such an appropria- tion of a portion of your funds would meet my concur- rence. Mrs. S, My funds! Mr, S. Your funds, Mrs. Sniffles. It is a delicate subject, and one on which I have hitherto hesitated to make inquiry, although possessing an undoubted right to do so. I have been expecting ever since our union, that you would inform me how and where your prop- erty is invested. Mrs, S. My property ! Mr. S. Your property, Mrs. Sniffles. In what does it consist, if I may be permitted to inquire? Mrs, S. Land o' Liberty ! you know as well as I dew. Mr. S. What am I to infer from that observation.^ Mrs. S. Jest what you're a mind to. I ain't woth money, and I never said I was. Mr, S. Mrs. Sniffles, you are well aware that, on your arrival in this place, common report pronounced you to be an individual of abundant means, and I have always labored under this impression — an impression which, allow me to remind you, yourself confirmed in a conversation which occurred between us in the parson- age grove. Mrs, S. You don't mean to say 't I told you so, and you darsen't say 't I did. Mr, S. A-hem — I mean to say that you did not deny it when I delicately alluded to the subject. On the contrary you led me to infer that such was the fact, and under that impression I was induced to accede to your proposal ! Mrs, S. My proposal! What do you mean to in- sinniwate ? Mr. S. I should have said your — your — evident inclination for a — a — matrimonial engagement. I deeply regret, Mrs. Sniffles, that you should have al- lowed yourself to practice upon me what I cannot con- 22 MRS. SNIFFLES' CONFESSION sider in any other light than that of a hideous unmit- igated deception. I regard it as an act quite incompat- ible with your religious professions. Mrs. S. You dew, hey.^ well, you can't say't I ever told you out and out that I was woth property; and if you was a mind to s'pose so from what I did say, I'm sure 'tain't my fault, nor I ain't to blame for other folkses saying I was a rich widder. Mr. S. Mrs. Sniffles, I lament exceedingly that you should view it in that light. You can but acknowledge that it was your duty when I requested information on the subject, to have given me a correct account of your property. Mrs. S. I hadn't no property to give you an ac- count of. Mr. S. You should have told me so, Mrs. Sniffles, and not have suffered me to infer that you was in easy circumstances. Mrs. S. I tell ye agin, I couldn't help what you inferred, and s'posen I could, which was the most to blame, me for lettin' you think I was rich, or you for marryin' me because you thought I was rich.^ For my part, I think that was ruther incompatible with your professions. Ministers had ought to have their aiFec- tions sot above transitterry riches. Mr. S. Mrs. Sniffles, this is a — a — delicate sub- ject; we will waive it, if you please. Mrs. S. But I think the congregation ought to fix up the house. Mr. S. I will lay it before the session at the next meeting. Mrs. S. Well, dew, for pity's sake. And if they agree to fix it, I'll go a journey somewhar while it's a being altered, and you can board round, and Sal can stay at sister Maguire's. Francis M. Whitcher. ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 23 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION CHARACTERS Miss Gertrude Graham, An Old Maid, who desires a companion. Margaret Martin, A Poetess, Sarah Von Gravestein, A German Girl. Bridget McLackerty, An Irish Girl. Scene. — A room, comfortably furnished. Miss Gra- ham seated in a rocker, with a book in her hand. Miss Graham. Oh^ what a duU book! Nothing in- teresting in it — nothing at all. The great wonder to me is how any writer can waste time writing such trash. {Yawns.) I declare I'm almost asleep. {Throws the book on the floor.) I'm sure I'll not at- tempt to read anything more from that author. It seems that there are no interesting books written now. I have advertised for a companion. I must have com- pany; it is so lonely living here all alone. And when I find a companion, she shall amuse me — she shall sing for me^ she shall read for me — that is^ if she can find anything that isn't dull and stupid. Fortu- nately, I can now live without having to work and strive and struggle. {Taking up a paper.) 1 will read my advertisement again. I flatter myself that it is neatly worded. {Reads.) " A lady living all alone, and having an abundance of means at her dis- posal, wants a companion. Inquire at No. 42 Preston Avenue, Westfield, at 10 o'clock^ on Thursday^ 20th." It is short, but I think I have said all that is neces- sary to be said. Now, if I can only be so fortunate as to find a young lady suited to the position, I shall in- deed be -thankful. {Knock at door.) Ah! someone 24 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION coming. {Takes out her watch,) It is not yet time for the applicants to arrive. The hour is 10 o'clock, and it is now but half-past nine. But I will see who it is. (Rises, goes to door, and opens it,) Sarah, How you does.^ I haf shoost come. Miss Graham, I am surprised. But come in. Sarah, Yaw^ I vill shoost do dot. {Enter Sarah,) Und I vill sit town^ too. {Seats herself in Miss Gra- ham's rocker,) I is awful tired. I haf valked all de vay from dwo mile out of de town, so dot I vould pe shoost on dime, or a leetle ahead of dime. Miss Graham, And what did you come for? Sarah, Now, isn't dot a purty quesdion to come from you, und you put de adfertisement in de baper yourself } Miss Graham, Oh, you came in answer to my ad- vertisement for a companion. Sarah, Yaw, dot is it oxactly. I vas shoost look- in' ofer de baper, und I had read apout de brice of putter und millik und oniyons and sich, and some of de news apout de beople of de town, und all to vonst I seed your adfertisement apout vantin' a companion to converse mit, und fur to read to you, as I sup- posed, und sich, und I says to mineself, ** Dot is shoost de position you vant, Sarah. Der vill not pe much to do — mebbe no vork at all, und I know dot I vill make a first rade numper von companion." So I gits righd up und puts on petter clothes, und comes righd ofer. I vas in von pig hurry, too, fur I tidn't know but dot de position might pe gif out afore I arrove. Has it peen gif out? Miss Graham, No, my good woman, not yet. Sarah, Veil, you needn't call me a voman, fur I am only a girl. Only shoost apout dwenty-five — dot is all, und I tinks I am about righd to act as a com- panion fur you or anypody else. Miss Graham, Have you had any experience as a companion ? Sarah, Yaw. I haf peen a companion for my ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 25 modther und my fadther efer since I vas a leetle girl, und I tinks dot I understand de peesness shoost as veil as anypody could understand it. I vould know how to dalk to you. I vould know how to act under de most tryin' circumstances, und I vill shoost pe de per- son dot you vant. Dere hasn't peen nobody here yet, I s'pose.^ Miss Graham, No; you came before the appointed time. Sarah. Veil, I tidn't care for dot. I vas deter- mined dot I vould pe ahead. I read de adfertisement, und den I shoost put on my bonnet und started. Say, vill I git de blace, uh? Und how much vill you pay me.^ {Knock at door.) Miss Graham. Ah ! they are beginning to come. {Rises.) Sarah (rising). Veil, ton't let dem in. I vas here f erst, und I ought to haf de blace und pe de companion. Von't I git de blace, und how much vill you pay me, uh.^ Miss Graham (going to the door). 1 must see who is here. Sarah. Stop now. Dot isn't fair. Vasn't I here ferst.^ (Miss Graham opens- the door.) Margaret (outside). Good-morning, Miss Graham. Miss Graham. Good-morning. Come in. Enter Margaret. . Sarah. No, she needn't come in. Vasn't I here ferst, und ain't I de von dot ought to get de blace? You ain't von rascal, are you.^ How much vill de salary pe.^ Miss Graham. Be quiet. I have not employed you. I want to see all who come before I make an engage- ment. Sarah, Veil, dot is not fair. But if I must vait, I must. I don't tink dis girl dot has shoost come in vill suit you. Miss Graham (placing chair). Be seated. 26 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION Margaret, Thank you. (Seats herself,) Miss Graham, I presume you saw my advertise- ment^ and have come to apply for the position of com- panion. Margaret, Yes^ ma'am, and I shall be thankful for the place. I know you will give it to me, and I know I am just the person you want. Sarah, I ton't tink she vill do. She isn't pig enough or strong enough to pe a companion for a voman dot is lifin' all alone. She vould pe no goot. Anyhow, it vouldn't pe right nor fair nor accordin' to shustice to pitch me out ven I vas de ferst to come. Miss Graham, Miss Whatever-your-name-is, I want to advise you to talk less. I expect to see all the ap- plicants, and I don't want you to interfere in my se- lection. Sarah, Veil, now you shoost needn't git so cranky apout it. I ton't vant notings but vot is right, und you looked to me ven I comed in like as if you vas a voman dot vould act shoost right and accordin' to shustice. (Knock at door,) Miss Graham, Ah, another applicant! Sarah, Veil, I tinks dere is apout enough appli- cants now. I tinks you had petter not let any more get in here. I comed in ferst, und I ought to haf de blace. Margaret (recites and gesticulates grotesquely.) " See how she rides upon the gale ! She will get there, or else she'll fail ; She walks the waters, oh, so grand ! She'll get there first — she has the sand." Sarah (advancing). Is it me dot you are dalkin' apout ? Margaret, No, I Wasn't talking about you, you little Dutch woman. I wasn't talking about anybody. Sarah, Veil, if you vould make rhymes apout me, I vould knock you into de mittle of next week. ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 27 Miss Graham {opening the door). Come in, come in. Are you an applicant for the place? (Enter Bridget.) Bridget. Shure an' ye're roight. Oi have come after the place an' I want to be a companion. Are yez a married woman .^ Miss Graham. No_, I am not married. Bridget. Oi s'pose ye're an ould maid, then? Miss Graham, You are somewhat impudent in your remarks. I don't think you will suit me. Bridget. Shure an' Oi wull. Oi niver was a companion afore, but Oi'll be all roight all the same. Oi'll take the place, an' jez nadn't have ony fears but what Oi'll git along. Sarah. Veil, I tinks you haf more cheek than half a dozen common Irishmen. I vas a leetle too smart for you. I vas here ferst. I vas ahead, und you vas pehind, like all de Irish, und I haf got de blace. Margaret. I think not. I haven't made my ap- plication. (To Miss Graham.) 1 believe I could fill the place. I could read to you, and I could make poetrv for your entertainment. Do you love poe- try? ^ Miss Graham, Oh, yes, yes ; I dote on poetry. Sarah (aside). She shoost looks like as if she vas dotin'. Bridget. Shure now, ye ould maid av a woman_, are yez goin' to throw me out an' take .that girrel because she can make rhymes ? Oi can make rhymes, too. D'ye want to hear me? Miss Graham. Yes, I will be glad to hear you. Bridget (recites). *' The house was old, the wind was cold And Simon Johnston froze his toes." Miss Graham. Not very fine. Bridget. Shure an' Oi'll bate a quarther that it is betther than ye can make, ye ould haythen, ye. 28 ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION Margaret {recites), " But when October comes, And poplars drift their leafage down in flakes of gold below^ And beeches burn like twilight fires, that used to tell of snow, And maples bursting into flame, set all the hills afire, And summer, from the evergreens, sees paradise draw nigher, A thousand sunsets all at once distill like Hermon's dew, And linger on the waiting wood, and stain them through and through^ As if all earth had blossomed out one grand Corinthian flower. To crown Time's graceful capital for just one gorgeous hour!" Bridget. Oi'll bate a quarther Oi can spake jist about as good as that. Jist hear me now. Miss Graham (aside). How am I to get rid of these people.'* Oh, why did I advertise for a com- panion.^ {To Sarah,) You were the first to come; you may be the first to leave. I have decided that I will not employ a companion. Sarah, Now, vould you act de rascal dot vay.^ Didn't I hurry und come here early to git de blace, und now vould you pe so mean und act de rascalso pad as to pitch me out.^ Miss Graham, But I have decided that I will not have a companion. Sarah, Oh, dot is all bosh. You shoost vant to git me to leaf, und den you vill dake one of dese odders. Dey hadn't no right to come here ven I had got here ferst und had got de blace. Miss Graham, I tell you all that I have decided that I do not want a companion, and will not have one. Sarah, Oh, you is von rascal. Margaret. But I can make poetry. ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION 29 Miss Graham, I don't care ! I don't care ! I will not be annoyed. Get out! I don't want any of you. Bridget, Oi have a plan fur yez. Yer advertise- ment says ye have plenty av money. Wull, Oi will send my brodther^ an' maybe he will make a good com- panion fur yez. I think he wu'd be willin' to marry jez. Ye may be a leetle too ould fur him, but Oi reckon he wu'dn't care whin yez have the money. What d'ye say about it } Miss Graham. I say for you all to get out of my house. I'll not have anybody for a companion. No, never! I am disgusted with the whole business. Get out ! Go ! Leave my house ! Sarah (coming forward). Oh, you can't scare me! I shoost vill stand up for my rights. I vas here ferst, und you can't run me off mitout an oxplanation. Margaret, And I will stand up for my rights. (Recites.) '* Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day." Bridget, Shure an' Oi'U stand up fur me roights, too. If Oi can't be a companion fur yez, thin Jamie wull. He's not as ould as yez, but Oi reckon he'd be willin' to marry yez, seein' as ye've got considherable money. Miss Graham (hysterically). Oh, will you not go? Go, I say ! Go, go, go ! I can't endure this. Go, or I will send for the police. (Walks around, excited,) Bridget. Now, don't be afther gettin' yersilf into sich a disthressed condition. Oi want to ax yez one question : Don't yez call yersilf a gintleman, an' won't ytz be as good as yer word.^* Miss Graham (stopping in her walk. Aside) * I have certainly got myself into an awkward fix. Who would ever have thought that my advertisement would bring such scum as this? Either one of them would drive me crazy in an hour! What shall I do to get rid of them? so ADVERTISING FOR A COMPANION Margaret, This is a pretty piece of business. You advertise for a companion^ and here I am. I can well understand that these other applicants would be worse than useless to you; wouldn't they make lovely read- ers.^ Ha! ha! What fault have you to find in me? I will not leave you^ come what may^ You bet your life I've come to stay. Miss Graham (aside). Just listen to that! Slang! No! I can't stand this any longer. I have it, I'll bring some imaginary men and guns to my rescue. And I'll be crazy for a few minutes — yes^ I'll be frightfully wild. (Goes to the door at one side of the stage, and calls.) John, come here. Make haste! Bring your guns ! I'm annoyed by an Irish woman, and a Dutch woman, and another woman. Come quickly. Don't delay. The war is about to commence. The American flag has been hauled down. (Goes to the other side of the stage, and calls,) Thomas, come here ! Make haste ! Come instantly. Bring seven guns and five dogs. I'm annoyed by an Irish woman, and a Dutch woman, and another woman. Make haste. Come immediately. Bring five guns and seven dogs. The necessity of the case demands it. Three guns for the Irish woman, three for the Dutch woman, and ten for the other woman. Margaret (runs out, screaming). Mercy! good- ness ! would they shoot us ? Oh ! oh ! Bridget, Shure an Oi think Oi've got into a lunatic asylum. Oi belave she's gone crazy intirely. Oi'U git out av the house, onyhow. (Runs out,) Sarah, Veil, veil, isn't dis a burty vay? I tinks dis is nothing but a crazy kind of a lunatic asylum. I tinks I had petter run out, too. (Runs out.) Miss Graham. Good riddance ! Well, now, if I should ever want a companion, I'm sure I shall find her in some other way than by advertising. Curtain, H. E. McBride. WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY 31 THE WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY CHARACTERS Elderly and Middle Aged Ladies. The President^ The Deacon's Wife^ Jerusha^ Hepsibah, Ruth Ann. Scene. — An old fashioned country living room fur- nished with many odd and old-fashioned articles, the whole presenting a quaint appearance, A company of elderly ladies in grotesque costumes are gathered in the middle of the room, the President occupying the seat of honor. President. The next subjeck ter be considered and discussed on is^ " What are the Causes for the Extrava- gance o' Wimmin, and Wherein are the Men Folks ter Blame For 't?'' Deacon^s Wife (without rising). I've made up my mind ter say somethin' ter this meetin' and I ain't a goin' ter let the Squire's wife '' set down '* on me agin, not if I know it. I'm awful afraid this ere school of our'n is goin' ter make a rumpus with the men, ain't you? 'Specially if we should go ter layin' blame onto 'em for our extravagance — they'll feel dretful cross- grained and hard agin us ; and, massy knows, 'tain't any too easy to git along with some on 'em now, I for one don't want'er do nothin' to stir 'em up and git 'em mad. The deacon don't 'prove o' this school no how, and he's ben pickin' out chapters for readin' night and mornin^ for much as a fortnight^ all bearin' upon female sub- mission, and so on. This mornin', arter prayers, I spunked up and told him that I didn't think the 'postle 32 WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY Paul's opinion o' wimmin amounted ter much. " What does an old bachelder know about wimmin?'* says I. " And what does a pack o' old maids know 'bout men ? " says he^ firin' up. " 'Most all your ' School o' Felos- ofy ' wimmin is old maids/' says he. Wa'n't that mean } Ruth Ann, You might a told him that we know all we want'er know 'bout men, and more tew. But they needn't fret, they won't be hurt. Our school ain't a wimmin's rights consarn by no manner o' means; quite the contrairy. And you can tell the deacon that we should a' invited the men ter j ine, only we felt delekit 'bout it ; thought we could dew better by ourselves — same's female prayer meetin', ye know. We shouldn't feel free 'fore sech superior hem's. You can tell him how 'tis. D. W. Now you're makin' fun o' the men, Ruth Ann, and I don't blame ye, for they be a pig-headed, consaited lot, and I will say it, if I be a married woman, and a deacon's wife ! {Pounding the table with her knitting work, and looking round as if to make sure the deacon isn't in sight,) Hepsibah, There's lots o' good men in the world. D. W, O yes, the deacon's good enough — we all know that; but I'd rather he'd be a leetle more agree- able, if he wa'n't so awful good. Hep, (laughing). That's pooty rough on the deacon. Z). W. I don't care if 'tis it's the truth, any way. (Knits furiously ,) Ruth Ann, Extravagance is a word that's ben mis- applied and 'bused 'bout as much as any word in the English language, I guess. Mean, stingy folks call that extravagant that ain't only jest comfortable; and then agin, what's extravagant for the poor ter dew is only right and proper for rich folks, don't you see ? jD. W, Yes, I dew, and that is what riles me so when the deacon insists upon our skimpin' and pinchin' as a dooty. If we wa'n't well off, with money in the bank, I wouldn't say a word; but, Ruth Ann, I'll tell you — I WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY 33 wouldn't say it ter everybody — the way that man con- trives ter save does beat all ! Sometimes his notions is laughable. The hat he wore when we was married, and for a good many years afterward, is up in the gar- ret 'long with other old things that's laid there this thirty year — he never lets me give a thing away — says everything comes in course some time; but this hat is a white stove-pipe — wall, jest such a hat as Uncle Sam alwers wears in the newspaper cartoons. I s'pose it looked all right in the day on't; but now — O dear! Wall, every spring, in house-cleanin' time, when I'm up in the garret putting things ter rights, up he comes regular ter make sure all his old sculch is safe — his stone-funnels and cracked cider-jugs and old cart- wheels — and I'd orter mentioned 'long with the hat a black silk vest, with picters o' George Washington all over it, that his uncle used to wear and left there when he died ; it's all ragged now — a sight ter see. Wall, year arter year, as sure as the spring and house-cleanin* comes round, the deacon follers me up into the garret, and the fust thing he does is to spy out that old hat ; he picks it up, puts it on his hed, and turns ter me and says, very severe: ** Betsey, what's the matter with this 'ere hat? Why is it laid one side? " And I laugh and say, '' Why, Jonas, how forgetful you be; don't you know that 'are was your weddin' hat.^ It's been up here this thirty year." " Is that so.^ " says he, takin' it off and lookin' at it. " But I don't see's anything is the matter on 't; good enough ter wear ter the barn 't any rate; " so he puts the redickerlus thing on his head agin and goes on rum- magin' 'round. Bimeby he comes acrost the old vest hangin' in a corner, takes it down, looks it over careful, and finally puts that on, too, a-top of his striped frock^ and comes ter me agin and says, severer than ever : ** Betsey, I tell ye now we can't afford ter throw away good clo'e's. What's the matter with this 'ere vest? " Then, 'Ruth Ann, I look up at him standin' there. 34 WIMMIN'S SCHOOL OF FELOSOPHY Yer know how fat he is, and with that short-waisted rag of a vest buttoned across his stummick, and his striped frock a hangin' down^ his blue overhalls tucked into his boots, and that weddin' hat set one side of his hed, and I jest laugh, and screech, and holler, till I'm bout gin out, and the deacon gits mad and out o' patience with me, and, like enough, the white stove- pipe rolls oiF on ter the floor, or the valooable vest splits out behind, and that tickles me all the more. Well, when I dew leave off at last, the deacon sets tew and lectures me. " Hain't you no dignerty at all.^ A pooty deacon's wife you be," and so on and so forth. ** P'r'aps I be," says I ; ** but it's enough ter make anybody's wife laugh, 'less it's Lot's wife arter she's turned into the pillar o' salt," says I. I reckon that a good many folks is 'cused o' extrav- agance that ain't so at all. There's them Dodge girls on the hill; you know how stylish and well-dressed they alwers look, 'specially Mariar, the eldest one. Wall, she's harnsome as a picter, ter begin with, got one o' them nateral pink-and- white complexions that'll wash and bile, as you might say, and a good figger that don't need no five-dollar corsets ter fetch it into shape ; and whatever she puts on she looks dressed out ter kill, don't she.^* I've heard the 'Squire's Lizy Jane say many a spiteful thing 'bout Mariar's extravagance, when the fact is, Mariar never pretends ter wear anything better'n a cashmere in win- ter or a pretty muslin in summer; and it takes silks and satings and all creation ter rig out Lizy Jane, and then she ain't nothin' but a great awkwerd, gawmin' thing; looks more like a feather-bed with a string tied 'round the middle than anything else, though she ain't ter blame for her looks, as I know on, only it's a pity that folks that is so awful humly can't be a leetle pleasant in their ways ter kinder make up for't, you know; but they ain't now. As a general thing, the wuss anybody looks, the more hateful and disagreeable they act. AWEUL BOOTS 35 Jerusha, That's so^ but I dunno's all this talk bears very hard on the subjeck: we hain't even touched on the last part o' the question — " wherein be the men folks ter blame/' etc. D, W. I guess (rolling up her knitting and getting ready to go)^ I guess perhaps we married wimmin hadn't better arger that pint much. We'll kinder talk round and lead up tew it, as ye might say; and then you and Hepsibah and the rest o' the young gals can take hold on't. Not that I'm afraid (looking around as if she expected the deacon might he standing behind her chair), but I don't want'er create no hard feelin's among the men. Hep, All right; you can leave 'em to us, we'll be very careful o' their feelin's — the poor sensitive cree- turs. Z). W. (starts for the door, then turns and says:) Ruth Ann, if the 'Squire's wife happens to pitch into the men next Tuesday night, I shall have to follow suit. She ain't agoin' to get ahead o' me this time, not if the Deacon gets a divorce the very next mornin'. (Curtain.) " JosiAH Allen's Wife." — Adapted. AWFUL BOOTS CHARACTERS Emma Forrester, A Young Lady who hasn't quite made up her mind. Jack Forrester, A Boy, and a Cousin of Emma's. Augustus Lofty, An Exquisite, and one of Emma's Admirers. John Monroe, Another Admirer. Scene I. — A Room. Entrances R. and L. Table and Chairs. Emma seated, C. Emma. What am I to do? Last week Augustus Lofty proposed to me, and then, before two days had 36 AWFUL BOOTS passed^ and before I had quite recovered from the astonishment, John Monroe appeared and made a-prop- osition of the same kind. They both appeared to think a great deal of me; at least they talked in a manner to make me believe they loved me, but I certainly did not expect them to propose so soon, and I am quite at a loss what to say. I can't marry both of them, and I can't say that I have a very great desire to marry either of them. But I must marry, I suppose. I am in a measure dependent on my uncle, and I wish to retire from this mansion as soon as possible. My uncle is kind, but I am inclined to think that my aunt wants me to marry, and get out of the way of her own daughters. But which shall I marry? {Reflectively.) Augustus Lofty — John Monroe. Augustus is stylish, and seems to be wealthy. John is a mechanic, probably not very well off in this world's goods, and yet he may have more money than Augustus. But why do I talk in this way.^ I am ashamed of myself. Haven't I said again and again that I would not marry for money .^ Augustus does not seem quite so brave and noble as John — Enter Jack Forrester, R. Jack, Hello, Emma, all alone, are you.^ May I come in and talk to you.^ Emma, Certainly, certainly. I am always glad to see you. Jack. I'm in trouble now; perhaps you can help me out of it. Jack, You in trouble?? Well, you are the last person I would suppose to be in trouble. Why, cousin Emma, you always seem happy and joyful. I wish I could be like you. But what is the matter? What cloud is now overshadowing you? Emma, I'll tell you all; you have always been a true friend to me, and I'll give you my confidence. I have had two offers of marriage. Jack. Two! why, you're lucky. A great many women pine all their lives and don't get one, " Full many a flower is born to blush unseen; " but that isn't AWFUL BOOTS ST your case^ for youVe been seen and appreciated. I like you a heap myself, cousin Emma, and if I was a bigger boy, or you were a smaller girl, I'd marry you myself. What do you think of that? Emma, You startle me. But even if you were a larger boy, or I was a smaller girl, I might not want to marry you. You know it takes two to make a bargain. Jack. Gracious ! I didn't think of that ! Well, there's no use in crying over spilled milk, and it is still worse to cry over milk that might be spilled, hut isn't, I have no crying to do, cousin Emma. Go on with your story, and I will help you out of your difficulty. Emma, Well, as I said before, I have received two proposals of matrimony, from two persons. Jack. Two persons ! I suppose they were men. If it isn't a secret, I'd like to know who they are, but if you don't want to tell me, and want me to guess, I'll show my ability in that line. Emma, Let me hear you guess. Jack, Mr. Augustus Lofty and Mr. John Monroe. Emma, You are correct. Jack, Well, you can do as you please, Emma; but if I was a woman, and that Mr. Lofty should come a courting me, I'd send him a skallyhooting. Emma. What kind of a word is that? Jack, Well, I can't tell whether it is Greek or Latin, but that's what the boys say when they mean that they will send something in a hurry. For instance, if a boy should hit me I'd hit him back again, and if I was able I'd send him a skallyhooting upon his head. Do you understand ? Emma. Yes. Jack, Well, I reiterate, as the preacher says ; I'd send Mr. Lofty a skallyhooting. I don't like him. He looks too much like a toad on springs. Emma. But isn't he wealthy? Jack. I have grave doubts on the subject. But didn't you say you would never marry for money? Emma. Yes, and I don't expect to. But if I loved 38 AWFUL BOOTS two men just the same, and one was wealthy and the other poor^ which should I marry? Jack, Cousin Emma, that's all bosh about loving two men just the same. Aunt Margaret says it is, and she ought to know. Now I never liked two girls awful hard at the same time. I like one a spell, and then I like another a spell. Emma, Yes, that's boy style. Jack {straightening up). Cousin Emma, you don't call me a boy, do you.'^ I'm fifteen, and I'm studying algebra. Emma. I know you are getting along very well, and I have no doubt you are beginning to think of mar- riage. Jack, Why, I've been thinking of that for some time. Not thinking of marriage for myself, but trying to solve the question as to whether it is better to marry or to remain single. No, indeed, I am not thinking of marriage for myself. I have a work to do. I am going to astonish the world. Emma, I shouldn't wonder. Jack, Now, Cousin Emma, you are bent upon rush- ing into matrimony, and I shall not advise you on the subject; but as to your selection of a husband, I shall not hesitate to advise you. Don't have anything to do with Mr. Lofty — cut his acquaintance — set him adrift. He's a cowardly man and a spoon. I have found that out, and if you have no objection I'll prove it to you. Emma, In what way? Jack. The next time he comes I will place a pair of boots under the sofa in the next room, and then you must lead Mr. Lofty to believe that there is a blood- thirsty, murdering house-breaker there. If he will rush in and take hold of the boots and try to pull out a man, then I'm mistaken, and you may think seriously of accepting him for your lawful wedded husband; but if he gets frightened and runs away — Emma, I'll reject him. AWFUL BOOTS 39 Jack. Sensible! When does he come again? Emma. To-night. Jack, And when does Mr. Monroe come.^ Emma, To-night or to-morrow night. Jack, Hope he'll come to-night ; and if he does^ and if he gets frightened at the boots^ rej ect him too. I would have no man who is afraid of a pair of boots. Emma, Nor I either. I thank you^ Jack^ for your suggestion_, and will act on it. Jack, But remember to have a curtain around the sofa^ and don't have the boots sticking out too far. But I'll arrange that for you. I know how to place the boots so as to make them look life-like and awful, and I'll give Mr. Lofty an awful scare. Now I must go and tell Alice and Lucy to keep out of the way. I should like to see the exquisite Mr. Lofty shake and tremble and rush out of the house^ but I suppose it wouldn't be proper to listen nor hang around. Emma, Certainly^ Jack^ you may listen. Jack, May I ? Good ! Thank you. Oh^ it will be glorious fun ! Keep a cheerful hearty cousin mine, and you shall win a brave husband. {Exit Jack, R,^ Scene II. — Same as First, Enter Emma, R, Emma, Augustus will be here soon. Jack's plan is certainly an amusing one^ but I shall act on it, and if Augustus is, as Jack says, " afraid of a pair of boots," I shall reject him instantly. He comes. Enter Augustus Lofty, L. Augustus, Aw, my chawming Emma, good evening. I am delighted to see you. Emma, Indeed ! Be seated, Augustus. Augustus (seats himself), Yaas, Delightful weathaw this evening. Emma, Beautiful. {Pause), 40 AWFUL BOOTS Augustus. This is the evening, you know — the evening — Emma {aside). He's coming to the point at once. (To Augustus.) Yes. Augustus, 'Pon honaw, you look chawming to-night. I — that is — you undawstand — I have called this evening for the answer to my pwoposition. Oh, Emma ! chawming, beautiful, bewitching lady, do not cwush me by saying that you love me not, but make me the happiest of mowtals by accepting my hand and hawt. Emma, I fear we are not suited to each other. Augustus. Oh, gwacious ! Don't speak in that awful mannaw, or I shall succumb — I shall expiaw — I shall wave and go wild — I shall feel wetched and misewable. Suited to each othaw ! Oh, Emma, say not so! I will love you I will pwotect you. Yaas. Nothing shall disturb you when I am awound. Emma. You will protect me? Augustus. Yaas, always. Emma {rising). Excuse me a moment. {Exit Emma, R,) Augustus, What the deuce does she mean by leaving a fellow that way.^ Pwobably she has gone to ask her aunt about it. Reenter Emma, R., seemingly very much frightened, Emma, Oh, Augustus ! I am so terribly frightened. Augustus. Gwacious! What's wong? Emma. Oh, there's a pair of awful hoots sticking out from under the sofa in the next room. Augustus, You don't say! What's to be done? Why don't you call youaw uncle? Emma. Uncle and aunt are away; they are over at Watson's. You must fight him alone. Augustus. Good gwacious! Me fight him! Nevaw! The ideaw is pweposterous ! Emma. Oh, Augustus, something must be done. Augustus, I'll wun and get some help. AWFUL BOOTS 411 Emma. Oh^ no^ no ! would you leave me alone to be murdered ? Augustus. ISOy no^ of course not — but — but — can't you come along? (Moving towards the door.) Emma. Oh^ dear^ no ! Augustus_, you said you would protect me. Will you not clutch those boots and drag them out? Augustus. Me clutch those boots! Nevaw! I don't like to get into wows. Emma. But can't you fight him? Augustus. Fight a burglar! Me contend with one whole burglar ! Don't you know burglars carry pis- tols and guns and knives? Oh^ it is awful! Let us wetire and get some help. Emma. And if we should retire_, might not the house be robbed while we are away? No^ I will not desert the house. Augustus. Well 'pon honaw I shall have to wetire — I feel unwell. Emma (sinks into a chair and pretends to weep). Oh^ I am to be deserted by one who said he would al- ways protect me. Augustus (stammering). Weally — 'pon honaw — good gwacious ! I think you had better come with me, and we'll get some persons to come and arwest the blood-thirsty man. Emma (springing up). No, wait a moment, and I'll bring in the blood-thirsty man. (Going R.) Augustus. Gwacious! Stop! Jupiter! You'll be murdered and I'll be murdered. (Ej:it Emma, R.) What a weckless woman! Well, I must go. I can't stay here and be shot down by a burglar. (Going L.) Reenter Emma, R., with a pair of hoots in her hand. Emma. Yes, go ! Go as soon as you please, and never return. Brave Mr. Lofty! (Sneeringly.) And so you are afraid of a pair of boots ! Augustus, Good gwacious ! I thought there was a burglar, a housebreaker, a muwdewaw — aw, I see; a 42 AWFUL BOOTS joke. Aw, Emma, you do get up such chawming jokes. Emma, Do I, Indeed? 'Tis quite a joke on you, Mr. Lofty. You have my answer; I do not care to see you again. A man who is afraid of a pair of boots, would not make a good protector. Good evening, Mr. Lofty. (Bows coldly.) Augustus, Gwacious! I'm a cwushed man. {Exit Augustus, L.) Emma. One suitor disposed of to my satisfaction. (Calls.) Jack! Enter Jack, R., laughing. JacJc, Cousin Emma, can you tell me why you would be a good thing in the quartz regions? Emma. No. Why ? Jack. Because you are a crusher. You've crushed that fellow; he says so, at least. I heard the conver- sation, and laughed all over my head. I knew he'd be frightened, but I wasn't prepared to believe that he was quite so much of a sheep as he proved himself to be. Emma. But the play is not yet ended. John Mon- roe will be here to-night. I received a note from him a few minutes before Mr. Lofty arrived. I want you to place the boots again, as you say, in a life-like man- ner. It is possible they may be seen this time by other eyes than mine. Haste ! he is coming. (Exit Jack R., with boots.) Enter John Monroe, L. John. Good evening, Emma. Emma. Good evening. Be seated. John (seated). I met your friend, Mr. Lofty, a short distance up the street. Emma. Did he tell you he had been here? John. No. I spoke to him, but he seemed to be non-communicative, and scarcely replied to my salu- tation. But, Emma, I cannot remain long. I expect to leave the city to-morrow for a few days, and sent you AWFUL BOOTS 43 the note saying I would call this evening. When I saw you last^ I told you I would return for my answer to- night or to-morrow nighty and now I await your reply. I have said all I can say. I am not wealthy, but will give you a comfortable home. My prospects are bright, and with you for my wife, I know I can be very happy. {Taking her hand,) Emma^ shall we walk together down life's pathway.^ Emma (rising). Excuse me a moment. {Exit Emma^ R,) John. I suppose she has gone to consult her aunt. {Takes up book.) Well, I can aiford to wait an hour, an hour and a half, or two hours, if she will but accept me. Reenter Emma, R., seemingly very much frightened. Emma. Oh, dear, there's an awful pair of boots under the sofa in the next room. John. Boots! Who's afraid of boots .^ I'll bring them out. Emma. Oh, but stop ! There's more than boots there. Don't go in, or you will be murdered. Uncle and aunt are away. John. Oh, I'll settle him in short order. What business has he coming into respectable people's houses. You see he is under the sofa, and can't fight worth a cent. Give me the poker. {Takes poker,) I'll put a stop to his burglarizing. You see, Emma, I'll get a hold of the boots and snatch him out before he can say Jack Robinson. Emma, But aren't you afraid? John. No, there's nothing to be afraid of. Stay here and keep out of the way if the rascal should try to shoot. But I'll disarm him. {Exit John, R.) Emma {laughing). Ha, ha! He'll find only the awful boots. He is the one who shall have this hand and this heart. He possessed the heart long ago, but I did not seem to know it. 44 AWFUL BOOTS Enter John, R., laughing, John, Here's your burglar. Nothing but boots^ and they can scarcely be called awful. No shooting here to-night^ but (holding the boot-legs toward Emma) these might answer for miniature Quaker guns. I think this has been one of Jack's tricks^ to frighten you. Emma. I'll confess^ now. Jack planned the affair to find out whether you or Augustus Lofty was the braver man. John, Augustus Lofty ! What did he do } Emma, He ran away. John, Did he not try to capture the man, boots and all.^ Emma. No, he wouldn't even go into the room, and after I had tried in various ways to get him to do something, I ran in, brought out the boots, and told him all. He tried to treat it as a joke, but his terror was too real. No wonder he didn't talk to you to-night when you met him. Enter Jack, R., laughing. Jack, Oh, what jolly fun I've had to-night! Emma, And your little stratagem has helped me to choose the right man. {Turning to John.) John, I give you my answer : I will be your wife. John {taking her hand). You have made me a happy man. Emma. And I now feel that I have an arm to lean upon, a brave husband, and a kind protector. Jack. For which you ought to thank your cousin Jack and {pointing to boots) those Awful Boots. Curtain, H. E. McBride. AUCTION MAD 45 AUCTION MAD CHARACTERS Mrs. Toodles^ A Woman with a Passion for Attending Auctions, Mr. ToodleSj Hei* Husband. Scene. — The dining-room of the Toodles' house — The table set for dinner; on a mantel at one side a huge door-plate, with the name Thompson upon it. Enter Mr, Toodles, Mrs, Toodles following him, Toodles. Oh^ don't dear Toodles me! You'll drive me to distraction. Your conduct is scandalous in the extreme. Mrs, Toodles, My dear Toodles^ don't say so! Toodles. But I will say so^ Mrs. Toodles. What will become of us^ w4th your passion of going to auc- tions^ and buying everything you see, because it's cheap .^ I say, Mrs. Toodles, where's the money; and echo answers, Where? Mrs. Toodles, I'm sure, my dear Toodles, I lay it out to the best advantage. Toodles. You shall not squander and waste my means. Mrs. Toodles, My dear, I buy nothing but what's useful. Toodles, Useful — useless you mean. I won't have my house turned into a hospital for invalid furniture. At the end of the week, I ask, where's the money? All gone to — spent in cursed nonsense. Mrs, Toodles, My love, although they are of no use to you at present, we may want them; and how useful it will be to have them in the house! Toodles, Why, Mrs. Toodles, the house is full already of damaged chairs and dilapidated tables, sofas with one leg, washstands with two legs, chairs 46 AUCTION MAD with three legs, and some without a leg to stand upon. Mrs. T oodles, I'm sure you can't find fault with the last bargain I bought. Toodles. What is it? Mrs, Toodles, A pair of crutches. Toodles, A pair of crutches ! What use are they to me, Mrs. T. ? Mrs. Toodles, No, none at present. But you might meet with an accident ; and then how handy it will be to have them in the house ! Toodles, Oh ! here's a woman goes to an auction, and buys a pair of crutches in anticipation that her hus- band will break his legs. But look what you did the other day ; when this railroad was finished out here, why curse me ! if you did not buy forty-three wheelbarrows, — some with wheels, and some without wheels. And then again, before this new system of police was intro- duced, we had watchmen and watch-boxes; now our police have stars on their breasts, and the corporation abolished watch-boxes. They were all put up at auction; and I'll be hanged if you didn't buy ninety- three watch-boxes ! Mrs, Toodles, Now, my dear Toodles, how unrea- sonable you are! You don't know but they will be wanted ; and then how handy it will be to have them in the house ! Toodles. That's your old excuse. We have wheel- barrows in the yard, watch-boxes in the cellar, wheel- barrows and watch-boxes all over the house. The pigs eat out of the wheelbarrows; and the cows sleep in the watch-boxes. Mrs. Toodles. Now, my dear Toodles, don't that prove their utility? Toodles, When I came home the other night, I tumbled into something, and broke my shins. I called Jane to bring a light. I found myself in a watch-box. What was your last purchase? The other day I saw a cart before the door, and two men carrying into the house — a door-plate. AUCTION MAD 47 Mrs, Toodles. My dear Toodles — Toodles, And the name of Thompson^ upon it^ — Thompson with a p. Mrs. Toodles, if I were not in- nately a sober man, you would drive me to an extreme case of drinking. Well, what was your reason for buy- ing the door-plate ? " Toodles, my dear," says you, " we may have a daughter, and that daughter may be a female, and live to the age of maturity ; and she may marry a man of the name of Thompson with sl p; then, how handy it will be to have it in the house ! " Mrs, Toodles, And won't it, dear ? Toodles. You had it stuck over the mantel-piece; and when I come down to breakfast, or home to dinner, there's that odious name of Thompson looking me in the face. If I had a daughter, and I caught a man of the name of Thompson making love to her, I'd break his head with that door-plate. Mrs, Toodles, But, my dear Toodles — Toodles, Yes, Mrs. T., I say religiously, morally, sincerely, and emphatically, " Curse Thompson ! '' But I went to the auction, too, to-day. I've got a present for you. I thought it quite a bargain. Mrs, Toodles. What is it, eh, dear? Toodles, As soon as I saw it I said to myself, " It M^ill be just the fit for my dear Tabitha ! " Mrs, Toodles, Don't plague me. What is it, eh, dear } Toodles, I think I can see you looking so nice and comfortable in it! Mrs. Toodles, Well, why don't you tell me what it is? Toodles, Just your fit. A nice brass plate on it, and varnished all over. Mrs, Toodles, Yes, yes ; and it is — Toodles, A coffin, my love. Mrs, Toodles, Oh,. you brute! Toodles, We don't want it just now; but we don't know what may happen ; and then how handy it will be to have it in the house ! 48 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR Mrs. Toodles. Oh^ you wretch^ you'll be the death of me. Toodles, Will I ? It's lucky I bought the coffin. {Exit, followed hy Mrs. Toodles,) From *' The Toodles." MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR A Comic Dialogue for Five Males, CHARACTERS John Thompson, Literateur, Captain Flash, One of the Criminal Class. Chevalier Henri de Frauda, A French Adventurer. Ben Bowsprit, A Sailor. Terence O'Toole, A Hibernian Gentleman. Scene. — A well-furnished apartment. Mr. John Thompson in a dressing gown, just about to open his morning letters, his dress coat hung over the back of the large easy chair he is seated in. Thom. Now, is not this the most insufferable nuisance that eyer fell to the lot of a rational human being to encounter.^ What a most consummate ass my landlord must be to have let the next house to a man who not only rejoices in the same patronymic as myself — Thompson, but also has the effrontery to be pos- sessed of the same baptismal cognomen — John ! The consequence of this existence of a double edition of John Thompson in the small space of two consecutive doors in the same street, and the said doors being with- out the usual numerical distinction, is perfectly appal- ling ! I receive his letters — he receives mine. I am pestered with his acquaintances and — hem! creditors, who, notwithstanding my repeated and most emphatic MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 49 assurances that I am not the John Thompson with whom their business lies^ persist in making my dwelling a con- stant place of call^ to the serious and almost irretriev- able detriment of my new volume on " The Mutability of the Human Understanding/' which must be ready for the press by the 10th of next month, and of which, notwithstanding my most strenuous and almost incon- ceivable exertions, I have not written above four pages during the last three days, owing to this unflagging and pernicious nuisance. Now, there are no less than six letters this morning; I dread to open them, and yet I have no option, — if I send them to the villainous plun- derer of my appellation next door, they may be mine — and if I open and read them, I may be unintentionally penetrating the veil of mystery which clouds the pro- ceedings of the unprincipled individual who has robbed me at once of the necessary peace of mind conducive to good health, together with my true and lawful name. The immortal Bard of Avon has hit my case to a hair — ■he who filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, But leaves me poor indeed. This is my exact situation, and now for these half- dozen sealed up terrors. {He opens the first letter,) Ah! what is this? (Reads,) " My dear uncle — {surely it can't he from — nOy it's signed George,) I write this from limbo — (7 never heard of such a place) — having been out upon the loose, — (ah! that's a new term for being too fast) — I have been collared by the blues. — (blues! that's plain black and white) — and iined twenty dollars; as I had not the ready, I was penned — (50 is the letter^ and very badly) — for thirty daySo Do, dear uncle, post the stump, — (post! stumps! he must be making some references to the letter booses in the streets). — I have sent a pal of mine who will call upon you to-morrow for the rhino. Your dutiful nephew, GeorgEo^^ Now, in the whole course of my existence^ I never 50 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR had a nephew named George; this must be a case of John TKompson next door, so I place this down as nuisance No. 1 — now for the next. {Opens the sec- ond letter and reads.) " Mr. John Thompson, Dr. to Archibald Shears, — " Why, confound it, this is a tailor's bill! It cannot, by the most remote possibility, belong to me, so I put it down as nuisance No. 2. (Opens the third letter and reads.) " Monsieur Tonson, — Haiing heard of votre grand encouragement of ze world scientifique, I vill take to mon self se honneur of to visite for you en le jour of ze morrow, et vill to parlez-vous in ze account of mon grand invention for ze locomotives undare ze vatare. I sail to explain all ze hon av ant age of ze scheme to votre plaisir et satisfaction. Votre servant humbale, le Chevalier Henri de Frauda." There you are! nuisance No. 3. What encourage- ment did ever I give to such a swindling rascal .^^ This letter cannot be mine ; no, I utterly discard such an idea, and proceed with my researches. (Opens fourth letter.) " Honored Sir, — I hear as how you is a kind friend to the poor sailors, and as I have been laid up in port to repair damages, and am now ready to hoist the blue peter again, I shall board you to-morrow, and request your honor to lend me a supply of ballast in order to keep care under hatches until I get a berth. Your honor's servant to command, Ben Bowsprit." Was ever mortal breathing so robbed of his valuable time by such villainous compounds of impudence and folly before ? Now I cannot say that this letter is not mine, as it is evidently, as far as I can make out its mysterious phraseology, a begging letter ; but the worst of the matter is that the fellow intends to call here, or, as he facetiously calls it, to " board me." I'll take care he finds me *' under hatches," and snugly too. — Nuisance No. 4; now for No. 5. (Opens another.) " John Acushla,— I write to inform you that I left MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 51 Ballysloughguttery last Friday^ good luck^ and I'm coming over to your darlint country to pay you a visit. If sister Biddy is in good health I'll be glad to come, but if she is not, write and tell me, and I'll turn back again if I receive your letter before I leave home. Your brother-in-law, Terence O'Toole. P.S. — If you don't get this letter write and let me know, and I'll send you another. I ran after the postman to put this in the letter, but he was gone, and I couldn't overtake him." Confound the whole lot ! my adverse fate must not only compel me to peruse the idiotic effusions of a lot of asses like these, but must actually find me a brother- in-law, and that in such an outlandish place as " Bally- sloughguttery," wherever that is. This, of course, be- longs to my incessantly troublesome neighbor; nuisance No. 5. Thank heaven there's only another! (Opens the last letter,) " Dear Sir, — In consequence of the demise of our respected client, Mr. Adolphus Thompson, you are left heir-at-law to his estate. Should you think proper to allow us to continue our services to you in the capacity of your legal advisers, we shall be happy to accept the responsibility. Your most humble servants, Catchem & Cheatem." Ah, there is some sense in this; this must be mine; but whoever Mr. Adolphus Thompson is, or was, I have not the remotest idea. Now if this should belong to my neighbor, — Oh, it's quite impossible, there can't be two real John Thompsons, nature forbids ! (A Jcnock at the door heard,) Hallo ! who is this ? Bow, {without). In do you say? I 'It wait on his honor. Enter Ben Bowsprit, Bow, (bows and scrapes). Mornin', sir; I'm come to — but I may as well bring myself to an anchor. (Takes a chair.) You see, your honor, we sailors never 52 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR palaver whilst we carry sail^ but when we heave to and drop anchor we're ready for action in an instant, broadside to broadside, so now to fire away. Thorn, But I beg you'll not fire away until — Bow. Till IVe hauled my wind, you would say; never fear, I'm as full of good wind as the mains'l on a breezy day; so I'll make sail without tacking, and fol- low my course as straight as the bowsprit of a seventy- four, and if you will follow in my wake you'll see my meaning as clear as the top lights of a man o' war. Thorn. But I hope you'll not — Bow. Swerve from my course, — no, no, your honor, it shall be all plain sailing. You must know, your honor, that I belonged to the *' Billy rough 'em " seventy-four, and was stationed in the mizzen top, when one night, as Bill Backstay and me were at our station in the middle watch, what should we see but — ^ Thorn. But I don't want to know • — Bow. What it was we saw ; I dare say not, but how can I get to the end of my voyage if you stop me afore I've left port ? Well, your honor, as I was telling you. Bill and me were in the mizzen top — Thorn. Well, but you — Bow. Said that before — so I did, but it was all through your making me lose steerage way that I had to say it again. So Bill says to me, says he, " Ben, do you see yonder? " and he points his finger over to lee- ward, and I followed the course with my eyes, and I saw a black obj ect like a dolphin's back — Thorn. But I must insist on — Bow. Knowing what it was — I'm coming to that, sir, if you will keep quiet. So I sings out to the officer of the watch, and reported; and the officer went and reported to the skipper, and the skipper ordered a boat to be manned and put off to see what it was. Well, we hove to, and ran the helm hard-a starboard till the boat returned, and, — Thorn. Now will you — Bow. Tell you what it was — to be sure I will, but MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 5S you are in such a hurry to run me down that I can't tell which way I'm steering. Well^ the cox'n reports a boat, keel upwards and nothing in her. Thorn, Did ever — Bow, Anybody see a boat keel upwards with anyone in her, you would be axing. Aye, aye, many a time, when I was in the old '* Die-a-Maid," sixty guns, off Demerary, there was the pinnace upset in a squall, and Harry Hatchway — Thorn. Confound Harry Hatchway and you too! (They both rise.) Bow. What's amiss, your honor .^ Thorn, What do you mean by coming to me with your long stories about boats with their keels upwards, eh.^ Bow, Ax pardon, if I've offended you; Ben Bow- sprit doesn't want to do anything that's not above board, but I was told to come here, as your honor was a friend to sailors in distress, and fond of helping an old salt out of berth. Thorn. It's a fabrication — what do you take me for.?^ Bow, They told me as how your name was John Thompson. Thorn. It's that confounded abortion of humanity next door he wants ! Hark you — I am not John Thompson. Bow, But your name is on the brass plate outside the door. Thorn. Aye — there he has me. I wish that rob- ber of my name would steal the plate too. Look you, friend Bowsprit, the John Thompson you want lives next door, and if you will only go there^ and make yourself as tedious as you have done here, I will give you half-a-dollar, and thank you in the bargain. Bow, Tip me the half-dollar, your honor, and I'll go at once; I can spin my yarns as long again when there's shot in the locker. Thorn. Pray heaven you may (gives Bowsprit the 54 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR money, who retires). There^ that is what I call a small piece of sweet satisfaction; to think of my sending that sailoring fellow to plague that incubus of mine next door^ with his horrible jargon and unmeaning trash; I never did a more pleasant piece of business in my life^ nor ever laid out half-a-doUar to better advantage. Eureka! my vengeance will be felt! {Sits down.) Now I wonder who Adolphus Thompson was ! He must have been a relative of mine^ or the firm of Catchem & Cheatem would not have written me so business-like a letter; they are too clever to make any mistake in my identity. Of course the miserable pretender next door cannot have the slightest claim to relationship with such a distinguished man as Adolphus Thompson. {Knock- ing — Thompson starts to his feet.) Chevalier (without). I tank you, I will do mon self ze plaisir to vait upon you. Enter Chevalier Henri de Frauda. Chev. Ah, monsieur, comment vous portez-vous? I shall presume zat you be Monsieur Tonson, ze grand feelantropeest, et ze bon homme zat encourage ze sci- ence. Thorn. Sir, I must press you — Chev. *' Mus press," ah, vere is mon dictionnaire. {Takes out a dictionary.) Ah, here is — press, to squeeze — zat is von grand embrace ; you must press me, you must embrace me; vith plaisir. Monsieur. {Embraces him warmly.) ThoTu. Upon my soul this is a most extraordinary dilemma ! Sir, I received your letter, and am sorry to say that I cannot abet, — Chev. " A bet," zat is von grand vager — you can- not bet vager, bon, ver goot! Thorn. I beg you will suspend — Chev. " Soospend," mon dictionnaire — ah, soos- pehd, zat is to hang, you beg I vill hang, vat sail I hang. Monsieur? Thom. You do not comprehend me, sir, I mean — MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 55 Chev. " Mean/' — zat is low et vulgare^ I do not say zat you be low et vulgare^ I not so insult mes amis. Thorn. Sir^ I am quite fast — Chev, Ah^ ** fast_," mon dictionnaire^ fast^ ah^ quick^ speedy zat is you be fast^ quick^ bon! Zat is goot — you be quick_, haste^ expeditione ! Thorn, Whatever shall I do without an interpreter? I find it very hard sir^ to — Chev, '' Hard/' bon ! hard_, zat is solid^ not to be break. Thorn. No_, no^ I do not mean solid^ your ideas run so fast — Chev. Ah ! fast again — mon dictionnaire — fast, zat is fixed_, firm^ not to move — you say mon idea firm, not to move, goot! so zey be; I vill now do mon self ze honneur to explain ze sub jet of mon grand invention, vich you sail find zat — Thorn. It gives me great pain to — Chev. " Pane " — ah, zat is ze vindow vit ze glass ; ah, you sail see ze ting as easy as in ze vindow pane, as you say. Thom. (aside), I shall go mad. The more I try to explain, the worse I get; I must give him a hint he can- not misunderstand. (Aloud.) Sir, J beg to wish you good morning. {Turns away from him.) Chev. Ah, you be going; veil, I vill not stop you;" bon jour, monsieur, adieu! I sail stay till your re- turn. Thom. Why, the fellow will turn me out of my own house next! Sir, I am busy, I cannot talk to you at present; if you will call another time, I shall be much obliged — Chev. ** Oblige," ah, mon dictionnaire — oblige, zat is to force, to compel; veil, monsieur, I sail be compel to call at von oder time, as you say; so I vill take ze honneur of to say, au revoir. {Exit Chevalier.) Thom. This is what I call pleasant; here I am, in my own house, invaded by a horde of the most insup- portable annoyances, and have no remedy. Oh, my 56 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR poor volume! my unfortunate volume! shall I never have a few hours' leisure to vrrite a few lines towards thy completion^ or will the image of thy most in- defatigable^ although unconscious^ enemy — my ter- rible namesake — stand ever in thy way ! Oh^ John Thompson (I mean John Thompson No. 2), you little think what trouble in mind^ what horrible dreams, and what distress of body you are bringing upon your un- willingly-alike-named prototype — John Thompson No. 1 ! But now I reflect upon the unavoidable cer- tainty of our similar nomenclature, what a fine idea it brings to bear upon the subject of my book. I will give it embodiment in words whilst it is fresh in my mind. (Sits down and writes; knock heard,) Thorn, (starts up). Was ever a man so pestered? Enter Captain Flash Flash. A nice crib this. Hallo, guv'ner, allow me to introduce myself as Captain Flash. (Bows,) Thorn. And pray, what business may Captain Flash have with me.^ Flash. Why, don't you see, Mr. What's-his-name — that is, Thompson — Thorn. And pray, sir, how came you by the knowl- edge that my name is Thompson? Flash. Oh, I'm fly ! Thorn. You're " fly " ! And pray, sir, what do you mean by " fly " ? Flash, Up to the knocker, eh? You don't get over me ! (Puts his finger to his nose,) Thorn. And what is the meaning of that expression and sign? and what is your business? Flash. I'll tell you in the shaking of a wipe — I come from George. Thorn. From George! And who is George? Flash. Oh, don't try snooks with me; George is my good pal, and you are hunk. I know all about it. Thorn. Will you explain what ** snooks " and ** hunk " mean ? MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 57 Flash. Why^ I patter plain enough; George sent you a scribble about it^ didn't he? Thorn, (aside), I begin to understand; — a light dawns upon me — this is the nephew's friend. (Aloud,) And pray^ what does George 'want with me ? Flash. Why_, you see^ George is a good pal in the main^ in fact he's a regular brick; and you know he couldn't go out for a lark without doing the heavy. Thorn, x\nd what is doing the '* heavy? " Flash, Oh. he sided a lot of swipes^ till he was pretty well cut^ and then he went on the twisting lay. Thorn. " The twisting lay? " Flash. Yes ; the knocker business^ you know. We'd bagged about a score of knockers when the blues inter- fered; well, the first one got a slogger in the bread basket — Thorn. Good gracious ! Who had the " bread basket?" Flash, Ha, ha ! You're not so green as all that. George rattled another's ivories with a knock in the kissing-trap ; but one of our pals getting a rap on the knowledge-box with a staff, gave in, and the blues nabbed him; and to save his bacon he blowed the gaff. Thorn. And what, in the name of reason, is '' blow- ing the gaff? " Flash. Why, to get himself out of grab, he peached on George, and nosed him to the beaks. Thorn. *' Nosed him to the beaks?" Why the deuce don't you speak plain English? How can I un- derstand such gibberish? Flash. Don't you see what I mean? George was snapped and taken before the beak, who fined him, and as he hadn't got the brads, they sent him to the jug for thirty days, and I've come for the sugar to get him out. Thorn. *' Sugar!" And what can sugar have to do with all this ? Flash. Bless your innocent heart, I mean blunt. 58 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR Thorn. Your meaning may be blunt, for I cannot see any point in it. I am as much in the dark as ever. Flash, We want you to flash the tin, George says you must have plenty of rhino now his uncle Adolphus has kicked — Thorn. Stop! His uncle Adolphus? Flash. The very cove; I see I'm all right. Thorn, That's a settler! Then uncle Adolphus is no relation of mine^ an Catchem & Cheatem's letter was simply nuisance No. 6 ! And now^ Captain Flash, I wish you good morning; this letter from George I freely present you with, as your credential of introduc- tion to George's real uncle, who lives next door, and I hope that you will find him willing either to " post the stump," ** find the sugar," ** flash the tin," or to come forward with some of uncle Adolphus's ** rhino." Good morning! Flash. Well, I'm dashed — if this isn't a queer cull, may my best friend snitch, — ta, ta, old hunk! (Ea;it Flash.) Thorn, Gone at last, the Fates be praised — why, this fellow was infinitely more annoying than the Frenchman, with his dictionary. I think it would ma- terially improve the conversation of Captain Flash if he also carried one of those useful references. But oh, what an intense satisfaction I feel in the knowledge that my intolerable namesake will have to submit to the maddening influences of the erudite conversation of Captain Flash. I hope, from my soul, he will stay with him all day — dine with him, sleep with him, and utterly prostrate him with Flash on the brain before he leaves him — and serve him right ; why has he come here to be a perpetual incumbrance upon my privacy.^ It ought to be made penal for two men of the same name — especially such an uncommon name as John Thompson — to live in the same street. As for his du- tiful nephew, George, or any other relative he may be fortunate enough to possess, if my late visitor be a sample of their associations, I most decidedly object MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR 59 to entertain any thought of depriving him of their kind sympathies. {Knock at the door,) What — another arrival ! shall I never have an hour's peace to-day ? Terence {without). Ah^ get out o' that^ ye dirty spalpeens ! Thorn. Eternal powers — it's the Irishman ! Enter Terence O'Toole, with his coat torn up to his collar behind. Ter. A mighty fine things sure^ that I can't come to your dirty town^ but all the gossoons must be running afther me_, an' shouting *' Paddy whack! Paddy whack ! " By my sowl_, but I gave them one or two whacks they'll not rub out in a hurry^ at all at all. Faith^ an' they've torn my illigant coat^ that Dennis O'Brien made me to come in^ all to smithereens. If I'd been a bit of an omadhaun, they'd have left me nothing but the armholes. John, ma houchal, how are ye? An' how's Biddy? Bedad, I'll lave ye in charge of this fine garmint, and borrow this ould rag of yours. {Takes off his coat, and exchanges it for Thompson's which is hung on the chair.) Thorn. Stop, stop, what are you doing? Ter. Troth, don't you see what I'm doing, John ! Thorn. But I'm not John ! Ter. Bad luck to ye, do ye want to make an omadhaun of me? Sure isn't your name outside your dirty door, and don't I now your ugly phiz as well as if I'd seen it before? D'ye think I'd be mistaken in you as I was in Phelim McCarthy that I met in the Phanix the day before I sailed — didn't I think it was Phelim, and didn't Phelim think it was me, till we got close up, and then, by my sowl, it was neither of us — d'ye think after that that I'd be mistaken in you, that I never saw before ? Och, hubbaboo ! where's Biddy ? Thorn. Biddy's not here, and I tell you I am not John — John lives next door. Ter. Aisy now, aisy, d'ye want to persuade me that you live next door to yourself — how can that be unless 60 MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR you was your twin brother ? Bad luck to me, but you're as bad as Murty Daley/ that always had to sleep in the next room for fear of waking himself wid snoring. Where's Biddy, I tell ye? Thorn. I've got no Biddy, — I don't know Biddy ! Ter. Bad scran to ye, what d'ye mane by that? Didn't our Biddy disgrace herself and all her pos- therity before her wid marrying a dirty spalpeen like yourself, and giving all her fortune in the bargain? And see now how thankful ye are, ye blackguard ! Thorn. But I don't know anything about — Ter, An' who said ye did — can't ye keep your ugly mouth shut whilst a gintleman spakes to ye? Didn't my father, ould Barty O'Toole, of Castle O'Toole, in Ballysloughguttery, lave all his property to my mother, and half of the rest to myself, and the other half to our Mick, and the remainder to Biddy? And wasn't there the illigant mud-cabin at Castle O'Toole, an' the three-cornered potato field, an' the cow, an' the pig, an' the poulthry? Thorn. But I do not know — Ter, D'ye think we'd be fools enough to let you know it, or to let Biddy bring any of her fortune to a dirty blackguard like you? An' now ye want to dis- own ye'r relations an' to keep Biddy from me; wait a bit till I go an' fetch Terry O'Reagan, wid his jewel- lin' pistols, an' ye shall either spill some rale ould Irish blood, or I'll draw out the last drop of the dirty puddle ye have in your ugly body — stop where you are, for if I find ye gone when I come back, I'll let a hole through ye where ye stand big enough to bury a cat in. {Eojit Terence,) Thorn. This is horrible ! I certainly shall not wait until he comes back with his ** jewelling pistols," — and the wretch has gone off with my dress coat; I cannot go out without a coat, and stay I dare not — I must put on the wretched garment he has left (puts it on), and call in the police to protect me from the blood- thirsty violence of my would-be brother-in-law. If AT CROSS PURPOSES 61 Biddy is only equal to the family sample I have seen, I sincerely pity my unfortunate namesake, and will only too gladly yield him the field by removing just as far as I can from the baneful influence of My Next Door Neighbor. Curtain, AT CROSS PURPOSES A Conjugal Duologue, CHARACTERS Edward, A Bridegroom, Lucy, His Bride, Scene. — Reception room of a hotel. Right, a door. Left, a practicable closet. Enter Lucy, Lucy {enters briskly, closes the door, looks around her). Nobody here? I suppose somebody will come presently. {Sits down,) Oh! I'm all of a flutter! (Pause.) Is nobody coming.^ {Opens door timidly.) Waiter! {Pause,) Waiter! He doesn't hear me — must be asleep — a queer hotel, truly — I had better call louder — no, I won't do that — it might disturb people — Even if he came, what can I say.'* — What explanation can I make for coming to a hotel at mid- night, alone — without my husband. And yet I have a husband, but I left him at the railroad station — a fact — and now I suppose he is hunting for me every- where — asking everybody he meets whether they have seen his wife — Yes, a while ago, in the cars, he had the impudence to call me his wife. — The only passenger in our car was an old fellow — reading the Tribune — opened out, so that it hid us from his view. — My hus- 62 AT CROSS PURPOSES band edged up to me — close up — ^ I could feel his breath in my ear — I do believe he wanted to kiss me - — but I moved away from him, and all he said was " my little wife ! '' Such impertinence ! to call me his wife ! — and he had left only a moment before another woman — Oh ! I saw him with my own eyes ! Oh ! what I have gone through ! it^s scarcely credible — It began this morning at church — at the very altar — the clergyman had j ust completed our marriage ceremon}^, and was pronouncing the benediction, when I heard a heart-broken sob behijid me. I said to myself — what a sob ! it must be poor mamma. — Not a bit of it — I looked — there was mamma, as cool as a cucum- ber, talking to a lady. — But I spied a young woman — half-hidden by a pillar — hot tears running down her cheeks — plainly dressed — but nice. — Then other matters — at a time like that, you know — took away my attention — and the ceremony being over, we reached the vestibule. My wraps were soon adjusted and ready to depart. I looked around for my husband — nowhere — " He'll be here in a moment " — his best man said that — ** He is talking to a lady." A lady ? said I — What lady ? — I looked — there he was — talking to the lady who had been crying. She went away — he came back to me — quite embarrassed. My curiosity was piqued — I'm sure I had good cause — I asked papa who she was. — He said he didn't know her — perhaps some relative of his. — Well, now, I felt a little suspicious — what should she cry for? — I had read, only a few days before, in a novel — how a young man, married a girl for her money — and an- other girl, whom he loved and loved him — threw vitriol in his face at the wedding — to be sure, in this case there was no vitriol — but it looked rather sus- picious. — Then I thought — perhaps the poor girl loves him — came to bid him a last farewell — poor girl — I suppose such things happen sometimes — I suppose I looked serious — for mamma said " What*s the matter, pet } " I answered — Oh, it's nothing — AT CROSS PURPOSES 63 I feel a little confused, of course. — Then followed the wedding breakfast — excitement — congratulations — at last, at eight o'clock we — Edward and I — took the train to Washington. — The first part of the journey everything went well — at least, my husband said very little — looked terribly annoyed, though — that old fel- low sitting right opposite us, staring at every word we said — at last — the wretch opened out his newspaper — just then, we stopped at Baltimore — My husband got out on to the platform — said he wanted to get some cigar-lighters — He seemed to be a good while getting them, so I looked out of the window — What do you think I saw? Him! Yes! — My husband standing at the door of another car — talking — with whom ? — with the lady who cried at the wedding — she had fol- lowed us — or — perhaps — my husband had per- suaded her to come — Oh — it's just too horrible! — (pause). Presently my fine gentleman comes back, the very picture of tranquillity — Oh ! I felt like screaming — but I hated to raise a scandal. I con- trolled myself — till we arrived at Washington. Then — while he was looking after our baggage — I slipped away, got into a cab — and here I am — I shall take the very next train back again — and return to my parents — {falls into a chair and cries, then rising, resolutely). No — no tears — I am outraged — my resolution is taken. I can't stay here all night — I must have a private room — perhaps somebody will come presently — I'll wait a while longer. (Laughs,) My husband ! I wonder what he'll say — I should like to have seen him, after he had seen to our luggage, coming and looking everywhere for me — He must be in an awful fluster — all alone — alone ? No — there's the other one — she can console him — Oh ! it's simply abominable — I'll get a divorce — he has made it necessary — all I need is a good lawyer — Why — to be sure — there's Goodwin — poor James Goodwin — I think I should have married him, only this one came between — this one — is an architect — mamma said I 64 AT CROSS PURPOSES should never marry any one but an architect — poor James — why wasn't he an architect? — {Pause.) Oh^ well ! I don't care for him a bit — but mamma al- ways said — Lucy — you shall marry a man of your own choice — Well^ I made my choice — and then she persuaded me to marry some one else — I had five dis- tinct offers — and Edward {outside the door), I'll have to wait! Lucy. Great heavens ! My husband ! Edward {outside) . Hurry — now ! Lucy. Where shall I go — ah! this door! {Opens door and enters closet, closing the door behind her.) Enter Edward. Edward {excitedly). Pretty state of things — Wait — I must wait ! — everywhere I go^ I must wait ! I can't wait — after what has happened — I've lost — no — I've mislaid my wife — my wife — only since noon — to-day — no — yesterday — one o'clock at night — it's to-morrow — Who ever heard of such a thing? If you read it in the papers — you wouldn't believe it. — Nobody would believe it — and yet it is. — Not an hour ago — we arrived at the depot — I went to look after our luggage — back in a moment — she was gone — gone — somebody has car- ried her off — she was simple and innocent — some- body has made her believe I sent him for her — and she went with him — Oh ! it's abominable — Thank heaven she's a sensible girl — she'll soon find out what's happened — but how will sh@ ever find me? Oh! the scoundrel! If I only get hold of him — Oh! I'll massacre him — There was only one other pas- senger with us — that old wretch with the newspaper — Can it be he ? I'll kill him ! — But inhere is shef — Can't find any trace of her — been to all the hotels but this one — no tidings of her — here, they tell me no one has arrived to-night. What a lovely wedding-day. — If you saw it in the papers — you wouldn't believe it. But I must find her. What shall I say to her AT CROSS PURPOSES 65 parents ? My wife lost ! What will they think ? — I must find her! (Goes to door, calls off,) Waiter! — somebody ! — No answer — Ah — I think I heard some one out there. (Goes to closet door, opens it, staHs hack.) My wife!! — My wife^ hiding in a closet? — Lucy (confused). Oh — Edward — Edward, What's the meaning of this? Lucy, I thought this was a bedroom door, other- wise — Edward, Otherwise? Well? Lucy (angrily). Leave me — sir! (Shuts herself in again,) Edward (excited). Eh! What! — she avoids me! — (opens the door again,) Come out ! Lucy. I won't, Edward, Come out, I say — you can't stay in there — What in the world is the meaning of this ? Lucy (comes out quietly, avoids him, goes towards the other door). Don't touch me! don't dare to come near to me! Edward (stupe-fled). Great heavens ! I've married a crazy woman! (To her,) Oh! come — explain — (Advances towards her, she retreats.) Oh! horrible — it must be — crazy ! ! What shall I do ? Lucy (aside), I cannot remain here. (Goes towards door,) Edward, Where are you going? Lucy, Right back home — to my family — Edward, What? alone? Lucy, Alone — certainly — alone. Edward. But why? What — what's the matter? Lucy, You know perfectly well — Edward. I? This is unendurable! Lucy. Don't attempt to hinder me — If you dare to, I will call for help — I will claim the protection of the law — Edward, Protection! — The law! (Vacantly and wildly). Oh ! this must be some horrible dream — Just now at the depot — now at a hotel — I suppose pres- 66 AT CROSS PURPOSES ently the scene will change again — it will be a forest : — a precipice — that's the way it is in dreams — (Strikes his forehead repeatedly,) Oh! wake up! wake up! (Walks about distractedly.) Lucy (aside). How he frightens me! His head seems completely wandering — Edward (turning towards her). But is it? Can it be ? all real ? Lucy ! Lucy. Farewell — sir. Edward, For pity's sake — one word — ^What does this all mean? Someone has carried you off? Is it not so? Lucy. What ? Edward. Was it that man with the Tribune? He told you that I was waiting for you here? And you followed him -— Lucy. What? I follow? — are you crazy? Edward. Til kill him! I'll strangle the hound! And that's why you won't look at me ? Lucy. I don't understand a word of it — Edward. Don't understand? Lucy. No^ sir — listen to me. — It was I — myself — that left you — of my own free will — Edward. Left — me ? You — Lucy. It was about time — high time. I saw her. Edward. Her ? — Who^ then ? Lucy, You know whom I mean. Edward. No ! Lucy. That woman — who cried at our wedding — That woman — the same one — that you talked to in the church — the same one that you talked to again at Baltimore — in the next car to us — Edward (inquiringly). Woman? in the church — at Baltimore. — What in the world do you mean ? Lucy. Yes — that woman — that nobody knew, but you — your darling — the minx — that you brought with you, right here — Edward (smiling). She! what, FanchonI Lucy. I don't care to hear her name — you can have her — Fanchon — name and all — AT CROSS PURPOSES 67 Edward {sits down, laughing heartily^, Fanny — Oh ! that's too good ! Fanny — the minx — my love — Why ! my dear — she's your new maid. Lucy, What ? Edward. Yes — Fanchon — your lady's maid — a French girl — first class — and you took her for — Oh ! it would be actually insulting to me if it were not so awfully funny. Lucy, But she never said a word to me — Edward. No use — she doesn't understand a word of English. Besides, I told her to keep away from us at present. Lucj. Why } Edward. I wanted to have you alone to myself the day of our marriage — no one to pry into our secrets — to watch us — Lucy. I don't rightly understand it all yet — What had she to cry about at church.^ Edward. What.^ incredulous still? Poor Fanchon was engaged to a hussar — who died only a week ago — Perhaps our wedding brought up bitter thoughts of what might have been for her — Lucy. Oh — Edward ! {Holds out both hands to him.) How I have wronged you — Forget and forgive — think of all the excitement that I have gone through — the ceremony — the reception afterwards — the parting and journey — and then — Edward. And then — your doubts of me — your absurd jealousy. (Shaking his finger at her.) I hope hereafter you will have more confidence in me — and never jump at conclusions as you did just now. Lucy. Oh — Edward^ dear ; I never thought of it in that way — How much^ indeed^ you have to forgive ! but then, you know (archly), to err is human — to for- give^ divine — Edward. My Lucy! (Embraces her.) I think our wedding j ourney is ended at last — What troubles will sometimes arise from a slight misunderstanding. — Come. (Exeunt.) 68 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION THE GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION CHARACTERS Miss Jane Jalap, 1 Miss Sally Slim, >- Ancient Maidens, Miss Polly Plum, J Mrs. Betsey Bounce, A Widow. Mrs. Lucinda Lobbs, Annie Seaton. GusTAVus Wellington, An Exquisite, and a recent convert to the woman jnovement, John Lobbs, A Hen-pecJced Husband, Scene. — A School-room or an Apartment in a house. Characters all seated. Jane Jalap, President, This meetin' has met for the purpose of doin' business. We will now commence to do those business, and it is essentially necessary that everybody who remains to hear our deliberations and confabulations should preserve the strictest order and the most diametrical prosecutions. We are engaged in a glorious, salmagundi work. That's Latin. Your President has been readin' up. It is necessary, when a person is elevated to a high office, that she should read up, and be prepared for every emergency. But I was goin' to remark, we are engaged in a glorious work. We are marching boldly forward with the intention of smashing the shackles that bind our fellow-women and make them slaves. We are stepping forward with a determined air, and soon the hill-tops will echo and re- echo with our shouts for freedom. The time has come when women must be allowed to vote. We have waited for a long time. " The years have crept so slowly by, Lorena," if I may be allowed to use the language of GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 69 another, and it has seemed that the time would never come when we could smash the shackles; but the time has come, my fellow countrywomen, and we have cause to rejoice. I have rejoiced over the prospect for some time. There are still some diabolical and serpentwisti- cal men who sneer at our movements here in Gumtown. They have the audacity to say that the persons who are a movin' this movement are only those who are so old that they have lost all hopes of marryin'. John Lohbs, That can hardly be said to be a correct remark, for I think there are some among our number who have not yet given up all hopes. Lucinda Lobbs. John, be silent. D'ye mind.^ It is not your time to speak. John Lobbs. Well, I was only givin' my opinion. And it is altogether accordin' to parliamentary law to put in an interruption point occasionally. Jane Jalap, Gumtowners ! let there be silence while the President speaks. I have not much to say, but while I speak I would prefer not to be interrupt- icated. Lucinda Lobbs, Go on, and I will keep John quiet. Jane Jalap, I was a sayin' that some persons said that those who were concerned in movin' this movement were only those who couldn't get married. I savagely hurl back that assertion into the teeth of those who uttered it, and I say that it is a falsehood manufactured out of whole cloth. I, for one, do not want to marry. No, never ! Why should I marry, to be trampled upon ? why, indeed? Are there not too many married women now? Yes. John Lobbs {aside). And too many married men, too. Jane Jalap. They have no rights — they cannot go to the polls. They must work at home — they must slave over the wash-tub and the cooking-stove, while their husbands can march up to the polls and deposit their votes. Is this right? Is this just? Well I guess not. I say no, and if I had the voice of forty 70 GUMTOWN WOMAN^S ASSOCIATION thousand thunder-claps rolled into one I would thunder forth^ '* No ! we will be free ! " Our able co-worker, Miss Sally Slim^ will now give us her views on the woman question. {President seats herself.) Sally Slim, Gentlemen and Ladies of the Gumtown Woman's Association^ the President has called upon me to speak^ but I have a severe cold^ and will therefore be unable to speak grammatically. I will expect you to look over all grammatical errors^ as, when I was young — that is, when I went to school — the grammar books had not been printed, and we had none in our school. I can see the need of gramadary, now that I have taken the platform and engaged in the great woman's rights movement. Yes, I can see the need of the grammar book, and before the next Convention comes off I ex- pect to buy a grammar book and read it entirely through. Yes, I will read it from the first page to the last page, and when I go to the city and make my speech in the Convention, there shall be cheerin' and shoutin'. I am goin' to put a great deal of work on that speech, and make it a success. There is the Rice fam- ily out to the Corners, and they are a condemmin' our meetings fearfully. I think they had better attend to matters at home. They say that Rice and his wife do fight awfully, and Sam Jones, as he was a goin' past one night, heard an awful racket. And then Jim Rice has commenced to drink, and is drinkin' awful hard. I therefore think that the Rice family ought to attend to their own house, and keep things quiet at home, and then they would not have so much time to talk about our woman's rights meetin's. But this is a sad world. People will attend to business that does not belong to them — and — and — yes, before T sit down I want to deny emphatically the remark that has been made in regard to the members of this meetin' wantin' to get married. I speak for myself, and I speak emphatically when I say I abominate the men. Gustavus Wellington, Weally! Pewhaps I had better wetire. GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 71 President, No, no; she does not mean you. You are a member, and an honorable man. Annie Seaton {to Gustavusy, If you go, Gustavus, I shall go too. Sally Slim, No, no! I do not abominate the m.en who are members of this meetin'. By no means ! No, not at all ! They are the noblest men of the land. John Lobbs. Am I a noble man too ? Sally Slim, Can you not answer that question? Do you not think that you are a noble man.^ John Lobbs (drawlingly) , Well, I don't know much about it. Ask Lucinda. Sally Slim, Does Lucinda form your opinions? John Lobbs, Yes, Lucinda's pretty smart, and I allow her to form 'pinions. Sally Slim, Then I go on to refute and hurl back the dire slanders that have been cast upon us. We are not upon the hunt of husbands — I know I am not, and I think I speak the sentiments of the entire Association when I say so. I will now bring my remarks to a close, but before the meetin' adjourns I may have a few more words to say. I would now like to hear from Gustavus Wellington, as I think the women should not do all the talkin' in these meetin's. {Sally sits down,) President, Will Mr. Gustavus Wellington be so kind and obligin' as to make some remarks upon the woman's rights question? Gustavus Wellington {speaks). . Well, weally, I don't know as I can say much to push f owawd the caws of pwogwess. But anything I can do I will do, gladly. I am wather a stwanger at your meetings, having been at but one befoaw this one, and therefoaw I feel some hesitation about speaking befoaw you. Polly Plum, Go on, Mr. Wellington ; it is delightful to listen to you. Sally Slim, Yes, it is, indeed ! You speak in such a lovely, enrapticating way ! President, Will the members please be silent while Mr. Wellington speaks? 72 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION Polly Plum^ I was only applaudin' and axin* him to go on. Sally Slim. And that is not unconstitutional nor anti-by-law-i-cal. President. But; Mr. Wellington, I presume you do not want to be interrupticated. Gustavus Wellington. Oh, it does not twouble me ! On the contwawy, I wather like it, as it shows that my wemawks are meeting with appwobation. And without appwobation I should not pwoceed vewy long, Polly Plum. Then I shall applaud. Sally Slim. And I. Annie Seatoft. And I. Oh, Gustavus! You are a beautiful speaker. Gustavus Wellingtov. Thanks ! But as I was about to wemawk, this woman's movement is an excellent movement — it is supewb; and although it is owiginal to me, yet I am cawied away with it. I think it is a sign of pwogwess. Polly Plum. Good! Sally Slim. Hear! hear! Annie Seaton. Splendid! Oh, Gustavus ! Gustavus Wellington. Woman has been bound in chains and slavery long enough. Yes, Miss Pwesident, she has been bound too long, and it is time she was bweaking loose, as it were. She should wise and make the male powtion of the community stand awound — Polly Plum. Good! Sally Slim. Hear! hear! Annie Seaton. That's so! Gustavus Wellington. Ladies and gentlemen, woman is equal to man, and if there is any difference she is the supewior. You can see that by gazing into the face of the women, just as I gaze upon the faces of lovely women now. Annie Seaton (blushing). Oh, Gustavus! Polly Plum (to Annie). You needn't make a fuss about it and pretend to blush. He was lookin' at me. GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 73 Sally Slim. 'Tisn't so^ Polly Plum; he was gazin' upon me, Annie Seaton, I reckon you are both a couple of old fools. Gustavus is my beau^ and he was looking straight at me — wasn't you^ Gustavus ? Gustavus Wellington, I — I — yes_, of course I was. Polly Plum, Then if you two are so silly as to make love here — here in this meetin' where so much is at stake — here where we are tryin' to smash the shackles that makes woman a slave — if you are goin' to make love and blush and stammer and be silly you had bet- ter let us have your room and not your presence. This is too important a place for trifling and silly love-mak- ing. Sally Slim, I say so too. Annie Seaton, Come^ Gustavus, let us go. Gustavus Wellington, Well, weally, this is dis- twessing ! I did not want to offend — pon honaw ; but I feel undaw the circumstances I had better wetire. President, Yes, Mr. Wellington, we have a work to do. We considered you a great pillar in our woman's rights structure, but if you are goin' to make love to that young, unsophisticated girl, you had better leave us and scratch your name off our book. Gustavus Wellington (aside), I'd like to scratch your eyes out. (To President,) Before I go I will say a few words. I have the floor, and I cannot be cwushed. Polly Plum, Order ! order ! We don't want to hear you! Sally Slim, Order ! order ! Put the man out ! President, Let him say a few words before he re- tires. Gustavus Wellington, Yes, I will say a few words; I cannot be cwushed. Go on, noble women, in your work — go on. John Lobbs. He's comin' out all right. Lucinda Lobbs, Be quiet, John. 74 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION John Lobbs, Yes^ ma'am ! Gustavus Wellington. Go on ! Go forward ! You have engaged in the work. Do not turn back. A bright future is before you. Polly Plum. Good! Sally Slim, Hear! hear! Gustavus Wellington. You have tried to catch hus- bands^ and have failed. You are too confounded ugly ever to marry, so, as a sort of amusement, go on in this work. Annie, we will wetire. {Offers his arm to An- nie. She takes it, and they move towards the door.) Polly Plum {excitedly). Oh, the villain! Put him out! Sally Slim. The conceited dandy! Put him out! {Exit Gustavus and Annie.) Polly Plum. Isn't this unsufFerable ? Sally Slim. Yes, it is without a parallelogram in the annals of ancient history. President. Well, they are gone. Let us treat them with silent contempt and proceed with our perform- ances. Mrs. Betsey Bounce, will you make a speech upon the advantages of woman's rights.'^ Betsey Bounce {speaks). Miss President, I am not much of a speaker, but I have writ a poem which I will read if the meetin' will listen. I have received con- sid'able praise fur my poetry, and Mr. Timothy Tewks- berry sez I would make heaps of money by wrltin' poetry if I would persevere. I have writ some fur the Squabbletown Times, and the editor praises my pieces highly. Shall I read the poem.^ Polly Plum. Yes, yes ! Sally Slim. Go on ! John Lobbs. If it's good let's have it. Betsey Bounce. I have writ better pieces. This was writ in a hurry, therefore you must not expect very much. President. We will be delighted to hear the poem, Mrs. Bounce. Please proceed. Betsey Bounce {reads). GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 75 The people are risin' and springin' up^ All over this glorious nation, And the woman movement will spread and spread. Until it spreads clean over creation. The women they have been trampled upon and kept down. But now they have commenced a risin', And the way they make speeches and carry on, I think it is really surprisin'. The women should have a right to vote — that's so ! And the time is surely arrivin' When they will come out sweepin', and swarm up to the polls. Just like some bees a hivin'. And the time has come for us to work and be a doin' ; Let the men wash and cook the potatoes; But we must stir about and look to higher things. For we are agitators. We are determined to have the right'of suffocation. And also the right to vote, We are going to stand firm and work for this. As long as the star-spangled banner shall float. We are going to shiver the shackles that have bound us down. And made us slaves all over this nation; We are goin' to have our rights and our liberties, too. Or else there will be an awful big uproarification. Then I say to you all again. Let us be up and let us be a workin' ; Let the women go bravely forward. And let there be no shirkin'. {Betsey Bounce seats herself,^ 76 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION Lucinda Lohhs, Excellent! Excellent! Beautiful! Delightful! Oh^ how I wish I could write poetry. I wish I could go and sit down in some sylvan shade, and stay there all my life and write poetry. John Lohhs {aside). I wish so too! Betsey Bounce. Do not praise my poetry too much. I do not think it is very good. I can do a great deal better. Lucinda Lohhs, Oh, it is delightful! John, why do you not praise Mrs. Bounce's poetry.^ John Lohhs. Well, I think it is tip-top, but I can do better. Lucinda Lohhs. Ridiculous ! Absurd ! Shut up, John! John Lohhs. Yes, ma'am. Lucinda Lohhs. I am sorry Mr. Wellington has left us. Polly Plum. Why should you be.^ He has not acted as a gentleman should. He said we had gone into this movement because we were too old and too homely to catch husbands. Lucinda Lohhs. But he is a tall, dignified man, and he made the meetings seem interestin'. Sally Slim. But here's your husband. Does his presence not make the meetin's seem interestin' to you.^ Lucinda Lohhs. Oh, no ! I can see John every day. John Lohhs (aside). Yes, she sees me more than is altogether pleasant. Lucinda Lohhs. I had intended to make a lengthy speech to-night, but I will defer it until another time. President. Mr. Lobbs, have you any remarks to make } Lucinda Lohhs. Speak up, John. John Lohhs {rises). Wall, I reckon I might say a few words. ** The boy stood on the burnin* deck. Whence all but him had fled ; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead." GUMTOWN WOxMAN'S ASSOCIATION 77 Lucinda Lobbs. Shut up^ John ! Don't make a goose of yourself ! John Lobbs. The President axed me to speak. Lucinda Lobbs. Well^ if you are goin' to speak, speak on the woman's rights question, and don't talk about the burnin' deck. John Lobbs. I know what I'm a doin'. When a feller wants to make a rail highfalutin' speech he gen- erally puts in a little bit of poetry at the first. That's what I was a doin'. President. Proceed, Mr. Lobbs. John Lobbs. Well, this woman's rights movement is a tip-top arrangement. I was ag'in it at the first, but Lucinda persuaded me that it was right. Lucinda's a smart woman, although I do say it, as oughtn't. Lu- cinda and me's been a livin' together for a great many years. I am a farmer, and Lucinda encourages me. I have had consid'able experience in raisin' cattle. I give my cattle all the straw they will eat, and then I feed them on corn or chopped feed of one kind or an- other. We keep cows. I do the milkin'. Lucinda says I must — Lucinda Lobbs. Shut up, John! Don't talk of those things. John Lobbs. Yes, ma'am. Well, ladies and gentle^ men, the woman's rights movement is an excellent ar- rangement. I am convinced of this, and sink or swim, I go with you. Polly Plum. Good ! good ! Sally Slim. Hear! hear! John Lobbs. The women are bound to get a vote. That is a foregone, and also a five-gone conclusion. I have been raisin' some beets. Last summer I raised some whoppers. There, was one of them as big as a half bushel. Lucinda Lobbs. Hush, John! Don't talk about your beets. Talk on the all-important subject of woman's rights. John Lobbs. Yes, ma'am. Well, as I was a sayin'. 78 GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION I go in for woman's rights; and woman's rights, as I understand it, is allowin' women to vote. And why should not women vote? They are refined and exalted, and they know a heap more'n us men. Polly Plum, Good ! good ! Sally Slim. Hear! hear! John Lohhs. Therefore they should be allowed to vote, and if any man dares oppose them I will — I will — yes, I'll send Lucinda to talk to 'em. I am just pre- parin' to plant out some apple trees, and I would like to have your opinions as to how far apart they should be sot from each other. Lucinda Lohhs, John stop ! If you can't speak on the subject, sit down. John Lohhs, Yes, ma'am. {John sits down.) President, Miss Sally- Slim, did you not say you wished to make a few remarks? Sally Slim. I believe I did. I thought of making another speech, but I have given that up. I now merely rise to call your attention to the way Polly Plum acted when Mr. Gustavus Wellington was here. PoKy Plum. Well, I guess I understand manners and epiquette, and I think I acted fully as well as you did. You always want to interfere with something or somebody. Sally Slim, Well, I guess I didn't try as hard to get him to smile upon me as you did. Polly Plum, Smile! 'Tisn't so! Sally Slim, take that back, or it will be the worse for you. Sally Slim. I take nothing back. I never re- cataract, never! And I'm not afraid of you. John Lohhs (aside). It's beginnin' to look squally. President. Ladies, preserve order. We will be a reproach and a by-law to the neighborhood, if we fall out and fight among ourselves. Polly Plum. Aren't you goin' to take back those words ? Sally Slim. Well, I guess not. I reiterate my state- ment that I never re-cataract. GUMTOWN WOMAN'S ASSOCIATION 79 John Lohhs {aside), I guess me and Lucinda ought to go home. President. Once more^ ladies^ I ask you to keep order and preserve the equilibrium of this meetin'. Polly Plum, What care I for meetings and equilibri- ums? Sally Slim shall recall those words^ or I shall clutch her hair^ now becomin' gray^ and a handful of it I shall pull out. John Lohhs, Lucinda_, s'posin' we go home? Lucinda Lohhs, Be quiet^ John. John Lohhs, Yes^ ma'am. Polly Plum, Speak^ Sally Slim. Do you take back those words ? Sally Slim, I do not ! So^ now. Polly Plum, Then^ the consequences be upon your own head. {Polly Plum advances, and Betsey Bounce steps before her.) Betsey Bounce. '* Stay^ jail^^j? stay!" This must not be ! Sally Slim^ I command you to fly ! Sally Slim, Fly? Well^ I guess not. Did you ever know a Slim to fly? John Lohhs. No_, but I've hearn tell of a Slim get- tin' badly scrunched. Lucinda^ hadn't we better go home? Lucinda Lohhs, No^ John^ no. '* He that fights and runs away — " John Lohhs, Will always live to draw his pay. President, As there seems to be trouble brewing, I 1 will adjourn the meetin'. We will meet next Monday ' nighty and I hope — Polly Plum, Stop! Don't adjourn! She must retract ! Sally Slim. Never ! Betsey Bounce, Fly^ Sally^ fly! {Betsey Bounce takes Sally hy the arm and forces her off, followed hy Polly.) Curtain falls. McBride. 80 JIMTOWN LYCEUM JIMTOWN LYCEUM CHARACTERS John Smith^ President, Jeremiah Hull^ William Jones^ Ellen Craig, Joseph Hodge, Jemima Jugg, Barney O'Donnell, Amanda Cobb. Scene. — A School-room. President John Smith, and Secretary Ellen Craig, seated at table, C, All the characters discovered at the rising of the curtain. President Smith, This meeting will now come to order. The evening is stormy — that is, it is a stormy evening. The wind howls mournfully, and the dead leaves from off the hickory trees are flying before the angry gusts. Yes, that's so. And the dull, heavy clouds are scudding across the skiey deep. And that's so too. It is an uncomfortable night to be out, there- fore our meeting is small. But numbers do not always make a good meeting. Yes, that's so. And although there are but few of us, our performances may be highly interesting, instructing, entertaining and amus- ing. And that's so too. The Secretary will please read the minutes of the last meeting. Ellen Craig, Secretary, {rises and reads). The Jim- town Lyceum met according to adjournment. Presi- dent Smith occupied the chair. The minutes of the previous meeting were read and approved. On motion of William Jones, Hezekiah Hobbs was elected a mem- ber of the Lyceum. On motion of Jemima Jugg, Jere- miah Hull was elected a member of the Lyceum. On motion of Joseph Hobbs, it was resolved that there be no courting done during the performances. On motion of Barney O'Donnell, it was resolved that there be an interval of fifteen minutes each evening, so as to give JIMTOWN LYCEUM 81 the gentlemen an opportunity of asking to escort the ladies home. On motion of Amanda Cobb^ it was re- solved that the boys who crack hickory-nuts at the meetings be dispensed with. List of performances for next meeting: Poem by Amanda Cobb; Oration by Barney O'Donnell; Essay by Jane Boggs; Debate: Question^ Is promiscuous dancing sinful? Affirmative, Jemima Jugg; Deny, Jeremiah Hull; Declamation, Joseph Hodge. On motion, adjourned to meet in one week. {Secretary seats herself.) President Smith. If there are no objections to the minutes they will be considered approved. Amanda Cobb, Mr. President, I rise to ask that the minutes be corrected. I did not move that the boys who crack hickory-nuts at the meetings be dispensed with, but that the cracking of hickory-nuts be dispensed with. Ellen Craig, Perhaps you'd better write the minutes yourself, if you're so smart and so witty. I guess I know what I write. I took down the motion j ust as you made it. Amanda Cobb, I deny the assertion that I made such a motion as that. Do you for one moment think, Mr. President, that I would desire to dispense with the small boys who attend these meetings ? Never ! I am a friend to the boys; but I am opposed to having hickory-nuts cracked in the house. President Smith, The Secretary will make the cor- rection. Ellen Craig, Make the correction ! Never ! (Rises,) 1 offer my resignation as Secretary. Amanda Cobb, I move that it be accepted. William Jones, I second the motion. President Smith. All those in favor of the motion will say aye. (All vote aye.) Those of the contrary opinion will say no. (No votes.) The ayes have it; the motion is agreed to, and Miss Craig's resignation as Secretary has been accepted. It will now be in order to elect another Secretary. 82 JIMTOWN LYCEUM Ellen Craig. Miss Amanda Cobb is a remarkably smart woman — she thinks she is^ at least — and I move that she be elected. William Jones, I second the motion. President Smith. Any remarks on the motion? (After a pause.) It has been moved and seconded that Amanda Cobb act as Secretary. All those in favor of the motion will say aye. {All vote aye.) Those opposed will say no, {No votes,) The motion is agreed to^ and Miss Cobb is elected Secretary. Miss Cobb will come forward to the Secretary's desk. {Miss Cohb comes forward.) Any further business before the Lyceum? If not we are ready for the per- formances. {After a pause.) The first performance will be a poem by Amanda Cobb. Amanda {rises and reads). This world it is a panorama^ Or you might call it a show; There are many queer things to be seen in this world^ Whichever way you may go. There are some enterprising men in this world, On every hand you will see Men of this kind; while there are other men As lazy as lazy can be. I have often thought that there are some men Who are always behind time; They are always strugglin' and tryin' to climb, But they never climb. The world is full of men, some here, some there; Some do not amount to much; I never thought much of this kind of men ; I wouldn't marry one of such. I like to see a man get up early, And go to work with a will ; JIMTOWN LYCEUM 83 I like to see a man take off his coat and work and work ; Such a man will be sure to climb the hill. We ought all to be strivin' to make a livin*, And some of us ought to strive to get rich. To the men of this meetin' I would say Which is doing which^ and which which? (^Amanda seats herself.) President Smith, Miss Cobb has read her essay. It will now be in order to hear criticisms and remarks upon the performance. Ellen Craig. I rise to remark on this piece of work^ which has been called a poem. That poem^ sir^ is an outrage upon an intelligent community. I don't be- lieve the lady ever writ the poem^ and if she did write it^ it isn't original. It is the weakest^ the thinnest, the wretchedest, the ugliest, the crookedest poem I ever heard read in my hearin'. My two ears have been shocked a listenin' to it. All through the poem the poeter talks about men, which goes to show that she is huntin* a husband, and would give her neck to get one. But no one will ever marry her — no, sir! The poem is a disgrace, and ought to be wiped out of the annals of history, if we could only get it done. (Sits down,) Amanda Cobb, I have kept my seat, and listened to this torpedo of abuse, and I am astonished, Mr. Pres- ident, that you will sit still, and let me be vitupercated. What is the world coming to, Mr. President? Be- cause I perform and do my duty as a member of the Lyceum, must I be expounded in this manner? I pause for a reply. President Smith, We all have a work to do in this world — and that's so — and we ought to do it, let the sky be overcast^ or let the stars and the moon and the milky way be shining down upon us. Yes, that's so. The poem perhaps wasn't measured properly; I am not a poet and cannot speak positively — yes, that's so ; but when we join a society for mutual improvement we 84 JIMTOWN LYCEUM should not let our angry passions rise^ as the poet says^ when a member criticises our performance. We should take criticisms kindly — yes, that's so — and then we may expect to improve. The next performance will be an oration by Barney O'Donnell. Barney O'Donnell (rises). Misther Prisidint, I'm intirely onprepared to make a spache to-night. I have had a powerful sight of work to do this wake, and I have been onable to make any preparation. And thin I got upset out o' my wagon, and the idees have all been knocked out of my head. I'll tell yez how that wuz. Ye see I was a dhrivin' into the town the other day, an* I sthopped at a sthore an' thin I started agin, and as I was a dhrivin' an' a sthandin' up, somebody hollered whoa, and bedad I tumbled right down about the horses' hales. An' there was a feller on the sthrate, an' he hollers to me, *' Hello, Barney, an' what made ye git out that way.^" (Members laugh.) An' so ye see, Misther Prisidint, I will be onable to make much of a spache, but I will thry and say a few words upon The Apple, The apple grows upon the apple tree, and the apple tree, ginerally spakin', grows in the orchard. But apples don't ginerally grow in pache orchards. There are different kinds of apples. There is the Walldower, and the Pippin, and the King of Tompkins County, and the Vandover, and the Rambo — and the Rambo is a nate little apple; and the Green- ing, and the McAdams, and a great many others. Apples are sometimes made into apple butther, which is certainly a very good way to have them fixed up. But it isn't a good plan to have much apple butther about a house where there is many childer, for they must continually have a chunk of bread and apple but- ther upon it, and they are liable to git the apple butther upon their hands, and thin they stick to the table an' the chairs, and so forth. But, Misther Prisidint, I am exhausted, and will have to sit down. (Seats himself,) President Smith, Remarks upon the speech are now in order. JIMTOWN LYCEUM 85 William Jones. Perhaps it would not be fair to crit- icise the gentleman's performance^ when he was mipre- pared to speak. I hope^ however^ that his novel way of getting out of a wagon will teach him to keep his seat in the future^ when he is driving. President Smith, Miss Ellen Craig will now read an essay — subject^ Blackherrying. Ellen Craig (rises and reads). When the weather is not too warm^ I like to go blackherrying. It is de- lightful to go blackherrying. I often go blackherry- ing. I shall never forget the time when cousin Sal and I went blax^kberrying. It was in the summer^ and the blackberries were ripe when cousin Sal and I went blackherrying. We took a basket. We also took a bucket when we went blackherrying. I love blackber- ries — that is^ I love sweet blackberries. Blackberries and cream are splendid. When cousin Sal and I went blackherrying^ we picked half a bushel of blackberries. It was in Squire Dawson's iield^ and Tom Dawson told us to get out of that^ or he would set the dogs upon us^ but we picked away and the dogs didn't come. . Black- berrying would be more pleasant if the blackberries did not grow upon briers ; but the briers detract from the pleasure of the enjoyment. Blackberries are said by some to be better than raspberries, but I believe I would prefer the raspberries. However, they are both good when there is cream and sugar on them. W^hen cousin Sal and I went blackherrying we had a splendid time. Sal fell over the fence and spilled a bucketful. Sal is a lively girl, and very fond of music. She plays upon the fiddle. I believe this is all I have to say about blackberries. {Seats herself.) President Smith. The members w^ill now proceed to criticise the performance. Amanda Cobb. For contemptible, nonsensical, wishy-washy stuff, that essay exceeds anything that was ever writ and perduced. Like the writer, it is shatter, and everybody knows that the person who read it is the shallerest woman on the face of the vearth. 86 JIMTOWN LYCEUM Ellen Craig (rising and speaking loudly and ex- citedly). Mr. President^ I am not going to be vituper- ated and prognosticated. No^ sir ! Call the woman to order. Are sich things goin' to flicker over us like a summer cloud .'^ And are you goin' to sit there like a parquette^ and jist like as if you didn't know nothin'.^ Call the woman to order^ I say. She has had the rapacity to say that I am the shallerest person upon the face of the yearth_, and sich things shan't be said about me in this twenty-ninth century. {Sits down.) President Smith. The lady who has just spoken should remember that^ but a few moments ago^ she criticised severely a poem by the lad}^ who is now crit- icising her essay. We should have fair play all round — yes^ that's so^ and that which is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. We should take criticisms kindly^ yes^ that's so^ and we can't expect to improve unless we can bear to be criticised. If Miss Cobb doesn't like Miss Craig's essay^ she should say she doesn't like it — yes^ that's so^ and jMiss Cobb will pro- ceed with her remarks. Amanda Cobb. I liked the essay w^ell enough^ but she said ugly things about my poem^ and I was going to be even with her. She is a shallow^ impertinent Craig^ and her essay was just like her. I have done. President Smith. If no other member wishes to re- mark^ we will call the next performance. (After a pause.) The next performance will be a debate upon the question^ Is promiscuous dancing sinful? Jemima Jugg will speak on the affirmative^ and Jeremiah Hull on the negative. Jemima Jugg. Mr. President^ I've got an awful bad cold^ and a sore eye, and the toothache, and the headache, and the earache, and my nose is runnin' dreadfully, but nevertheless I will endeavor to do my duty faithfully to my country. This is a deceitful night; the wind how^s fearfully, and perhaps it would have been better for me if I had stayed at home; but I felt that I ought to defend my side of the question, and JIMTOWN LYCEUM 87 stand by the flag until the last armed foe expired. Promiscuous dancing, in the first place, is sinful, be- cause the preacher down at the red meetin'-house is agin it, and we all know that the preacher down there wouldn't be agin it if it was right. That preacher is an excellent man, and I hope the time will come when he will get a better salary, and a new hat. His coat is bad, also, and those who sit under the sound of his voice Sunday after Sunday, should blush dreadfully when they see him walkin' down the broad aisle of the meetin'-house. Preachers ought to be well paid. They are a neglected class, and I hope the time will come when the people will wake up and do their duty. If something is not done soon, there will be no preach- ers in all this broad land, and what will become of us ? Where will we go Sundays? The singing in the red church is not as good as it used to be, which, I think, is all on account of gettin' that Maria Jones into the choir. I know if I had anything to do with the sing- ing, Fd march her out of that, pretty quick. The rats are very bad down at our house now, and Tom and the dog are kept pretty busy tryin' to catch them. We poisoned some of them, but I am not much in favor of having poison lying about the house. Tom set a trap one night and caught two, and if we keep on, I think we will get all of them killed. Mr. President, I believe I have nothing more to say on the question. President Smith. Jeremiah Hull will now speak on the negative of the question. Jeremiah Hull. Mr. President, I contend that dancing is not sinful, because it leads a person to jump up and move about, and any person who jumps up and moves about is exercising himself, and exercise is said to be excellent medicine. We also read of people dancing in the Bible — that is, I mean we read in the Bible about people dancing, and if they danced in the Bible, that is, I mean if they danced in the Bible — I can't get that fixed quite right. If they danced in the Bible, no, I mean, if the Bible danced in the people. 88 JIMTOWN LYCEUM Gewhittaker! I guess I'll have to give that up. But you understand me. If the men danced in the Bible — there it is again! Mr. President^ I've got into trouble. IVe got tangled up^ and can't get unraveled. President Smith, You mean that if the people we read of in the Bible^ danced, we have a right to dance, too. Jeremiah Hull, That's it, that's it ! but somehow I couldn't say it. I disrecollect the names of the men that danced, but they did dance. Uncle Josh says they did. Now when they danced, is it not proper that we should dance too? We haven't had a dance in Jim- town for a long time, but I understand that Squire Hall is going to make a rousing party next week, and they say he has employed two fiddlers, and is going to have dancing in two rooms. Squire Hall is an excellent man, and he wouldn't have dancing in his house if it wasn't accordin' to Scripter. I would simply hint to the lady on the affirmative of this question, that if she talks so fiercely and unrestrainedly agin' dancing, I will not escort her to Squire Hall's party. Jemima Jugg {angrily). Who cares .^ I don't want to have nothin' to do with you. Jeremiah Hull, Be careful, Jemima. You are 'cited now, and not cognizant of what you are utterin'. You'll be sorry for this when the party comes off next week. Jemima Jugg, I am, I tell you. Mind your busi- ness. Go along after that Stokes gal, as fast as you like — I don't care. William Jones, Mr. President, it seems to me we ought to have order. President Smith, Yes, that's so. Debaters should not so far forget themselves as to fall out and fight be- fore the members of the Lyceum. People are liable to talk — yes, that's so — and they may talk about this occurrence. We should be perfectly cool, calm, and collected when we debate — yes, that's so — and if we wish to talk about escorting each other to parties or to JIMTOWX LYCEUM 89 other places of amusement^ we should speak privately and not publicly — yes^ that's so. I will now decide the debate closed. The next performance will be a declamation by Joseph Hodge. {Joseph rises and speaks ^^ The Old Bachelor's Sale," changing the last word of each line,) I dreamed a dream in the midst of my numbers, And as fast as I dream'd it, it came into slumbers ; My thoughts ran along in such beautiful sweeter, I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry meter; It seem'd that a law had been recently laid. That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be made; And, in order to make them all willing to carry. The tax was as large as a man could well marry. The bachelors grumbled, and said 'twas abuse, 'Twas horrid injustice and horrid no use. And declared that, to save their own hearts' blood from shilling, Of such a vile tax they would not pay a spilling. But the rulers determined them still to vendue. So they set all the bachelors up at pursue: A crier was sent through the town to and blow, To rattle his bell, and his trumpet to fro. And to call out to all he might meet in his day, ** Ho ! forty old bachelors sold here to way ! " And presently all the old maids in the gown. Each in her very best bonnet and town, From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red, and sale, Of every description, all flock'd to the pale. The auctioneer then in his labor a man. And call'd out aloud, as he held up began, '* How much for a bachelor ? Who wants to I } ** In a twink every lady responded, " I ! buy ! " 90 JIMTOWN LYCEUM In shorty at a highly extravagant trice^ The old bachelors all were sold off in a price^ And forty old maidens — some younger^ some shoulder — Each lugg'd an old bachelor home on her older. (^Joseph hows and seats himself,) President, The Lyceum is now adjourned — yes, that's so. {The members rise from their seats. In passing Amanda Cobb, Ellen Craig takes her by the arm,) Ellen. You said I was the shallerest woman on the face of the yearth. Take that! (Strikes her,) Amanda, And you take that. {Strikes Ellen,) Ellen, You ugly, hateful woman ! Amanda, You ugly — ugly rhinosemhoss ! ( They fight, and Jemima commences to beat Jeremiah on the head,) . Jemima, Git out of this^ you conceited Hull. Jeremiah, Oh, don't! Hokey! Thunderation and blazes ! {Jemima still beats him.) Several Members, Order! Order! Don't disgrace the meetin'. President, Order! Order! Adjourned! Ad- j ourned ! Yes, that's so ! Go home ! {General row and confusion. Lights put out as curtain falls.) McBride. ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 91 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH CHARACTERS Hezekiah Spriggins^ a Bashful Youth, Ebenezer Hunkerton^ Another Youth, not so bashful, Jerusha Matilda Slocum^ A Young Lady who looks with favor upon Hezekiah, Scene. — A room comfortably furnished, Hezekiah seated. Hezekiah. Wall, I've got here at last. IVe come over a courtin', but I wish tew gracious I was back hum ag'in. I know I can't say what I want tew when Jerusha Matilda comes in. I got awful desprit this evenin' and sed as heow I'd come right over and ax Jerusha Matilda to onct and have done with it, but if I was eout of the house neow I'd split for hum on the double quick. It wouldn't dew tew back deown and run eout of the house neow, when they've let me in and Jerusha Matilda is puttin' on her Sunday-go-to-meetin* clothes for the purpose of sittin' up with me. No, that would look too despritly sheepish, but when Jerusha Matilda comes in I know I won't be able tew get up courage enough tew ax her tew marry me. I ought tew ax her, too, for she's as nice a gal as can be found 'twixt here and Deacon Doolittle's, and she'd suit me tip-top. I reckon there ain't no better housekeeper in the hull keounty. But I can't ax her. (Rises and walks about.) I wish I wasn't so thunderation bashful. (Step heard outside,) Jerusalem! she's coming! What on airth will I dew? I have a good mind tew jump right eout of the window. Enter Jerusha Matilda, R, Jerusha Matilda (coming forward and extending her hand). Why, Hezekiah, I am ^etotally delighted tew see yeou. 92 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH Hezehiah {taking her hand bashfully^. Yes, and — and — and I'm — yes^ I come over — and — and I thought as heow — Jerusha Matilda. Yes, I understand, Hezekiah, and I am very, very glad to see yeou. Take a seat, Heze- kiah. (Pointing to a chair.) Take a seat and make yourself at home. Hezehiah. Yes, I will, Jerusha Matilda, and I'm very much obleeged tew yeou. I was sittin*, but I got up tew travel reound a spell. {He seats himself,) Jerusha Matilda. This is beautiful weather we are having neow. {She seats herself.) Hezehiah. Yes, awful nice — couldn't ax for any- thing nicer. I've got my potatoes raised and my punkins hauled in. Jerusha Matilda. Yeou're a forehanded man, Hezekiah ; yeou drive the work ahead of yeou. Hezehiah. Yes, that's it — that's it exactly, or at least that's the way I think it is. Jerusha Matilda. The men who drive the work are the men who succeed in the world. Hezehiah. Yes, I reckon that's a fact. I think I'm succeedin' purty well. I've got fifty acres of as good land as anybody ever sot their eyes onto. Then I have a forty sheep and a yoke of oxen, and I tell you them oxen are somethin' tew be proud of. I call 'em Pete and Star. Jerusha Matilda. Yeou are very comfortably fixed, Hezekiah. All you need neow is a wife. Hezehiah. Yes, I — that is — I — yes — I do need — I do need one of them things. Jerusha Matilda. Then you should lose no time ; you should get married as soon as possible. Hezehiah {aside). I wonder if she'd have me? Now's my chance tew ax her. But I can't do it — I can't do it. Jerusha Matilda. What is more comfortable and pleasing than a happy home and a lovin' husband and wife } ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 93 Hezekiah, That's it — that's it — it can't be did ! There ain't nothin' equal — there ain't nothin* that will touch at it. (Aside.) If I could ax her I 'spect it would be all right. (To Jerusha Matilda.) Jerusha Matilda, I've come aver tew see abeout somethin'. Yeou know people have to see abeout things. I want tew — I want tew ax yeou a question. Jerusha Matilda {aside). He's going tew ask me. I'm all in a flutter. {To Hezehiah,) Proceed, Heze- kiah. I will listen with deep attention and a flutterin' heart. Hezekiah, Yes, I'll perceed. I — will yeou — thdt is- — will yeou — that is — will yeou.^ (Aside,) Grindstuns and shovel handles ! I can't say nothin'. {To Jerusha Matilda.) The corn crop was mighty good this season, and Sam Smithers had a tremendous crop of onions. Jerusha Matilda {aside). Poor dear Hezekiah! he can't say what he wants tew. If it warn't ag'in the rules of etisquet I'd ax him. But mebbe he'll come tew it after a spell. {To Hezekiah.) Ebenezer Hunker- ton has been comin' over here lately. Hezekiah {startled). He has! What's he been comin' for.^ Jerusha Matilda {blushing). Oh, Hezekiah, heow can yeou ax me sich a question ? Heow can I tell what he's been comin' for.^ Hezekiah. I reckon he comes over tew borrer some- thin'.^ Jerusha Matilda. No, not always. He comes in the evenin' and we sorter keep company and talk a spell. Hezekiah {aside and rising and walking about). That's got to be stopped. Ebenezer's comin' a sparkin' and I can't allow him tew have Jerusha Matilda. I must have her myself. But I can't ax her. Neow, what'U be done abeout it? Jerusha Matilda. What are yeou walkin' around for, Hezekiah ? Why don't yeou keep yeour sittin' } 94 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH Hezekiah, I can't sit deown, Jerusha Matilda — I can't sit deown^ noheow. What's that Ebenezer Hun- kerton comin' over here for^ anyheow? Jerusha Matilda. La ! Hezekiah^ heow can I an- swer that question? Sometimes he comes tew borrer somethin' and sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he doesn't ax for anything, and then I jest s'pose he wants tew talk tew me and so we kinder keep company for a spell. Hezehiah {walking around). Wall, he'd better not come any more. Jerusha Matilda, Mebbe when he hears yeou have been here he won't come any more. Hezekiah, Wall, he'd better not. I don't want any- body else tew come here neow. Anyheow, Ebenezer hain't got any sich a farm as I've got. Enter Ebenezer Hunkerton, Ebenezer, Good evenin'. Jerusha Matilda (rising). Good evenin', Ebenezer. I'm awful glad tew see yeou, Hezekiah (aside). By Jehosophat ! there's that fel- ler neow. What'd he come for.^ I reckon he'd better go home. Ebenezer, Hello, there, Hezekiah Spriggins ! Heow de dew? Can't yeou see a feller? Hezekiah (coolly), Heow de dew?, Ebenezer, Guess yeou don't know me, Hezekiah. Hain't seen me since day afore yesterday. Hezekiah (aside), I didn't want tew see yeou this evenin', anyheow. Jerusha Matilda, Take seats and sit deown. Sit deown, Hezekiah; sit deown, Ebenezer. Ebenezer. Wall, yes, I don't care if I dew. (Seats himself at one side of the stage, Hezekiah at the other side, and Jerusha Matilda sits near the center,) Jerusha Matilda, Heow's all yeour folks, Eben- ezer? ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 95 Ebenezer, Oh^ we're all purty slick. Marm, she's goin' tew make her apple-butter to-morrow. Jerusha Matilda, Ah ! is she } have yeou many ap- ples this year.'^ Ebenezer, Oh^ yes; heaps of 'em. Hezekiah (aside). She's talkin' tew him. She can't see me since he's come in. Jerusha Matilda. Have yeou many apples this year, Hezekiah ? Hezekiah (aside). She's talkin' tew me neow. Mebbe she thinks as much of me as she does of him. (To Jerusha Matilda,) Yes^ we've got a consid'able lot of apples. Jerusha Matilda. It's a good thing tew have plenty of apples. Ebenezer. Yes^ it is so! Hezekiah. Yes^ it is that! Jerusha Matilda, I have a mind tew make an apple parin' and invite yeou folks. Would yeou come? Ebenezer. Yes^ I'd come. Hezekiah. Yes^ of course, I'd come. Jerusha Matilda (to Ebenezer). How does yeour marm make her apple butter.^ Ebenezer, I declare tew goodness I don't know heow. I know she puts in apples and cider. Jerusha Matilda, Is she goin' tew make much apple butter this year? Ebenezer, Oh, yes, consid'able. Hezekiah (aside). She's talkin' tew him, neow. I wish he'd go home. He ought tew know enough tew dew that. Jerusha Matilda. Did yeour marm raise many cookin' punkins this year? Ebenezer. Oh, yes, a tremendous pile. Hezekiah (aside). They've got a pow'ful heap of talkin' tew dew abeout the apples and the punkins, seems to me, Jerusha Matilda. Punkin butter isn't as good as apple butter. . 96 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH Ehenezer, Not by a long shot. I wouldn't give five cents for all the punkin butter in the keounty. Jerusha Matilda, Are we goin' tew have any singin* schools this year? Ebenezer, Yes^ I callate we are^ and I'm goin' tew come and take yeou. Jerusha Matilda (laughs). Ha! ha! Oh^ are yeou ? Hezehiah {aside), Wall^ I guess he won't if I can help it. Neow if he'd only go home^ I'd ax her abeout marryin'. Ehenezer, Yeou may consider yeourseif engaged for the winter. I'll come eout arter yeou every evenin'. Hezehiah {aside). If he does I'll knock his head off. Jerusha Matilda, It'll be purty nice tew have a fel- ler tew depend on. Ehenezer, I think that's the way the fellers ought tew dew. Every feller ought tew have a certain gal, and stick tew her through the winter. Hezehiah {aside), I'd like tew chuck that feller eout of the house. Wall, I can't stand this much longer; I'm gettin' desperate, and I'll either thrash that feller, or ax Jerusha Matilda tew marry. Ehenezer {rising), I declare tew gracious if I didn't forget. Marm said for me tew hurry back and not stay a minute. She sent me over tew borrer yeour apple butter stirrer. Yeou know I told yeou she was goin' tew make her apple butter to-morrow. Jerusha Matilda {rises), I'll get it for you, {Exit Jerusha Matilda.) Ehenezer {to Hezehiah), I s'pose yeou hain't made yeour apple butter yet, Hezekiah? Hezehiah, Yes, we've biled two kittlefuls already. Ehenezer, You've come a sparkin', haven't you, Hezekiah ? Hezehiah, Guess 'tain't none of yeour business what I come for. ASSISTING HEZEKIAH 97 Ehenezer, Geewhillakins ! Why^ Hezekiah you're kinder touchy. Hezekiah. Wall, I reckon what I have come arter doesn't consarn you. Ehenezd^. Ain't so sure abeout that, Hezekiah. I've got a sort of a notion arter Jerusha Matilda my- self, and I s'pose I have as good a right tew spark her as you have. {Enter Jerusha Matilda, L,, with the stirrer in her hand,) Jerusha Matilda, Here is the stirrer, Ebenezer. Ehenezer, Wall, jist sit it there in the corner. I guess I'll stay awhile. Jerusha Matilda, I'm glad tew hear you say that. {She places the stirrer in the corner,) I can talk tew both of yeou. {Ehenezer sits down,) Hezekiah (aside). That feller's jest stayin' tew plague me. Ehenezer, Jerusha Matilda, we've been kinder keepin' company for some time, and I s'pose I might as well come tew the p'int. Hezekiah {springing up and then sitting down again. Aside.) By hokey! what's that feller goin' tew dew? Ehenezer {continuing), Jerusha Matilda, yeou and me have been purty good friends for some time, and I've been thinkin' as how we might as well have the matter settled. Hezekiah {aside). Good land of Penobscot! Is he goin' tew ask her.^ He shan't dew it. Didn't I come over for that purpose, and neow am I goin' tew Jet him step in and take her away from me? Not by a long shot! {Springing up and speaking excitedly.) Jerusha Matilda ! Jerusha Matilda, Goodness gracious, Hezekiah ! Heow yeou startled me ! Ehenezer, Hezekiah, hadn't yeou better keep yeour seat? Hezekiah. No, sir; I "vas here first, and I ought tew speak first. 98 ASSISTING HEZEKIAH Ehenezer (to Jerusha Matilda), Jerusha Matilda, I want tew ax yeou — Hezekiah {excitedly). Jerusha Matilda, I want tew ax yeon. Hear me, Jerusha Matilda. Listen tew me, and don't mind that other feller. Ehenezer, I have been comin' tew see yeou for some time. Hezekiah (excitedly). Oh, Jerusha Matilda, hear me! Don't mind what Ebenezer's sayin*. I want yeou, Jerusha Matilda; I want yeou. Won't yeou be mine? Jerusha Matilda, Yes, I will, Hezekiah. Hezekiah (jumping). Whoop! hurrah! It's all right. Oh, ain't I a happy fellow } Whoop ! hurrah ! (Goes and takes Jerusha Matilda's hand.) I'm very much obliged tew yeou, Jerusha Matilda, and I'll be very good tew yeou. Jerusha Matilda. Yes, I know yeou will, Hezekiah. Hezekiah, I'm kinder sorry for you, Ehenezer. Ehenezer, Oh, it's all right, Hezekiah. Jerusha Matilda and I understood the matter. I knew yeou wanted tew ax her, but yeou were too skeery, and I thought I'd assist — sorter help yeou along, yeou know. Hezekiah, Wall, I'm so tickled I skeercely know what tew dew. I came over here tew get a wife, and IVe got her. Ehenezer (going and taking up the apple butter stirrer). And I came over here for the apple butter stirrer, and I have got it. Curtain. Mc Bride. AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 99 AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE CHARACTERS Miss Susannah Swingletree^ An Old Maid. Robert Hopkins^ A Widower. Scene. — A Room comfortably furnished, Susannah discovered seated. Susannah. The hour has come. I expect to see Mr. Hopkins soon^ and I am all in a flutter. I have no doubt he will propose^ although I well know he is a very bashful_, hesitating man. If he only knew that I would accept he would come to the point at once, but poor, dear man, he does not know this. Therefore, under the circumstances, it can do no harm to help him along, as it were, and assist him to come to the proposing point. I have set the present hour for him to call upon me. Of course I did not say in my note why I wished him to come — that would have been ill-timed and out of place. It would have been highly absurd for me to say to him that I wished him to propose to me; or, in other words, that I wished him to offer me his hand and heart, yet that is why I desire his presence. I will talk to him gently, yet fluently, and I feel sure that I can draw him forward until he shall propose. And when he does ask the important question I shall seem to be somewhat startled, yet I will sink gracefully into his arms and answer his question with a low and thrilling yes. It almost takes my breath away to think of it. For forty long years I have earnestly desired to hear someone ask me this all important question, but I have never heard it except from one person, and he was a worthless wretch that nobody of any respectability would think of marrying. Ah ! I hear a step — he comes. (Knock at door. She rises.) Now I must go 100 AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE to the door with a graceful sweep^ thus. {With a ridic- ulous sweep she moves toward the door.) And when I open the door I must extend my hand thus^ and receive him cordially. (Opens the door,) Good evenings Mr. Hopkins. (Bartends her hand.) Good evenings good evening. You have come in reply to my note and I am thankful ; I am also delighted and antepenultimated. Come in^ Mr. Hopkins; come right in. (Mr. Hopkins enters. She places a chair for him.) Sit right down upon this chair and make yourself feel at home. {He seats himself.) The refrangibility of the atmospheric caperlosticum makes this a delightful anniversary. Mr. Hopkins. Which .^ Susannah, Give me your hat^ Mr. Hopkins. {He gives her his hat.) I was merely remarking that the refrangibility of the atmospheric caperlosticum made it highly indigenous to the progressiveness of the present anniversary. Mr. Hopkins, Oh^ was that it? Wall^ I didn't know you conversed in a furrin language. I didn't know what yeou was talkin' about. Susannah. Yes^ I have fallen into a habit of using large words. I know it is wrongs but I was so over- joyed at seeing you that the words broke forth relent- lessly. How have you been^ Mr. Hopkins ? Mr. Hopkins. Oh^ fust rate. Hain't no reason to complain. Susannah. I am delighted to hear it^ Mr. Hopkins. And how are your children.^ Mr. Hopkins. Oh^ they're gittin' along purty well considerin'. Susannah. It is so sad that they are growing up without the restraining and revivifying influence of a metropolitan step-mother. Mr. Hopkins. Yes^ I suppose they do need some kind of a step-mother^ but I reckon there ain't any of the kind yeou speak of in these diggin's. Susannah. Oh^ yes^ Mr. Hopkins^ I think you could find a good step-mother for your children — I think you AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE 101 could find one who would watch over them just as well as their own mother would have done. Mr. Hopkins. Yes^ I s'pose I could. But hasn't the price of beef been goin' up tremenjusly durin' the past week.^ Susannah. Yes^ beef is rising unrestrainedly. Mr. Hopkins. And pork's purty high^ too. Susannah. Yes^ and all those who have cattle and hoglets for sale^ as you have_, Mr. Hopkins^ have great reason to rejoice and feel exceedingly melodramatic. Mr. Hopkins. Yes^ that's so. Susannah, But_, Mr. Hopkins^ although you have bovines and hoglets^ and although you are surrounded with all the comforts money can buy^ you must feel sad and lonely at times because you have no companion to share your happiness and to sympathize with you when you feel downcast and oppressed. Mr. Hopkins. Wall^ I don't know as I do. Yeou see I've got six childer^ boys and gals they are^ and they make racket enough to keep anybody from gittin' sad and lonely. Susannah. Yes^ I have no doubt your children are joyous and evanescent birdlings^ yet you would feel more at home^ and a blissful rest fulness would fall upon you if you had a kind and loving companion to help you bear the cares and troubles of life. Mr. Hopkins. Do yeou railly think so.^ Susannah. I do^ indeed. Mr. Hopkins. Wall^ mebbe you're right. But hasn't there been a pow'ful heap of snow durin' this winter? I reckon there's never been the likes of it afore. Susannah (aside). Oh^ isn't this excruciating? Just when I bring him to the point he commences to talk about something else. I declare it's too bad. Mr. Hopkins. Sam Jones was sayin' t'other day that there'd been as much snow jest eleven years ago, but I think Sam's mistaken. It wasn't no sich a snow as we've had this winter. 102 AN UNSUCCESSFUL ADVANCE Susannah (aside), Well_, it won't do to give it up. I must try again. (To Mr, Hopkins,) How long is it^ Mr. Hopkins^ since your wife was laid in the valley.^ Mr. Hopkins, Didn't lay her in the valley at all. We buried her at the Hill meetin' 'us. All her folks were buried there^ and her sister Samantha Jane thought she ought to be buried there too. Susannah, I was speaking figuratively, Mr. Hop- kins, when I asked how long it was since your wife had been laid in the valley. Laying a person in the valley signifies burying that person. Mr. Hopkins. Is that so.'^ Wall, I didn't know that. Some people have sich a queer way of talkin*, anyhow. Abeout heow long do yeou expect to hold eout. Miss Swingletree? I reckon yeou can't last more'n four or five years; yeou're beginnin' to look purty old. Susannah (springing up). What's that you say, Mr. Hopkins ? Can I believe my ears ? Mr. Hopkins. Hold on^ neow; don't git cranky abeout nothin'. You're gittin' purty old and I'm gittin' purty old and yeou ought to have somebody to take care of you and I ought to have somebody to take care of me. Don't you think so, Susannah? Susannah (sinks into a chair by his side). Yes, you are right, Robert. We each need the sympathy and affection of a kind and loving companion. You are so constituted that you could be kind to me and I am so constituted that I could be kind to you. (Aside.) Oh, my! Oh, dear! The blissful moment has arrived! He is coming to the point! Mr. Hopkins. Yes, as I was sayin', yeou're gittin' purty old and I'm gittin' purty old, although I reckon yeou're abeout ten years older than I am. (Susannah starts as though she would spring up, then sinks back into her chair again.) Yes, we ought to have some- body to take care of us in our old days. I s'pect yeou could git Biddy McPherson to come and live with yeou THE VILLAGE MEDDLER lOS and take care of jeou, and as for me^ I think I'll go and marry Betsey Doolittle. She's a fust-rate — Susannah (springing up and screaming). Oh! vil- lain! hypocrite! {Mr, Hopkins jumps up and gets his hat.) Get out of my house. (Raises a chair as if to strike him,) I'll sue you for breach of promise^ sure's you live. Mr, Hopkins (as he goes out), Betsey's a fine gal. (Susannah hurls the chair after him,) Curtain, Mc Bride. THE VILLAGE MEDDLER CHARACTERS Mr, Hezekiah Screecher. Mrs. Tabitha Screecher. Miss Hannah Whigley^ An old maid, Sam Smith, J boy. Scene. — A Room, Tabitha seated. Tabitha, Wall, I'm home again. I've had consid'- able of a tramp, but it didn't amount to nothin', least- ways, I can't see as it is goin' to amount to anything. I heard that there was some town lots for sale awful cheap over at Higginstown. Jim Larkins, the peddler, told me about 'em, and so I ups and goes right over, and Hezekiah he'd gone over to Hookertown with a load of garden sass, but I thought I'd have to strike quick if I got the town lots, so off I started without leavin' any word as to where I was agoin'. I s'posed Hezekiah would be a good deal startled when he'd come home and find I was gone, but I calkilated he'd see me when I cum back, and then I could explain where I'd been and 104 THE VILLAGE MEDDLER what I'd been a doin'. Wall^ I'm home now^ and purty tired too^ and I reckon it would have been better if I hadn't started^ but then if people don't run no risk and go to some trouble they'll never make nothin'. And that's what I keep tellin' Hezekiah. {Knock at door,) Hezekiah^ if it's you^ come in and stop your foolin', I'm to hum now. You're allers try in' to act up some caper or another. (Rises.) It can't be Hezekiah^ for he don't come in. (Goes to door and opens it,) Hannah (outside.) Good evenin', Tabitha. Tahitha, Land sakes^ Hannah Whigley, is it you? I s'posed it was Hezekiah. Come in. Enter Hannah Whigley, Hannah. Been away from home^ hain't you, Tabitha ? Tahitha. Yes, kinder. Take a chair and sit down. (Hannah seats herself,) How's all your folks? Hannah. Oh, we hain't no reason to complain. I s'pose you hain't seen Hezekiah since you cum home ? Tahitha. No, I've just got in. Reckon he's out around sum'eres. Hannah, Then you don't know? Tahitha (excitedly). Don't know what? Good land, woman, what is it? Has Hezekiah been killed or anything happened? Hannah. Wuss'n that! wuss'n that! Better he'd been killed I reckon fur it'll come purty nigh killin' you. Tahitha (very much excited). What is it, woman? What is it ? Speak, quick ! speak this minute ! Where's Hezekiah? Is he dead? Hannah. Wuss'n that — wusser than dead. He's gone. He's eloped with the widder Hawkins. Tahitha, With the widder Hawkins ! No, it can't be! it can't he. Hannah. Wall, that's the way the story goes and it's a flyin' all over the village. You see Hezekiah went out the Hookertown road about 10 o'clock to-day and about 1 1 o'clock the widder Hawkins went out that THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 105 way too^ and everybody calkilates that they'd meet somewheres between this and Hookertown and elope fur good. Tabitha, Oh^ it can't be ! Oh ! Hezekiah^ are you gone ? I hadn't ought to have gone off to Higginstown without leavin' word with somebody as to where I was goin'. Hannah. That's it, Tabitha — that's where the trouble started. Now if I had a fond husband I'd cling to him; I'd be kind to him; I'd smooth out the wrinkles onto his brow; I'd cheer him. No clouds should overshadder him — no, indeed ! And I'd not git up and run off without tellin' him where I was agoin'. Tabitha {in distress). Oh, Hezekiah! Oh, Heze- kiah, come back to me — come back ! Hannah. 1 reckon it won't do any good to holler out, *' Come back, Hezekiah — come back." He's too far away from you by this time to hear you. Yes, Tabitha, you have a solemn warnin' not to do sich a thing again. Tabitha. Come to think of it, there can't be any truth in it that he has sloped with the widder Haw- kins. He hain't a very good opinion of the widder. Hannah. Ah! the desatefulness of the male sect! Couldn't he talk that way to you, Tabitha? (Taking out a paper.^ But I s'posed as how you might have some doubts about the matter, so I tuck down the notice which was tuck up on Timothy Doolittle's fence, jest beyond the past office. I'll read it to you. (Reads.) " Notice. Whereas my wife, Tabitha, has left my bed and board without just cause or provoca- tion, this is to warn all persons against harboring her or trusting her on my account, as I will pay no debts of her contracting." And right underneath, in big letters is the name of Hezekiah Scree cher. Tabitha (aroused). Gracious Peter! Aminadab and Jehosophat! Did Hezekiah actilly stick up sich a notice as that.^ The awful, outrageous, scandalous, vituperous man! To go and put up sich a notice as 106 THE VILLAGE MEDDLER that and then run off with the widder Hawkins! I'll pursue him to the top of the Rocky Mountains; 111 chase him across the burnin' sands of Arabia. {Walk- ing about, very much excited,^ I'll have him and 111 wallop him^ or my name's not Tabitha. The mean, on- principled, villainous dog! The outrageous, pusillani- mous hound! But I'll have him — I'll have him! ** Whereas my wife, Tabitha, has left my bed and board." Why he never had no bed nor board. When I married him he had nothin' but an old comfortable and two blankets, and as to a feather bed, he never had sich a thing till he married me. As fur as the board is con- sarned if I had had to depend on him it would have been dreadful slim boardin'. And then to say, " left my bed and board." But I see how it is. The de- sateful, treacherous man had tuck a likin* fur the wid- der Hawkins and he put up that notice fur a kind of an excuse to get oiF with her. But I'll have him and I'll give him sich a wallopin* that he'll wish he'd never seen the widder Hawkins. He'll pay no debts of my con- tractin' ! I reckon not, but he had to come to me often enough to get me to pay his debts. Oh, can it be pos- sible that Hezekiah would do sich a thing? I have allers considered him an honorable man. Could he de- ceive me in sich an outrageous manner? Could he do sich a vile thing? Oh, Hezekiah! Hezekiah! But I'll chase him; I'll have him; I'll give him sich a trouncin' that he'll not forget it as long as he lives. Then he may go. Yes, then he can have the onprincipled widder Hawkins if he wants her. But I'll have a settlement; I'll face him and I'll tell him what I think of him. It's lucky I took the money with me or he'd a stole it. {Suddenly,) But the spoons — I'll bet they're gone. He'd take everything vallyable when he was goin' to do sich a mean thing as to run oiF with the widder Haw- kins. I'll see. (Goes to back of room and looks for valuables,) No, they're here. Everything is here. Wall, I'd a thought if he was goin' to do sich a mean thing as to run off he'd a tuck everything vallyable that THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 107 he conld lay his hands on. Mebbe he's not gone after ^ Hannah. But here's the notice that you hev left his bed and board. When a man would put up sich a notice as that and his wife only gone one night he would run off the next day with a woman if he got a chance to run And anybody that knows the widder Hawkins as well as I know her wouldn't hev any hesitation in saym that she'd run off with anybody. She seems detarmined to hev another husband in some way. Ah! I know too much about the widder Hawkins ! , Tabitha. Oh, dear! oh, dear! (Stfs Tabitha. What have you been dom , bam . Sam. You won't thrash me, nor sue me, nor put me in jail, will you? Tabitha. No, in course not. _ Sam. Well, I put up that notice on the fence sayin that you had left Mr. Screecher's bed and board, I ^'%abitha. You did! (Advancing as if to take hold of him.) You little varmint! ^ Sam. Hold on now -you said you wouldnt do nothin'. 108 THE VILLAGE MEDDLER Tahitha. Yes^ I did; but that's all that saves you. What under the shinin' sun did you do it for? Sam, Well, I just kinder wanted to have some fun; didn't know it would be any harm. Mr. Hall, the store- keeper, saw me stickin' it up, and this afternoon when I was in the store he asked me what I had been stickin* up, and I told him. I said I thought it would be a purty good joke, as Mr. Screecher had gone away and nobody knowed where he was gone. Mr. Hall said I'd better get the paper pulled down as soon as possible or I might get into trouble. I went this evenin' to take down the paper and it was gone. I was gittin' a good deal scared and I went and told Mr. Hall, and he said I had better come right over here as soon as possible, as he had seen you comin' home, and I'd better apologize or I might get into a purty bad scrape. That's what I'm here for now — I come to apologize. Tabitha {taking the paper from Hannah and showing it to Sam), Is this the paper? Sam. That's it — that's the very paper. Enter Hezehiah, hastily, Hezehiah, Oh, Tabitha, are you here? Have you come? {Rushes up as if to embrace her,) Tabitha, Stop ! don't touch me, Hezekiah, till arter I ax you a few questions. Hezehiah, Don't touch you? Why, Tabitha! You hain't got the small-pox or somethin', have you? Tabitha, Don't be a fool, Hezekiah. I want to know where you have been since yesterday. Hezehiah, Where I've been? That's cool! I should like to know where you have been all night. Tabitha, That's my business; but I've got a few questions to put to you and you'd better answer them if you value a whole skin. Hezehiah, Well, go ahead, but ax them quick. I thought you was dead — I thought you had run off, or somebody had stole you, or somethin'. Oh, I'm so glad you are here! THE VILLAGE MEDDLER 109 Tabitha. Hezekiah, did you run off with the widder Hawkins ? Hezehiah, Run oiF with the widder Hawkins ! Good land of Penobscot ! What would I run ofF with the widder Hawkins for? No^ I never run off with the widder Hawkins nor anybody else. But I've been purty nigh crazy since I found you was gone. Tabitha, And you didn't write this notice.^ But I know now that you didn% so it's skurcely worth while to ax. HezeJciah (takes the paper and reads). "Whereas, my wife, Tabitha, has left my bed and board without just cause or provocation, this is to warn all persons against harboring her or trusting her on my account, as I will pay no debts of her contracting. *' Hezekiah Screecher/^ (Angrily,) By hokey, if I could ketch the man that did that I'd split him into shoe pegs in less'n no time. Sam. I guess I'll be a goin'. (Ea:it Sam.) Tabitha, 1 heard that you and the widder Hawkins had esloped. You went out the Hookertown road about 10 o'clock and then about 11 o'clock the widder Hawkins went out the same road. Hezekiah. Good land ! And can't the widder Haw* kins and me travel on the same road without elopin' } By hokey, some long tongued scoundrel has been doin' some talkin'. Hannah (rising). I guess I'll be a goin'. Tabitha. Don't be in a hurry, I want to tell you what I think of you. Hannah. Oh, I can't wait, I'll have to be a goin'. (Exit Hannah.) Tabitha. That's the woman that got up all this trouble. She came in here and made it so clear to me that you had esloped with the widder Hawkins that I was purty nigh crazy, and if you hadn't come home to- night I'd a been out to-morrow mornin' on the hunt of you. Hezekiah. She's a meddlesome old maid and she had 110 JOSIAH^S FIRST COURTING ought to be hung up by the neck for an hour or two. But this notice — who stuck it up ? Tabitha. It was Sam Smith. But he found out he*d done a bad thing and he came to apologize. I was a little off^ too^ I reckon^ when I sot out to Higginstown to buy a town lot or two arter you'd gone to Hookertown with the load of garden sass. But I wanted to surprise you by buyin' a town lot and making you a present of it. I couldn't get home yesterday and then when I couldn't get back and you went out the Hookertown road again the people got to talkin'. But I think the principal talker was Hannah Whigley. Hezehiah, Yes, she's a reg'lar old sarpint. {Takes Tabitha' s hand and they turn to audience.^ But if the audience will look at us now I think they will agree that the clouds have rolled away and the storm is over. Our troubles now are past. Tabitha, And sunshine comes at last. And may all meddlers come to grief! Curtain, McBride. JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING CHARACTERS Abigaii/ Higgins, a young woman, JosiAH Hooper, A young man, slightly verdant, Mr. Smith, A neighbor, Tom Higgins, Abigail's brother. Scene. — A Room. Abigail Higgins, neatly dressed, seated with a paper in her hand. Abigail, I don't know why Josiah doesn^t come. {Rises and walks about.) He said he'd come to-night, JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 111 but he hasn't come yet. I do wonder if he means to come. He never went a courtin'^ he says^ and mebbe hell git scared and not come. It would be kind of funny to sit up with a young man. (Seats herself.) I never did keep company with a young man and it would seem kind of queer. It makes me nervous to think about it. Josiah's a scary kind of a feller and like as not he'll back out. But of course he needn't be scary; there ain't nothin' to be afeared of. I wish he would come. I've been thinking about Josiah ever since that night of the singin'^ when he asked me about comin' over^ and of course^ I said come over. It's about time he was here if he's a goin' to come. (Rises and walks about,) Oh^ my! I reckon it's seven o'clock^ or mebbe it's half past seven^ and he's not here yet. Ah ! I think I hear a step. He's comin'! Oh^ dear! what'll I do? I guess I'll hardly know how to behave myself. (Knock at door,) There! he's at the door. Oh^ my! how my heart flutters and jumps ! (Opens door. Tom Higgins rushes in laughing.) Tom, Ho, ho^ ho ! he^ he^ he^ he^ hi ! Oh^ dear ! Oh^ my ! Oh^ ho ! ho ! Isn't this fun ? I reckon you thought it was somebody else. (Laughs,) Oh^ ho^ ho! Whoop^ he^ he ! Abigail. Tom^ what do you mean.^ Go out of the room now^ just as fast as possible. Tom (still laughing). Oh, ho, ho! I guess you thought it was somebody else, didn't you.^ (Laughs.) Oh, ho, ho ! I think I could laugh for a week. Abigail, 1 don't see nothin' to laugh at. Better go now, and not act like an idiot. Tom. Oh, you think I don't know who's comin' — he, he! And what have you got that dress on for? I guess you're lookin' for somebody. Abigail. Who'd I be lookin' for? Huh! Better go out of the room. Tom. Oh, I don't want to go out. I want to see him when he comes. 112 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING Abigail. Want to see whom? Tom, Your feller. He's comin' to-night^ isn't he? Abigail, Oh^ Tom^ hush up. As if I'd have any- body come to see me ! Tom, I'll bet a dollar there's somebody comin'. Abigail, Well^ somebody might be comin' for all I know. People come in often in the evenin'. Tom. But there's a beau comin' to see you. Abigail. Oh^ hush^ Tom. As if I would have a beau come to see me ! Tom. I'll bet a dollar there's somebody comin'. What'd you have them clothes on for^ if somebody wasn't comin'? Abigail. Oh^ Tom_, I wish you would go out of the room^ and leave me in peace. Tom. Well^ I'll go out^ but I'll come in again purty soon to see if he isn't here. {Ea;it Tom.) Abigail. I wish that boy'd stay away. He's goin' to annoy me with his runnin' in and out. But I wonder why Josiah doesn't come. I thought he'd a been here afore this time. I wonder if he's sick or anything has happened to him. He might have got kicked with one of the horses or he might have slipped on the ice and fell down and broke his leg or his arm. Well, if he's comin' at all he'll certainly be here soon. Ah ! I hear him now ! Oh, dear, how my heart thumps ! Yes, I hear him now — he's comin' at last. Oh, dear ! (Knock at door. She opens it.) Mr. Smith (outside), Evenin'. Abigail, Oh, Josiah! Oh, no, it's Mr. Smith. I thought it was — I couldn't see you in the dark, you know. Come in. (He enters,) Take a seat, Mr. Smith. (She places a chair for him,) Mr. Smith. Oh, I guess it's hardly worth while to sit down. (Seats himself.) How's all the folks? Abigail, Oh, first rate. How's all your people? Mr. Smith, Oh, kinder middlin'. Sarah Ann's been havin' a hard time with the neurollygy. Abigail. Ah, indeed! (Aside.) I wish he'd hurry JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 113 up and tell what he's come after. Wouldn't it be dis- tressing if Josiah'd come when he's here? Mr, Smith. Yes^ the neurollygy is a very annoyin- some thing. Leastways I think it must be. I never had it myself^ but the way Sarah Ann carries on when she has it, it must be very annoyinsome. Is your fayther at home.^ AbigaiL No, sir; he went over to the village this evenin'. Mr, Smith. Do you reckon he'll be back soon? Abigail. 1 guess not; he had so many things to buy and so much to do. {Aside.) Oh, if he'd stay and wait what would I do and Josiah comin'? (To Mr. Smith.) I calkilate he'll not be back afore ten o'clock. Mr. Smith. That's bad. Wanted to see him. Abigail. He'll be here in the mornin'. Mr. Smith. But I wanted to see him to-night. {Rises.) Howemsoever it'll do in the mornin'. Tell him to stay at home in the mornin' till I come, will yer, Abigail ? Abigail. Yes, sir, I will. Mr. Smith. Good evenin'. Abigail. Good evenin', Mr. Smith. (Exit Mr. Smith.) I'm glad he's gone. My, oh! if Josiah had come when he was here, wouldn't it have been a fix? But I do wonder why Josiah doesn't come. It must be half past seven o'clock, or mebbe more'n that, and he isn't here yet. I do wonder what's a keepin' him. Mebbe he'll give it up and not come at all. Oh, dear! how disappointed I'd feel if he'd do that. Mebbe somethin's turned up so's he couldn't come. Mebbe he's got hurt or somethin'. Oh, I wish he'd come soon if he's goin' to come. Ah ! don't I hear somethin' now ? Yes, I do. I feel purty sure it's Josiah. (Opens doon.) Josiah (outside). Good evenin', Abigail. Abigail. Oh, it is you, Josiah? Come in; come in quick, so's nobody will see you. 114 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING Enter Josiah with a tall hat on. Josiah, Yes^ I — I — will. My ! I feel kind of tired^ or kind of tuckered out^ or somethin'. Abigail, Have you been runnin'^ Josiah? Josiah, No^ but this's — you know this's the first time. This's the first time^ you know, I ever went a courtin', and I feel kind of scared or somethin'. I never felt so afore. Abigail. Take a seat, Josiah; take a seat and you'll feel better. (Josiah seats himself.) Now give me your hat. Oh, goodness, Josiah, where'd you get so much hat.^ Josiah. I bought it, and it cum purty high, too. I thought I ought to have it, you know, for this occasion. I'd heard it said that when a young feller went a courtin' he ought to have a tall hat. Abigail {holding his hat in her hand and looking at it). It's a purty nice hat, Josiah; it makes you look tall and kinder stylish. Josiah. Yes, that's what I s'posed. And, of course, I wanted to look that way when I was comin' over here a sparkin*. Abigail (putting his hat on the table). Oh, you allers look that way, Josiah. Josiah. Now, Abigail, do you railly think so.^ Abigail. Indeed I do, Josiah. (Abigail seats her- self.) Josiah. Well, I'm purty glad to hear it. And I always thought you was kinder stylish too, Abigail. And then you're kinder nice — sort of gentle and not stuck up like some girls I know. Abigail. Oh, Josiah. Josiah. Yes, it's a fact. I don't like stuck up, highfalutin' girls. Abigail. I don't either. (A pause. Josiah clasps his hands and twirls his thumbs.) Josiah. I — you know — that is, Abigail, I never went a courtin' afore and — I — and I hardly know what to talk about. JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 115 Abigail. Oh, I suppose you ought just to talk about anything, like we do at singin' school, or any other place. Josiah. My ! is that the way ? Well, I didn't know, but I supposed — or I kinder thought that you ought to talk about marryin' — or somethin* of that kind. Abigail, Oh, you needn't talk about sich things as that unless you want to. Josiah (bashfully) , But mebbe I'd like to talk that way. I ain't quite sure, but I — I think I would. Abigail. Well, Josiah, you may talk that way if you want to. You know you can talk about just what you please. Nobody will hear you but me. Josiah. I — well, Abigail, what did you think of the singin' school last Friday night? Abigail. Oh, I thought it was purty good. Josiah. I s'pose you knowed about Dan Hookerton? Abigail. No; what was it? Josiah. Why, he went home with Sally Scovendyke. Abigail. You don't say! Enter Tom. Tom. Abigail, did you see anything of the boot- jack? {To Josiah.) Good evenin'. Si. I didn't see you. Josiah. How de do, Tom? Abigail. No, I didn't see anything of the boot-jack. Of course the boot-jack wouldn't be in here. Tom. I didn't know but what it might have got in here. Well, I s'pose I'll have to hunt it up. Hello ! I see you've got a new hat. D'ye think you can stand up under a stovepipe? Josiah. Yes, I guess so. Abigail. The boot-jack isn't in here. Tom. No, I reckon not, but I'll hunt it up. (To Josiah.) Are you goin' to the spellin' school next Wednesday night? Josiah. Oh, I don't know; I reckon I will. Abigail. The boot-jack isn't in this room. 116 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING Tom, No^ I s'pose not, but I'll go and hunt it up. {Exit Tom,) . Abigail, Tom is such a bother. Josiah. 1 think he's goin' to interfere with my courtin' tonight. Abigail, No, I think not. I don't think he'll come in again. Josiah {rising and putting on his hat). Well, I s'pose it's about time I was goin' home. Abigail, Oh, Josiah, what's your hurry? Why, you've only just come. Sit down and stay awhile. Josiah, Well, I s'pose a feller oughtn't to stay long the first time. You see I never went a courtin' and I don't jest know what to do. A bigail. Yes, I know, but it will be all right for you to stay awhile. I want to talk to you a spell and hear the news. Josiah, Well, I'll stay awhile if you say so, but I believe I'll jest keep my hat on. I believe I could do better with my hat on. {Sits down and keeps his hat on his head,) Abigail. That'll be all right. You look purty nice with that hat on. Josiah, I feel more comfortable too when I have it on. I allers did think I'd like to have a stove-pipe hat. Abigail, And I allers thought you'd look purty slick if you had one. Josiah, You did ! Why didn't you tell me so long ago and I'd got one? Abigail, Oh, of course, I didn't want to speak to you on such a delicate subject. Josiah, And you think I look purty well — do you ? Abigail Oh, yes, you do, Josiah. Josiah, You know, Abigail, I never went a courtin' afore — this is the first time — and I jest don't exactly know how to do. As fur as you know about it, do you think the gal and the feller that's a courtin' sit as fur apart as you and me's been a doin' this evenin'? JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING 117 Abigail, Oh^ I don't know much about it, Josiah. But I guess it would be all right for us to sit a little closer. Josiah. Well, I didn't know. I s'pose there's some rules and regelations about sich things. I kinder thought I'd like to sit a little closer. (Josiah sets his chair closer, but still at some distance from Abigail,) Abigail. 1 guess it will be all right. Josiah (seating himself). And, you know, we won't have to talk so loud when we're sittin' this way. Abigail. Yes, that's so, Josiah. Josiah. And who knows but Tom might be hangin' round the door and listenin' to us when we're talkin' so loud.? Abigail. Yes, that's so, Josiah. (A pause.) Josiah (with his hands clasped and twirling his thumbs). I s'pose — or I reckon — (A pause.) I was jest goin' to say that I reckon I might come back again sometime soon a courtin' if it'd be all right and you didn't care, nor nuthin'. Abigail. Of course I wouldn't care, Josiah. Josiah. Then I'll come back. Oh, if I could come here jest reg'lar wouldn't I be tickled.? Abigail. Well, Josiah, of course you can come reg'lar. Josiah (jumping up). Jehosophat ! You don't say so ! If I wasn't afeard of makin' a noise I'd jump and holler. Abigail. You know I allers thought a great deal of you, Josiah. Josiah. I didn't know it. Geewhittaker ! Don't I feel tickled about it.? Oh, Abigail, you're jest the slickest, sweetest gal in the hull county. I'm glad I axed you about comin' over a courtin'. I was a'most af eared to do it, but I went ahead and now I'm here, and I'm goin' to come some more. (Seats himself.) Abigail. You were allers a nice kind of a feller, Josiah, and people couldn't help likin' you, and you certainly are improving. 118 JOSIAH'S FIRST COURTING Josiah. And I reckon my hat helps my looks con- s id 'able ? Abigail. Yes^ you have a nice tall hat and you are real stylish lookin'. Josiah. How'd it be for us to set our chairs a little closer together? I reckon it would be all right? Abigail. Oh^ yes^ I reckon it would. Josiah (rising and setting his chair close to Abi" gaiVs). I calkilate that'll be better. (Sits down.) And Tom can't hear what we're saying now if he is a hangin' round the door. Abigail (starting). Josiah^ I thought I heard a noise. Josiah (hastily removing his chair to the place it stood before and sitting down). You did? Like as not that Tom's around again. I guess we'd better keep this sittin'. Abigail. Yes^ I guess we had. Josiah. Do you reckon it's time for me to go home yet? You know I never went a courtin' afore and I don't know jest what to do. Abigail. Oh^ it isn't late. You can stay awhile yet. Josiah. But I'm kinder af eared Tom's coming in. Abigail. Yes, Tom might come in, but you are doin' all right, Josiah; you hain't done nothing wrong yet. Josiah. I'm awful glad to hear you say that. (Rises.) >But I guess I'll be a goin'. I'd like to ax you one thing afore I go, Abigail (rising). Well, Josiah, go on and ask it. Josiah (bashfully). Well — I — I — I'd kinder — Abigail. Well, Josiah — Josiah. I — I — I'd kinder. You know I never went a courtin' afore and I'd like to — or — or — I'd kinder like to know if it would be right to kinder — kinder — kiss somebody afore I'd go. Abigail. Oh, Josiah, you make me blush. Josiah. By hokey! I don't care whether it's right or wrong I'll go ahead and kiss you anyhow. (He IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 119 catches her and in trying to kiss her his hat falls off. As he kisses her Tom enters.) Tom (shouting). Hi! Ho! Whoop! Ho! He! Abigail, Oh^ you Tom. Josiah (hastily getting his hat off the floor). Oh, thunderation ! Grindstones and wheelbarrows ! There's Tom. (^Rushes out.) Curtain, McBride. IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN CHARACTERS Van Gordon Stafford^ A wealthy and eccentric Old Bachelor, boarding with Mrs, Chapman. Charles Mansfield^ Lucinda Chapman^s Betrothed Husband. Patrick McMurtrie^ Mrs. Chapman's Man of all Work, Mrs. Chapman. Lucinda Chapman. Scene. — A Room in Mrs. Chapman's House. Table, back C, with vase of flowers. Sofa, R. Chairs, L. Entrance, R. and L, Patrick discovered. Pat, Bedad, an' I think that Misther Stafford is one of the quarest min on the face av the airth. Whin he tells me to do somethin' an' I be afther doin' it^ it won't be five minutes ontil he'll say ** Sthop that — what are ye about? " Faix^ an' I dunno what the ould lady is a kapin' him here for^ but thin I reckon he doesn't bother the ould lady nor the young lady the way he bothers me. And the ould gintleman's got money^ too^ an' he whacks down the granebacks mighty loosely too whin 120 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN he's payin' his board bill. I guess the ould lady is about right in holdin' on to him^ but thin he is sich a throuble. Here's the ould gintleman now. (Going R,) Enter Van Gordon Stafford, L. Van Gordon, Hello^ Pat! what are you doing here.^ Get out of this. Don't you know this is my room ? Pat, Faix^ an' I do^ and be the twisters I'm goin' as fast as me two throtters can carry me. Van Gordon, Stop ! Come back ! Don't run away like as if you were chased by a bear. Pat, Begorra^ an' it's jist about as bad. That is, I mane I'm not afeared of ye^ sir. Van Gordon, Well^ you'd better be. Pat, Misther Stafford, I'll fetch ye some paches. Don't ye like paches? Van Gordon. Why should you bring me peaches^ or anything else.^ Nobody cares for me. Pat (aside), Now's my chance to give him a touch av the most excillent blarney. (To Van Gordon.) Nobody cares for je? Faix, an' that's where ye're out intirely. Why, Misther Van Gordon Stafford, shure an' I'd do a'most anything to oblige ye. I'd fetch ye paches, I'd fetch ye apples, I'd fetch ye anything at all. I'd travel through wather to oblige ye. I'd s\^im clane across a river; I'd sit up wid ye a whole night; yis^ I'd sit up wid ye a whole wake, if ye was sick, an' I'd make nothin' av it at all, at all. Not care for ye! Be the howly pertaters, an' that's where ye're mis- thaken. Why, Misther Van Gordon Stafford, I'd climb to the tap ave the Bocky Mountains for ye — I'd climb — Van Gordon. Stop! That's enough! I'm afraid it's all talk and no cider with you. Pat, Bedad, an' ye don't know me. I'm an Irish- man ; an' did ye iver know an Irishman to run away an* lave a gintleman in throuble? Yis, sur, I've cum from Ireland (sighs) y an' I've got some f rinds over there, an' I'm mighty 'fraid they're gittin' into throuble. IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 121 Niver a word have I heard from thim fur siven wakes, an' whin I did hear my poor ould father was lyin' in bed wid the faver^ an' my mother was ailin' some, an' Feggy was about to lave thim an' go an' live in a rich ould gintleman's family. And, be jabers, I hain't had a wurrud from Bridget Mulravey fur three wakes. Van Gordon, And who is Bridget Mulravey? Pat (trying to blush), Faix, an' she's my girrul. I thought I'd a got money an' sint over for her long ago, but I've been sick meself, an' I can't make any money at all, at all. Van Gordon, Get out of this, you whining Irish- man. (Pat goes toivards door.) Stop ! Don't stay long — I'll want you. Pat (aside, as he goes out). Be the howly pitchers, I think ye are a quare ould gintleman. (Exit Pat, R,) Van Gordon, I wonder if that Irishman is as good as he tries to make me believe he is. I'll put him to the test. Yes, that will be glorious fun, and it will keep me from dying with the blues. And if he is a kind- hearted Irishman — if he is noble and generous — I'll reward him liberally — yes, I'll shower the money upon him. He shall send for his sweetheart and for his old father and mother, and his sister Peggy and his Uncle Bob, if he has an Uncle Bob, and all of his Irish friends, and I'll set them up in neat little houses. Yes, glorious idea ! I'll have an Irish town — and I'll live with them. Hold on! I'll not promise that. Live with a lot of Irish men and Irish women and Irish children.^ Well, no, I guess not! I'd rather be ex- cused. But I'll shower the gold upon them, and I'll make Pat feel as large as the king of the Cannibal Islands. But if he doesn't stand the test, ah ! how I will wither him with my eloquence. I'll make a speech — yes, I'll make a powerful speech, and the walls shall ring and the rafters shall tremble as I pour out my denunciations upon the poor boasting Irish- man. Oh, won't it be glorious fun! And it will en- able me to pass another day in this stupid old place. 122 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN Yes^ 111 take sick suddenly with something dreadful — cholera^ or small-pox^ or yellow fever^ or — hold^ it shall be a new disease^ and I'll make the Irishman be- lieve that it is worse than cholera or small-pox^ and that if he comes near me or takes my hand he will be a gone Irishman. Oh^ this will be glorious fun ! I think I can already see him open his eyes and tremblingly say, " Be jabers, 111 have to go! " And when he gets out of the room 111 call him back, and then 111 tower up to my fullest height and commence my speech of de- nunciation. Yes, that's the plan. Ha! ha! But I must have a smoke. Ill retire to the porch, and as I smoke 111 think the matter over. {Exit Van Gor don, L,) Enter Lucinda Chapman and Charles Mansfield, R, Lucinda, Mr. Stafford is out, and I wish to show you my wax flowers. Come in. I placed them here to give the room a more cheerful appearance. I made them this week, and, do you know, I never took a lesson. Think of that, Charles, and smile. Charles » Smile! Why should I smile? Lucinda, I am discouraged and disheartened. It seems that I will never be able to claim you as my wife. One trouble follows another, and — Lucinda. Hush, Charles! Don't complain. I know what you have had to encounter and endure. Keep a brave heart, and all will be well. Charles, But haven't I been trying to be brave, and haven't I been working and planning.^ And how much nearer are we to the consummation of our hopes than we were at the commencement of our engagement? Indeed, it seems that we are drifting apart. Lucinda, You do not mean it? Charles, No; forgive me. I am so unhappy I can- not express myself properly. I mean that, instead of my prospects becoming brighter, they are becoming darker. The clouds are growing more heavy and low- ering. IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 123 Lucinda. Do not despond, dear Charles; we are young yet^ and can wait a year or two. Charles, We have waited two years already, Lu- cinda. I must make a bold stroke of some kind. I cannot go on in this dreary^ monotonous way. It is work, work, work, and never make any progress. I will do something. Lucinda. But what will you do? Charles, I'll go away — I'll go to the West — 111 go to California — I'll go any place. I cannot stay here. I must find a business at which I can make more money. Lucinda. And instead of making more money you may make less. You may get sick, and you know that this is quite probable, as you are never strong. And then, when you are far from home, and lying upon a bed of sickness, you will think of the little house among the hills, and sigh for the kind acts and the cheerful words which only the loved ones at home can give. Charles. But you know I am making nothing here* It is a retrograde movement with me. I have lost in a wild speculation the little money I had; my father is a cripple, and my mother is in poor health. My only brother, you know, is wild and reckless, and is travel- ing fast on the road to ruin. I must look after him oc- casionally — it would not be brotherly if I did not ; yet, with all my efforts, I cannot save him. He seems bent on his own destruction. Lucinda. Well, Charles, I have thought the matter over, and I am ready to marry you now. Charles. Now ? Lucinda (laughs). ^ Ha! ha! Don't look so terribly frightened, or I shall think you don't want to marry me. Charles. But you do not consider. Why, Lucinda, I am barely able to support myself and my parents. Lucinda. And if you can support three persons, don't you think I can support one.^ If you don't, you must have a poor opinion of me. Charles. Yes — but — I want you to live in style. 124 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN Lucinda, And I don't choose to live in style^ as you call it. When I promised to marry you, I did so be- cause I loved you, not because I wanted to live in style. I abominate style. Do you think I am going to sit down and do nothing, and let you work to support me? I think I shall not consent to any arrangement of that kind. I should not feel that I was a woman if I should. Charles. What a brave little woman you are ! And how eloquent you can be ? But I am not quite sure that this would be proper. Lucinda, I am quite sure of it. I know what is keeping you back, and I do not feel that I am over- stepping the bounds of propriety in talking to you in this way. I know you have had high ideas about how I should live, but I know I am going to help you work. We are going to work together and climb up together. If I fall, you will be present to assist me, and if you fall, I intend to assist you. I promised to marry you because I loved you, and because I expected to be a help-mate. Charles. Noble woman ! Lucinda, you are a treasure. I shall always prize you, and shall endeavor to make you happy. Lucinda, But see my wax flowers. I had almost forgotten to talk about them. Mother says I am a splendid housekeeper, and when I can keep house and make wax flowers too, am I not at least able to support myself ? Charles. Yes. Lucinda, Why don't you praise the flowers? Charles. They are beautiful. Lucinda, Oh, but you say it as if you were com- pelled. Uncle John says I can make my fortune at this work. Think of that! And when I do make my fortune I will share it with you. Charles. Noble, beautiful, brave woman! Lucinda, Oh, don't praise me — praise the flowers. But come, we'll go to the orchard. Mr. Staff*ord is I IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 125 particularly fond of peaches^ and I'm going to give him peaches and cream for supper. You shall have some too^ Charley. {Exit Lucinda and Charles, R,) Enter Van Gordon Stafford, L, Van Gordon, Well, that goes ahead of anything IVe heard for the last six years. Of course I didn't want to hear it, but then to get up and run away when that woman was talking — well, it was simply impossible. Caesar Augustus ! Wasn't she eloquent ! IVe heard of persons by their eloquence rooting other persons to the spot. Lucinda must be a rooter, for I certainly was rooted. I didn't know we had any such women these days. I could marry that woman myself. But then, ah! — yes, I'm too old to marry, and she's got a lover. That Charles is a lucky dog. There are not many men now-a-days that get into the silken tie with such women as Lucinda. And she's a model house- keeper, too. Everything neat and clean, and such snowy bread, and such delightful coffee! I couldn't have stayed here two days if I hadn't had such elegant treatment and such magnificent boarding. And Charles and Lucinda have decided to marry, and Charles ap- pears to shrink back somewhat on account of the state of his pocket-book. {Laughs,) Ha I ha! Well, he's a noble fellow. It is better not to rush into matrimony unless you are sure that you are going to be tied to a good woman. But Lucinda — yes, Lucinda — she's splendid. As Charles remarked, she's noble, beautiful, and brave. Ah, Charles, you are a lucky fellow. Well, I'll arrange matters so that Charles will cease to shrink from the noose matrimonial. Yes, I'll give Lu- cinda' one thousand dollars, and then, to prevent a cool- ness in the family, I'll give Charles one thousand dol- lars, too. They can set up housekeeping on this, and they can get along comfortably. Oh, Charley, old boy, go ahead, and I'll attend to the money matters. But what's to become of me? Ah, that's the question. If Lucinda and Charley get married, Mrs. Chapman will 126 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN shut up shop, and 1*11 be out of a boarding place. Caesar Augustus! The thought startles me. Yes, I guess it will do. Things look mighty neat and clean about this little house, and perhaps, after all, the old lady should receive more credit than the young lady. I've a good mind to marry her. The thought has just come to me. Yes, I will marry her — that is, provided I can get her. I've been a rover — I have traveled all over the world, and I am satisfied. I'll end my days here, provided Mrs. Chapman will allow me. I have been a discontented man — I've been on the point two or three times of blowing out my brains, but I'm glad now I didn't — that is, if Mrs. Chapman will accept my proposal. Hello, I'd forgot about that wild Irish- man. I'll call him in. (Goes to door L, and calls,) Ho, Patrick ! Hello ! Pat (outside). Yis, sur; I'm comin' as fast as I kin travel. Van Gordon. Now I'll prepare to receive him. Won't I frighten the poor fellow? I'll lie down here and take the — the — what will I take ? Yes, it shall be the tippertiwitchet. (Lies down on sofa.) Oh, Patrick ! will you not come ? Enter Pat, L. Pat. Faix, an' I will. What sames to be the mather? Van Gordon. Stand back ! Don't touch me ! Keep away ! It is the tippertiwitchet. Pat, Tipperte-what ? Be the howly pitchers I niver heerd av that afore. An' it's took ye mighty suddin too. Van Gordon. That's the way. It comes suddenly. (PcBt advances a step.) Stand back — keep away — don't touch me^ or you are a dead man. Pat. Shall I run fur some docthor, an' git the med- icine ? Van Gordon. No, no; doctors can do no good. And they wouldn't come. Stand back — keep away ! IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 127 Pat, Bedad, I think ye're a little wrong in the upper sthory. Van Gordon. No^ no; I'm perfectly sane. It is tip- pertiwitchet. Never touch anybody that has the tip- pertiwitchet^ or you are a dead man. Oh^ if I could only sit up I would feel better. {Attempts to rise.) Pat {advancing). Be jiggers, an' if that's all ye want I'll give ye a hoist. Van Gordon. No, no — keep away ! You don't know what you are doing. Pat. Whist, be aisy. {Takes hold of Van Gordon, raising him up.) How d'ye fale now.^* Van Gordon. Oh, Patrick ! you don't know what you have done. Pat. Well, I didn't do much. I only give ye a hoist up, an' if ye are any more comfortable I shall be mighty glad. Van Gordon {groans). Oh! oh! what will become of your poor old father and mother and your sweet- heart ? Pat. Faith, an' if I take the tipperte-what-ever-you- call-it, nobody will miss me much. Somebody will take care of the ould folks, an' Bridget will get along. I am a sthranger in a sthrange land, an' if I take the cherwitchets there's no great harm done. But cher- witchet or no cherwitchet, I'm niver goin' to desart a man that is in throuble an' difficulty. I'll stand by ye, ye may fale shure av that, an' I'll not lit the ould lady nor the young lady come near ye. I'll kape them away, an' whin ye are gone, Misther Stafford, I'll take care av ye, that is, if I don't take the cherwitchets afore ye are put away. Van Gordon, That will do, Patrick. The tipperti- witchet has passed off, and I am well. Pat. Hooray fur the tipperte-hatchet ! But I thought you said it was shure death. Do you think I'll have a sphell av it? Van Gordon. No, you will escape. I was only playing a part. 128 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN Pat. Be gobbs^ an' ye played it as natural as life. Van Gordon. You said you would stand by me in any trouble — you said you would do almost anything for me, and I thought I would put you to the test. Pat. An' ye doubted my wurrud? Misther Staf- ford, don't ye know I'm an Irishman? Van Gordon. Yes, but I haven't perfect faith in all Irishmen, nor in all Americans either, for that matter. But I am satisfied. Pat, you are a noble fellow. Pat. That's jist what Bridget Mulravey says. Fan Gordon. You don't know that I am wealthy. I have thousands of dollars. I'll reward you liberally for your self-sacrificing devotion to me. I'll give you two thousand dollars now, and more if you need it. Pat. Howley Jim Flanegan ! Van Gordon. You shall send for your sweetheart and for your father and mother, and you shall be happy. Pat. Jimminy j ebunders ! ye don't mane it ! Van Gordon. Yes, I mane it. It shall be so. Pat. What'll I say an' what'll I do? Faix, an' I dunno which I'm standin' on, me head or me fate. How can I thank ye? Van Gordon. Say nothing about thanks. I under- stand you, and I appreciate your feelings. Go and call Mrs. Chapman and Lucinda and Charles. Pat. Be the Slocums, misther, I'll do that or any- thing else for ye. (Ea:it Pat, R,) Van Gordon. An excellent Irishman, and I've made him so happy he scarcely knows what he is doing. I'm glad I came to this place. If I had not come I could not have assisted Lucinda and Charles, and I could never have found this true-hearted Irishman. I have heard it said that the secret of happiness consists in making others happy. I am now beginning to believe it. Enter Pat, Lucinda and Charles, and Mrs. Chapman, R. Pat, Here we are, sir. {Turning and speaking to IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN 129 Lucinda, Charles, and Mrs. Chapman,) This is the most noble gintleman on the top av the ground. Van Gordon, Be careful^ Pat; don't be too extrava- gant in your praises. Pat, Faix^ an' it's all thrue. Oh! I could tell ye's something wonderful. Van Gordon. Don't tell us anything wonderful now, Pat; we are not prepared to receive it. Mrs. Chapman, you will probably be surprised at what I am about to say; but with me, to think is to act. I have been a roving, discontented man, and have wandered all over the world, but now I am growing old, and I want to settle down and live in peace and quietness, Mrs. Chapman, there are silver threads in my hair, and you, too, are well up in years. It would therefore be ridicu- lous for me to indulge in sentimentalism. Since I have been here I have admired you, and have been pleased with the taste displayed by you in keeping your house. I have but one question to ask you, Mrs. Chap- man, and that is. Will you be my wife? Mrs. Chapman. You are sudden, and you startle me. Pat (to Mrs, Chapman) o Faix, he's a gintleman — ivery inch of him. Mrs. Chapman, I will not attempt to conceal the fact that I have also admired you. It is sudden, but I suppose you want an answer now. Van Gordon. Yes. Pat {to Mrs. Chapman) . Bedad, an' he's a splindid man — ivery inch a gintleman. Mrs, Chapman, I consent — I will be your wife. {Van Gordon goes to her and takes her hand,) Pat {swings his hat). Hooray! Hooray! This is beautiful. Begorra, an' ye're the bist man in the state av Ireland. Van Gordon {to Mrs, Chapman). 1 thank you for your confidence, and shall endeavor to be worthy of you. {To Lucinda and Charles,) I unintentionally overheard a conversation a few minutes ago between you, Lucinda Chapman, and you, Charles Mansfield, 130 IVERY INCH A GINTLEMAN and I am happy to say that I can remove all obstacles that may seem to be in the way. And if you wish to get married to-day^ or to-morrow^ go ahead. I have money — plenty of it^ and I have decided to present each of you with one thousand dollars. This will en- able you to set up housekeeping in tolerable style^ and if you prove to be good and dutiful children I will have more for you. Lucinda, Oh^ Mr. Stafford ! do you mean it ? Charles. How can we thank you? Van Gordon. By saying nothing more about it. I understand and appreciate your feelings^ but I don't want you to make a fuss, nor get up a scene of thank- fulness. I have been lucky enough to obtain the proud position of step-father to Lucinda_, as you have wit- nessed, and I will see that none of the families repre- sented here shall come to want. {To audience,^ I have learned, too, that if you want to be happy you must — {Turning to Pat.) Mr. McMurtrie, you under- stand me. Will you make the closing speech ? Pat. Faix, yis, I'd do anything to accommodate ye, for ye're a gintleman, ivery inch av ye. {To audi- ence.) Misther StaflFord wishes me to say that if you want to be happy you must strive to make others happy. This is the true sacret of happiness. And while I'm a spakin' to ye's, I want to say again that Misther Staf- ford's a splendid man — he is Ivery Inch a Gintle- man. Mc Bride, ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 131 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS CHARACTERS Robert Clarendon. Joshua Hopkins. Arabella Taylor. Mary Taylor. Scene. — A well- furnished room, Arabella and Mary discovered. Arabella, Now^ Mary^ I am going to read you a lec- ture. Yesterday evening when Mr. Clarendon called, you were impudent enough to thrust yourself into his presence again. He had not been here ten minutes before you came into the parlor^ under the pretense of looking for a book or some other article, when I know you only wanted to get a look at Mr. Clarendon, and wanted him to look at you. Mary, Oh, Arabella! You are very unjust. Aunt commanded me to come in for a book which was then on the table, or I am sure I would not have troubled you. Arabella. Do you expect me to believe this? Mary. Probably your mother will tell you if I do not speak the truth. I said to her that I thought you would not care to be disturbed, but she told me to go in immediately, and she said she didn't care whether you were displeased or not. Arabella, To your duplicity and vanity you are novr adding the accomplishment of telling falsehoods. I understand you. You are vain enough to think that you can win Mr. Clarendon over to yourself, and so you put yourself in his way as much as possible. Mary, Oh, Arabella, why are you so unjust? I be- lieve Mr. Clarendon to be an honorable gentleman. He has always spoken kindly to me, but I certainly do not want to stand in your way, Arabella. 132 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS Arabella, Then why do you so constantly throw yourself in his way? Mary. I have not intentionally done so yet. Arabella. Oh^ I have no patience with you. I know that you have at different times shown yourself when you had no business to do so. Now^ I want you to un- derstand that this must not be done again. Mr. Clar- endon would never think of marrying a poor givl, and you should understand how to keep your place. Mary. Arabella ! Arabella. You look as if you had some thoughts of taking a cry, but that would be useless. We don't want a scene. I have told you at different times that you must keep out of the way when Mr. Clarendon comes, but you will thrust yourself forward. Now if you do so again I will see that you take up your abode in another house. You act as though you did not feel at all grateful for the home you have here. Mary. You shall not speak so to me again, Arabella. I will leave the house to-morrow. Your father has been kind to me, but you and your mother have treated me as though I stood far below you, and you have done so because my parents were poor, and because I am poor. No woman shall talk to me as you have done. If I am poor I consider myself your equal. I can work for a living; that is nothing more than I have been doing here. I am willing to work, but I am not willing to be trampled upon. You are wealthy, but you must not talk to me again as you have done to-day. You are my cousin — Enter Joshua Hopkins, R. Joshua. Yas, and she's a cousin of mine too, by hokey ! Arabella. Who are you? Joshua. Why I'm your cousin. Josh Hopkins, of Turkey Run. I declare I'm rail eout and eout glad tew see yeou. Give us your hand. {Offers to shake hands,) ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 133 Arabella (steps back). Keep away; I don't know you. Joshua, Don't know me? Wall^ neow^ that's a good one ! Come to think of it, maybe yeou don't know me, 'cos yeou haint seed me fur a consid'able spell. (To Mary,) And this is my other cousin, Mary Taylor. How dew yeou dew, Mary.^ Yeou air a right smart lookin' gal. Will yeou shake hands } Mary. Certainly. (They shake hands,) I have not seen you for many years, but I know there can be no mistake. How have you been? Joshua, Oh, I been reasonable, but Becky Jane's been awfully tuck deown with the rheumatiz ! can't git nothin' to do her a mite of good. Aunt Keziah Smith's been a poulticin' and a plasterin' her and a givin' her yarb tea, but it ain't no kind o' use. Mary, Are the rest of the family well? Joshua, Yas, the rest are all gittin' along tip-top. Dad's been splittin' wood and tearin' reound this summer jest as if he warn't more'n twenty years of age. Wall, Arabella, feel like speakin' ' tew me neow ? Arabella, No, I don't know you. Why are you here ? Joshua, Yeou don't know me? Wall, neow, that beats all natur'. Don't yeou know that when we were little folks we used tew go to school together deown tew the Turkey Run school-'us? And I reckon yeou don't mind how yeou flopped into the big pond deown below the old meetin-'us, and how I jumped in and pulled yeou eout? Arabella, Go away, sir; you are an impostor. Joshua. And I reckon yeou don't mind how your dad and my dad used tew go areound with old carts a sellin' fish and a buyin' up soap-fat and sich things? It was a nasty kind of a business, I know, and I don't wonder that yeou turn up yeour nose when I talk abeout it. But yeou folks cum to the city, and yeou've been a gittin' up purty fast. How's Uncle Bob? I declare, 134 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS I hain't seen him fur upward of fifteen years. I reckon hell be home to supper purty soon — won't he? Mary. He will probably be home in an hour. Joshua, Uncle Bob allers was a tip-top man, and I'm mighty glad he's made a raise. This is a mighty nice house of his'n. Does he own it, or has he only got it rented? Mary, He owns the house. Joshua, And sich stylish carpet ! Reckon that car- pet would cost abeout two dollars a yard. Mary {laughing). Yes, I suppose it would. Joshua, And sich awful purty pictures as yeou've got hangin' reound on the walls. Who's that soger feller there ? {Pointing to 'picture,) Mary, That is the Duke of Wellington. Joshua, Duke of What — ington ? Mary, Wellington. Joshua, Oh, yas; I used to hear Uncle Si talkin' abeout him. He's a mighty savage lookin' feller, any- heow. Arabella {to Mary), Mary, you seem to be delighted with your company. Joshua, Yas, I shouldn't wonder if she was, fur I'm considered a purty entertainin' sort of a feller deown tew Turkey Run. The way the gals sets eout arter me is really surprisin*. There's Jemima Cummins and Tabitha Wingerly, they've both been a shinin' reound me purty lively. I s'pose Jemima's the smartest gal and understands housekeepin' best, but then Tabitha she's got a heap of money, and a f eller'd do mighty well tew git Tabitha. Jemima beats all tew make corn cakes and punkin pies. Sam Jenkins says as how Je- mima's punkin pies outstrips anything he ever tasted, and yeou know Sam has traveled consid'able and has seen a heap of the world. But I reckon I'd do better to go arter Tabitha Wingerly, fur she's got heaps of money, and money is a wonderful thing these days. It raises people so much in the world that they don't even know their blood relations when they come to see them. ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 135 Arabella. Mary^ when your friend has got through telling about the Turkey Runners — Joshua, Turkey Runners! (Laughs,) Ho! ho! That's good ! Ho ! ho ! Why^ I never heard the folks deown our way called that afore. Turkey Runners ! Ho! Ho! That's good! I'll say that when I git hum, and the folks '11 think I've I'arned sumthin' by comin' to the city. Arabella. I suppose I should feel very happy be- cause I have said something to amuse you. I was just going to remark^ Mary, that when your friend got through with his story, you could show him the door. Joshua, Show me the door ! Land o' Goshen ! What's wrong with the door? {Goes to door and exam- ines it,) Wall, neow, I don't see nothin* pecooliar abeout that door. It's got hinges, and a knob, and it swings back'ard and for'ards jist like any door. What's wrong abeout it, anyheow.^ Arabella (aside). Oh, what a stupid blockhead. His verdancy is unequaled. And Mr. Clarendon will be here in a short time. How shall I get rid of this in- truder ? Joshua (to Arabella), How's your marm.^ Ain't she goin' tew come in tew see me.^ Why, when I go tew Uncle Jacob's, deown to Plunkettville, they all come whoopin' into the room, and make a powerful fuss over me. Arabella. I didn't know but you had seen mother. Joshua, No, I jest come in a few minutes ago. I don't see no use in knockin' when you go to see your relations, and so I j est marched in. I hearn tell from a feller that this was your house, and that Mary was a livin' with yeou, and so I thought I'd jest bolt in and sorter startle yeou. Arabella, Well, I expect company soon, and I will be glad if you will retire. Joshua, Retire! That means go to bed. I de- clare, Arabella, I don't feel sleepy. Arabella (aside). Oh, what a dunce! (To 136 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS Joshua.) Well^ I shall leave you. I am not used to such company. {Exit Arabella, L.) Joshua. Land of Pequonnock! She's a high-flyer! Sorter stuck up, ain't she.^ Mary. Yes, Cousin Joshua, I am sorry to say it, but I think she isn't as agreeable as she might be. Joshua. I s'pose now she thinks I ain't quite as good as she is. I wonder if she does ? Mary. I suppose she doesn't feel like claiming you as her cousin. Joshua. Wall, I'm her cousin, anyheow. I feel rail sorry abeout it, tew, fur I'd rather not have any rela- tions of that kind. I hain't got very stylish clothes on, that's a fact, but she oughln't tew git cranky on that account. Clothes don't make the man. But when it comes tew money, I reckon I've got abeout as much as her dad's got — I have so. But yeou needn't tell anybody. You've been havin' a hard time of it, Mary. I heard Arabeller a pitchin' into yeou, and yeou pitchin' into Arabeller. I stood at the door up'ards of a few minutes when yeou was a talkin', jest tew find eout what sort of gals my city cousins were. In course when I heard the talk I was sorter expectin' the reception that Arabeller give me. She's a rail snappin' alligator, and holds her head a mighty sight too high. And so yeou mean tew leave? Mary. Yes, I cannot stay here. A life of servitude is preferable to a life of dependence. Joshua. And what are yeou goin' tew do? Mary. I will get a situation as governess if I can, and if I fail in that I will work in somebody's kitchen. Joshua. Wall, neow, yeou shan't work in anybody's kitchen — that's so ! Nor yeou shan't be a gloverness neither, but I don't quite know what that is. I'll tell yeou, Mary, you've got tew cum home with me. I've made a spec', and I've got a heap of money. Your marm was mighty good tew me when I was a little fel- ler, and I hain't forgot abeout it. What do yeou say? Mary. Yes, Cousin Joshua, I shall be glad to do so. ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 137 But come^ we will go and see Aunt. Arabella is ex- pecting a gentleman friend^ and I know she would pre- fer that he should not see me. Joshua. Yas^ that's what she was pitchin' into yeou abeout when I come in. Wall^ we'll step eout and leave the coast clear^ but arter awhile^ when they git tew sayin' lovin' things^ I'll step in ag'in^ jest to show Arabeller's feller what a stylish cousin she's got. Mary, Oh^ no^ Joshua! I wouldn't do that. Joshua, Yeou wouldn't! Wall^ / would. I'm sot on it^ and when a Hopkins gits sot onto anything^ thar ain't any use a talkin' tew him. But we will go and look arter Aunt Patty. {Exit Mary and Joshua, L.) Enter Robert Clarendon, R, Robert, No one here ! I thought I heard persons conversing. Well^ I'll sit down and make myself com- fortable^ and I doubt not I will see Arabella soon. I have almost concluded that this shall be my last visit to Arabella ; and^ indeed^ I have only been coming lately because I felt interested in her cousin Mary. How very different they are ! I am surprised that I ever had even a passing fancy for Arabella. She is beautiful^ but how proud and imperious ! Mary is agreeable and gentle in her manners. I wonder why I do not see her more. She seems to avoid me. Ah ! here is Arabella now. (Rises,) Enter Arabella, L. Arabella, Good evenings Mr. Clarendon. Pray be seated. I just stepped out a moment ago to speak to my mother. This is a delightful afternoon. Robert, Yes^ very. But I am hurried to-day, and can only make a short call. If it be agreeable I will do myself the honor of taking you and Mary to the lec- ture to-morrow evening. Arabella, And Mary! Why, Mr. Clarendon, do you know what you are saying? Robert, Certainly, I do. Arabella. Mary is one of our poor relations, and — 138 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS Enter Joshua, L. Joshua, And I'm one of Arabella's poor relations tew ! She's e'en a most overwhelmed with poor rela- tions. Arabeller^ why don't yeou give me an introduc- tion tew this feller? Arabella (aside). Oh, this is dreadful! I thought I had made arrangements to have him kept away. Joshua, Wall, if my Cousin Arabeller won't intro- duce us we kin shake hands and be friends anyheow — can't we? (Joshua offers his hand, and Robert takes it and gives him a friendly shake.) Robert, Certainly, sir. I'm glad to see you, al- though I don't know you. Joshua, Wall, I'm Josh Hopkins, from Turkey Run. I've jest come tew town tew see my rich relations. Now what's your name? Robert. Robert Clarendon, at your service. Joshua, Yas, and I guess you're a courtin' Arabella here. She's a purty fine gal; still, accordin' to my views, she ain't nowhere compared to Cousin Mary. Arabella, Mr. Clarendon, do not converse with this man. He came in here a few minutes ago and pre- tended to be a relative. He is an impostor, and if father was here he would put him out. Joshua, Put me eout! Wall, that's good. Why, Uncle Bob wouldn't do that fur sixty-two and a half cents. Arabella, Did you not express a wish to see my mother ? Joshua, Yas, but I changed my mind. Mary and^ I was a startin' tew go, but I tuck a notion I'd cum back and take a look at the feller as is to be my cousin. Mary didn't want me to come, and she talked ag'in it like all possessed, but I was sot on comin' in, and I did come. Yeou know the Hopkinses was an awful sot people when they tuck a notion. Arabella, I can't endure this. I will send for father. ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 139 Joshua, Wall^ that's jest what I want yeou to do. Yeou see^ Mr. Clarendon, since I've cum into this house I haven't been gittin' along very fluently, as the feller says. Neow, if Uncle Bob would come I think he'd regilate matters. Yeou see dad and Uncle Bob used tew be in the same business. They each had a one- hoss cart and they drove areound and sold fish^ and then they bought up soap-fat and sheep's hides and sich things — Arabella. I will not endure this. {Exit Arabella, in a passion, L.) Joshua, Land o' Goshen! That made her flounce eout in a hurry ! See here, Mr. Clarendon, I sorter like your looks. Neow I don't want to meddle too much in your courtin' affairs, but it seems to me that if yeou marry that gal yeou'U git into trouble. She's a screamer and no mistake. She's as much like a gal deown to Turkey Run as anything I ever seed. This gal I'm tellin' on, she's a darter of Deacon Tucker's, and she wants tew be considered boss of everything in gin- eral. I reckon yeou think I don't know much, but I've been areound a little, and I ginerally take notes as I go. I come here to-day to look after my relations. Haven't seen them fur up'ards of fifteen years, 'cause we've sorter been in the background. But I made a raise — I'm tellin' yeou this in a secret — and I guess I've got about as much money as Arabeller or Uncle Bob. She doesn't know this, or I calkerlate she wouldn't turn up her nose so high when she speaks to me. But, as I was sayin', I come here to-day to see what sort of re- lations I had. I stood awhile at the door there afore I stepped in, and Arabeller was a jawin^* fearful, be- cause Mary had seen sent into the room to git somethin' or nuther when yeou and Arabeller was a sparkin*. Then Mary she up and told Arabeller that she warn't a goin' to have her talkin' so much abeout poor relations, and she said she'd git up and leave. I have tuck the matter into my hands, and I'm a goin' to take her hum with me. She ain't a goin' to live with no wild-cat like 140 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS Arabeller Taylor. No^ sir_, hot as long as my name's Josh Hopkins. Yeou see^ Mr. Clarendon^ I'm tellin' yeou all abeout it. I've tuck a likin' fur you^ and I don't want yeou to git into trouble. Robert, I thank you for what you have said. I have not yet gone so far but that I can honorably re- treat. I was beginning to see Arabella in her true light, and had already decided to cultivate Mary's ac- quaintance, as I believe her to be gentle and good. Joshua, Land sakes ! And so yeou're goin' to quit one and split eout arter the other. Wall, I s'pose I'll have yeou fur a cousin anyheow, and I'll be rail glad, too, fur yeou've got a straight up and deown look abeout yeou. Robert. 1 thank you for your good opinion. Joshua, Yeou do.^ Wall, that's jest what I think. But lookee here, Mr. Clarendon, ef yeou are goin' to court Mary, I calkerlate yeou'll have to be in a hurry abeout it. I live away deown in Varmount, and Mary's goin' hum with me to-morrer if yeou don't put a stop to it. Howsomever, yeou can court her by writin' if yeou don't feel inclined to be in a hurry. There's a feller deown to Turkey Run as did all his courtin' by letter-writin' ; but, ginerally speakin', I'm opposed to sich work. Jest wait here a minute, Mr. Clarendon, and I'll fix matters fur yeou. Yeou see I'm in my Uncle Bob's house, and I make myself to hum. (Ea:it Joshua, L,) Robert. That's a diamond in the rough — one of nature's noblemen, lacking the polish. I wonder what he is going to do now. There seems to be but little cousinly love between him and Arabella. Reenter Joshua, L. Joshua. Jest step eout intew the garden, Mr. Clar- endon. I sent Mary there, and yeou'd better go and say good-by to her. I'm goin' to take her away to-mor- row, if nothin' turns up. I'll stay here, and if Arabella comes I'll court her in your place. Robert. Thanks, my friend. I will do as you say. ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 141 You may expect me again in a short time. (Exit Rob- ert, R.) Joshua. Yas^ in a short time. (Laughs,) He! he! I understand jest how time flies in a ease of that kind. If they don't make their good-byes a half an hour long it will be a strange sarcumstance. And I'm goin' to have a heavy job if I court Arabeller all that time. She'll come a bouncin' in here in a minute or two^ and jest as likely as not she'll take hold of me and pitch me eout of the winder. (Sits down and whistles Yankee Doodle.) Neow I s'pose it ain't quite right to whistle in sich a grand house^ but then it allers did rest me to git a good whistle. (Whistles again.) Hokey! she's a comin' ! Enter Arabella, L. Arabella. You here! Joshua. Yes^ siree ! Arabella, Where's Mr. Clarendon.^ Joshua. Wall^ I can't say jest exactly. I s'pose he got mad and went eout to take a smoke^ but wouldn't be positive abeout it. Reckon it warn't perlite fur yeou to run eout of the room when he was here, was it.^ Arabella. How could I stay when such a disagree- able baboon as you were here.^ Joshua. Disagreeable baboon! Land of Pequon- nock! Ain't I a ketchin' it.^ Arabeller, what on airth makes yeou abuse your poor relations so ? Arabella. Why did you come here.^ Joshua. Come to see heow yeou was all a gittin' along. How's all the folks, anyheow ? Arabella. You might have known we did not want to see any greenhorns. Joshua. Sho! I declare I thought you'd all make a fuss over me jest like they dew at Uncle Jacob's deown to Plunkettville. Arabella. You ought to be in a lunatic asylum. Joshua. Yas, that's a fact, and I s'pose I'd a been there long ago if I'd had any money to pay my boardin'. And, Cousin Arabeller, yeou ought to be in 142 ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS a menagerie. They ought to have you in a cage, and a sign with these words in big letters : This is a tiger — worst hind — keep out of the way, Arabella, How very amusing you are ! Joshua, Yas, we're both makin' some right-deown funny remarks. S'posin' we change the subject. Let us be agreeable and court some. Mr. Clarendon has just stepped eout. S'posin' I take his place .^ Arabella, You booby, don't talk to me. Joshua, Neow, what's the use of fightin'.^ We are cousins, and both our dads used to peddle soap-fat. Arabella. Stop your talk or leave the house. Joshua, I can't go till I see Uncle Bob. But it's a fact, Arabeller, yeour folks have been going up in the world, and I've been goin' up too. I reckon I'm worth fifty thousand dollars. Arabella, How ridiculous for you to talk so! If you are worth fifty thousand dollars, why don't you throw off your greenhorn clothes, and get a respectable suit } Joshua. Clothes don't make the man — not by a long chalk. But I'll tell yeou heow it is, Arabeller, I've got a mighty good suit and an awful slick hat deown to the hotel. Arabella, Then why did you come here in this coun- trified dress? If you had no respect for yourself you should have had some for us. You have driven Mr. Clarendon away with your outlandish dress and your outrageous conduct. Joshua {laughs). Ho! ho! Yas, I guess I did drive him eout to the garden. Reckon they're gittin' along swimmingly. Arabella, They! Who? Joshua. Mr. Clarendon and Mary. Here they come. Enter Robert and Mary, R, Wall, heow'd yeou git along? If I should judge by your countenances I should say tip-top. ARABELLA'S POOR RELATIONS 143 Robert, You are right, my friend. Joshua. And how abeout Mary? Is she goin' deown to Turkey Run along with me? Robert. No, sir. Joshua (laughs). Ha! ha! Ho! ho! He! he! Hurrah for snakes ! Jericho forever. Ho ! ho ! I knowed heow it would turn out. Wall, puss (chucking Mary under the chin), got nothin' to say? Ho! ho! Ought to thank me fur helpin' the matter along. Arabella. What means this? Robert. It simply means that Mary has promised to be my wife. Arabella. Mary! The hateful minx! (To Robert.) And you ! Do you call yourself a gentleman ? Joshua (laughs). Ha! ho! Neow yeou are a ketchin' it. No, he ain't a gentleman — in course not — nothin' but a greenhorn and a poor relation, jest like me. Mary. Cousin Arabella — Arabella. Stop! Don't say a word. I don't want to hear you. (To Joshua.) I suppose this is all your work_, you booby! Joshua. Neow I am a ketchin' it. But I feel jolly — yes_, tip-top. I reckon I did have somethin' to do with this match. Us poor relations are a mighty bother. Arabella. Don't say another word. Leave the house^ all of you. (Ea:it Arabella, in a passion, L.) Joshua. Wall, she flops eout like as if she was a goin' to leave the house herself. But I say. Cousin Mary, yeou think yeou'll not go deown to Turkey Run ? Mary. No, Cousin Joshua, I have concluded to stay here. Joshua (laughs). Ho! ho! It's all right, and we are all happy (turning to audience), provided our friends will look with favor upon Arabella's Poor Re- lations. Curtain. H. E. McBride. 144 FIX FIX MoNs. BoNJEAN^ A French Gentleman, Mr. Jones, His Friend. Mons, Bon jean and Mr, Jones discovered conversing. Mr, Jones, So you think our language very diffi- cult, Mons. Bonjean? Mons, Bonjean, Difficult ! Ah, sare, it is difficile beyond expression. Now, as you are so very com- plaisant, will you explain for me ze meaning of von little word I hears every day, and nevare two times ze same ? Mr, Jones. Certainly I will. Pray, what is it? Mons. Bonjean. Fix! Mr. Jones, Fix ! Oh, that is a very simple word. Mons. Bonjean, Vill you have ze goodness to tell me, zen, ze veritable meaning of him, s'il vous plait, Mr. Jones. Well, it is a word that has various mean- ings, according to its application. Mons. Bonjean. I comes here from Paris, chere Paris, I brings von lettaire vich introduce me to Mons. Jonson. Ver good man. He comes to my hotel, he say to me, " You vill come viz me for leetle visit to my house." So he take me to his cabriolet, my trunk all bring down, and he say to ze valet, ** Put ze trunk of Mons. Bonjean on ze carriage." Ze man say, *' Yes, sare, I fia: him ! " So he put him on the cabriolet an tie him viz a strong cord very hard. {Takes out a note-book.) So I puts him down. **Fix, to tie him very hard.'' Mr. Jones. Quite correct. Mons. Bonjean. Ah, you zinks so! We goes to ze house of Mons. Jonson, a grande house in wide street. Two, tree sarevents come. Mons. Jonson say, *'Take ze trunk to ze apartment of Mons. Bonjean." Ze sare- FIX 145 vent say^ " Yes, sare, I -fix him/' So I say, " Ah ha ! here is nozare meaning,*' so I puts him down again, ** Fix, to take ze trunk to apaHment/' Mr. Jones (smiling). Well, did you hear the word again ? Mons, Bon jean. Ma foi! I hears him evare! I go to my rooms, and zey are very fine, magnifique. Mons. Jonson say, ** I hope ze girl have fixed your rooms to please you." I puts him down again, *' Fix, to arrange ze room.'' Mr. Jones. It is a word frequently used in that sense. Mons. Bon jean. Ah, I make ze toilet and go to ze salon. I meet ze fille de chambre on ze stair, and she say, '' Is Madame Jonson in ze salon ? " and anozare one reply, " No, the coiffeur is fixing her hair.'' So I say to myself, " Ma foi, now I see one grande dame viz ze hair fixed.'' Ven I see Madame, ze hair is in ze curls, beautiful! incroyahle! So I writes him down, '* Fix, to curl ze hair." Mr. Jones, Ladies always say they fix their hair, no matter how it is dressed. Mons. Bonjean. Ah, ha! Ven ve goes in to ze din- ner, many gentleman and lady there. One of ze mes- sieurs vish to take ze vine viz Madame Jonson, and ze sarevent cannot get ze stoppare out of ze decantare. Mons. Jonson say, *' Bring him here, John, I fix him," So he strike it gently viz ze handle of ze knife, and ze stoppare come out. So I writes him again, " Fix, to take ze stoppare out of ze decantare." Mr. Jones. You were certainly puzzled. Mons. Bonjean. Parbleu ! Puzzle ! When ze des- sert have come, ze sarevents open ze champagne, and ze cork he fly out, bang ! Mons. Jonson's lettle boy he say, ** Ze fixed air in ze vine." Mr. Jones. That was correct. Mons. Bonjean. Ma foi. I puts him down, *' Fix, to go off, pop." In ze evening comes grande company, many ladies, many gentlemen. I have long talk viz 146 FIX one lady of fine taste^ viz ze toilette superbe. She like ze modes Parisiennes, ze lace Parisiennes^ ze robe de soir Parisiennes^ ze bijouterie Parisiennes^ ze shoe^ ze glove^ ze carpet^ ze furniture^ all Parisiennes. Ven ve valk some time ze bracelet of diamond upon her arm come unclasp^ and catch in ze sleeve of lace. So she say^ ** Mons. Bonjean^ will you fia; ze bracelet for me? " Ma foi. I know not if I am to tie him hard, to carry him up stairs, to curl him like ze hair, or to make him go pop. But I disengage him from ze sleeve and clasp him, and zen she say, ** Thank you, you fia; him nicely." So I writes him down, ** Fix, to clasp ze bracelet on lady's arm," Mr, Jones, That is all right. Mons, Bon jean. Yes, but, I have some friends at the hotel one day, and I say to the sarevent, "Is the suppare served } " Then he tell me, " Yes, sare, every- thing is fixed,'' So I write him down, " Fix, to serve ze suppare," Mr, Jones, Yes, you see the general meaning is to arrange, to put in order. Mons, Bon jean. But I walks down ze street viz a friend, and he stopped to see a lawyer. Ven zey have talked leetle vile, zey come out, and ze lawyer say, *' I'll fix him ! Til f,x him." So I ask my friend, " How vill he fix him? " and he say, " I have a dis- honest customer and he vill not pay me, so I give my lawyer ze ordare to sue him. He'll fix him." Mr, Jones, He meant he would make him pay the debt. Mons, Bonjean {writing in note-booh^, *' Fix, to mahe customer pay ze debt" But my friend goes to his office, large office ! many clerk ! One of ze clerk bring ze paper to my friend and say, " Here is Mr. Bunkum's bill. Wants ze money at once if con- venient," and my friend say, ** All right, I fix him." So he writes a checque and gives him to ze clerk, and say, " Zare, zat is fixed," FIX 147 Mr, Jones. He meant that the bill was settled — paid. Mons, Bon jean. Oh! Strange word^ zat fix. He mean make rogue pay debt^ and he mean to pay your own debt. Mr, Jones {laughing). Each time you hear it ex- plained it seems to increase your perplexities. Mons, Bon jean. Zen I go to take ze ride viz anozare friend to see ze city^ ze parks^ ze environs ! Ve go in vat he call York vagon. Very high^ very light ! beau- tiful horses. Just before us we see anozare light wagon zat go very fast_, strike a post, break ze wagon, horse run away, leave him. Gentlemen fly up in ze air, come down hard on ze ground. I zink him killed, but he sit up and rub his head viz his hand. So my friend he say, " Hulloo, vat is ze trouble.^ '' and ze gentleman say very dolefully, ** I'm in a fix.'^ Mr. Jones, 1 should think he was ! Mons, Bon jean, Nevare I hear such drole word. Ven all things knock to pieces, gentleman hurt, horse gone, he is in a fix. Is zat vat you call to put in order, to arrange.^ Mr, Jones, No, but the word is often used so, to ex- press a difficulty. Mons, Bon jean. I say to my friend, " Vill ve stop to assist him? " and he say, ** Oh, no, zare is one livery stable round ze cornare, where he have everything fixed toute suite,'' Vat he mean zen? Mr, Jones, That the man at the stable would repair the damage. Mons, Bonjean. So we drove away, and leave ze gentleman in a fix to get fixed. Ha, vat a drole word. Ven ve get to ze park ve see some men viz ze large stones at work, and my friend he say, *' Zey are fixing the fountain.'' Vat he mean by zat? Mr. Jones. He meant they were repairing it. Mons, Bonjean, Zen I go to ze grande parade of ze militaire, and ze officaire he cry out to ze soldiers, '' Fix 148 FIX bayonets ! " Oh^ I think zey will all tumble into little pieces^ and be put togezare again! Mr. Jones, You saw it was only a military manoeuvre ? Mons. Bon jean. But we come back^ and I go to my friend's house to suppare^ and he say to me^ " Vill you go to a room^ and fia: for suppare ? " Ma f oi ! I have no desire to fix. Mr. Jones. He meant to shake off the dust of your drive^ and smooth your hair. Mons. Bon jean. We have for suppare a fine salade, and my friend say to me^ '* Try zat salade ; my wife she fijc him^ and she make very fine salade." Mr. Jones. We often say dishes are fixed when they are cooked or prepared. Mons. Bon jean. Ah ! I shall nevare understand him. Is your son at home, Mons. Jones ? Mr. Jones. No, he has gone to Cincinnati. You know he has fixed upon his uncle's business. Mons. Bon jean. Ah! Vat is zat business? Mr. Jones. Wholesale dry goods. I am very glad to have Alfred settled. He will probably succeed to the business, as my brother means to retire, and leave Alfred the good- will and fixtures. Mons. Bon jean. Do you still think you will visit Europe this year.^ Mr. Jones. I have not quite decided. I am in a fix about my cashier, who has been taken ill very suddenly, and I find it difficult to get things fixed without him. Mrs. Jones will go, I think. Mons. Bon jean (laughing). Ah! she does not have to fix. Mr. Jones. Oh, don't she? She is always fixing something. Her traveling dress, her hat, her entire wardrobe wants fixing, and she told me yesterday she was nearly crazed trying to i[ix upon what to leave, what to wear, and what to take. Mons. Bon jean. Zen she is in a fix, too. Quel drole mot! THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 149 Mr. Jones. Did you visit the Academy of Music, as you proposed, last evening? Mons. Bon jean. I did. It is a fine building. Mr. Jones. Yes. It was all fixed up during the summer vacation. Mons. Bon jean {pathetically). Fix! fix! fix! Vill you tell me ze French for fix? Mr. Jones. Well, you Ve got me in a fix, now ! Mons. Bon jean. In zis country everything is fix. Everywhere, everybody, everything. It means all things ! It means all doings. It is universale. Toute espece de chose are fix. Tell me, my friend, if I die in zis America shall I zen be fixed? Mn Jones {very emphatically) , I think you will! S. A. Frost. THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION Claude. Max. Julius. Roland. Frank. Frank discovered writing. Claude. What are you doing, Frank .^ {Frank takes no notice.) Julius {loudly). Frank! Max {still louder). Frank! {Frank still writes.) Roland {clapping Frank on the hack). Frank, are you deaf, or dead.^ Frank {looking up). What is the matter.^ Can't you let a fellow have a little peace .^ Julius. What are you writing — a novel ? Frank. I'll tell you; I'm writing an oration for the Fourth of July. Julius.^ What is the occasion? Frank. A sort of picnic to Hunter's Point. You 150 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION will all be invited. There's to be all sorts of fun — swings^ luncheon^ dancings and I am requested to de- liver the oration. Julius, Is it written.'* Frank. Partly. Max. Spread eagle^ glorious land of independence, free-born citizens^ and all the rest of it^ I suppose, Frank ? There ! I knew you would Frank {rather stiffly^ make fun of me. Maoc, Not a bit of it ! written. Frank. Well, I will, citizens. Julius. some life I say, read us what you have {Takes up papers.^ Fellow Oh pshaw! Milk and water. Say it with {Dramatically .) Fellow citizens ! Frank {imitating). Fellow citizens ! Roland. That's more like it. Frank. I rise before you — Max. Poh! Rise, why don't you? Who ever heard of a man sitting down to deliver an oration.'* Frank {standing up). I rise before you on this glorious day — Claude {drawling). I rise before you on this glo- rious day. I want more sugar in my coffee. You would throw as much life into one speech as you did in the other. {Very dramatically.) I re-ise before you on this ge-lorious day ! Frank {imitating). I re-ise before you on this ge- lorious day. Max. That's better, in case it don't rain. If it does, you had better substitute damp for glorious. Frank. You shut up ! Where was I ? Max. Rising on a glorious day, like patent yeast. Frank. To say a few words upon the subject of our great national anniversary — an anniversary whose re~ currence sends a thrill of patriotic fire through the heart of every free-born American citizen. Max. Hear! Hear! I THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 151 Claude, Patriotic fire is good ! Julius. H'm — yes — I Ve heard it before. Roland. Pshaw! Of course you have. Go ahead, Frank. That's first-rate. Frank, Where was I } Max, Blazing with patriotic fire. Julius. Blaze away. Frank. When we recall to mind the great and in- spiring event that will cause this day to be ever an an- niversary — Max. Hold up ! There's two anniversaries ! Julius. Don't run into tautology. Frank. But — Roland. Make one of them Mary-versary, and go ahead. Frank. You've thrown me all out! Claude. Get in again. Frank. The history of our country commemorates no prouder day than the Fourth of July — the day when tyranny was thrown aside forever_, and the Amer- ican Eagle soared unshackled to the sky. Claude. Oh, fan me! Julius. There's spread eagle for you ! Roland. With a vengeance ! Max. Shut up, you fellows. Go ahead, Frank. Frank {very dramiatically) . Never have the pinions of the emblematic bird been fettered since the great day when our forefathers (getting on a chair) with a mighty effort defied the oppressive rule of the proud Britains, and rose (gets on the table) in mighty power, to assert their rights as men! Max. Shall I assist you to stand on the mantel- piece } Frank (not heeding him). From the snowy fields of ice-bound Maine to the sunny slopes of Louisiana, from the billows of the broad Atlantic to the waves of the great Pacific, the patriotic citizens of this glorious land of freedom are uniting in the celebration of this anniversary. 152 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION Max» Another anniversary ! Frank {throwing the manuscript at his head). Write it yourself^ then. {Leaps down from table,) Claude. Oh^ come^ don't get mad. Read us the rest of it. Frank {sulkily). Read it yourself. Claude {taking manuscript and getting on the table). Let's see — h'm — h'm! anniversary. Oh^ here is the place. {Reads with great gesticulation.) Never since the hour when the British lion was driven, an en- raged and conquered power, from our shores, never has the free American citizen bowed his head or bent his knees in homage to royalty. We who are here to-day inherit the proud and animal- — Frank {scornfully). Animal! Inalienable! Claude. Is it.'* {Getting down.) I don't believe in writing speeches. Trust to inspiration. Frank. Suppose you never had an inspiration? Max. The subject will inspire you. Fourth of July ! Why, Fourth of July would inspire anybody. I could make an impromptu oration three hours long. Frank {sarcastically). Oh, could you.^ Roland, Anybody could. Julius. Of course anybody could. Frank. Suppose you try it. Max {standing up, and speaking very dramatically, and with much gesticulation). Ladies and gentlemen. Frank. Oh, bosh! Who ever heard a Fourth of July oration commence with ladies and gentlemen. Max {as before). Fellow citizens! I — I — {commencing again.) Fellow citizens ! As I look around me upon this melancholy — Frank. Oh! Oh! Claude. He's been hearing somebody's funeral ora- tion. Roland. Take out your handkerchiefs, boys! Max. Ahem! Not melancholy, that was a slip of the tongue. {Dramatically,) Fellow citizens ! Frank. You said that before. THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 153 Max, I rise upon this joyful day to — to — {com- mencing again,) When I see before me the faces of the — the — (commencing again.) Fellow citizens! Frank, How are you^ inspiration ! Max (sitting down), Oh_, a fellow can't get in- spired in a stuffy room^ with four other fellows laugh- ing at him. Claude, You must trust more to imagination. Im- agine the flags waving^ cannons firings band playing^ and a listening audience hanging enraptured upon your words. (Dramatically). Fellow citizens! When I gaze upon the stars and stripes waving in glorious pro- fusion — Max, Stuff! That's the way novelists describe the heroine's hair. It always waves in glorious profusion. Claude, Nobody could make a speech with such con- stant interruption. Max, Go ahead. I won't interrupt you again. Claude (dramatically) , When I see around me this vast assemblage collected to do honor to the great and glorious anniversary of our national independence^ I feel — feel — national independence I — I — Frank. How are you^ imagination ! Julius, You are neither of you patriotic enough. Patriotism ! Patriotism ! That's the feeling that must fill your hearts. With a heart overflowing with patriotism, words of burning eloquence rise spontane- ously to the lips. Claude (dryly). Oh, do they.^ (Sitting doivn,) Give us a specimen. Julius (rising). Fellow patriots and free-born cit- izens of this land of Liberty I My heart swells with proud emotions when I recall the great occasion which first led (speaking very rapidly, without any punctua- tion) to the celebration of this anniversary of our na- tion's independence when the infant nation arose in her might to crush out the oppressions of a parent power whose exactions drained from the veins of her children the life-blood of freedom the bone and sinew of her 154 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION men the fruits of her labor the rights of her citizens the privileges of her colonists unheeding the groans of an oppressed and taxed nation unheeding lawful prayers for redress unheeding the claims of justice the struggles of freedom the — Frank, Stop ! Stop ! Gracious ! Stop him, you fellows, or he'll burst a blood-vessel! Claude, Steam engines and locomotives ! Roland. Who ever heard an orator gallop through his speech in that style? And who wants to hear all that matter-of-fact stuff, anyhow? Everybody knows all about the Fourth of July. What you want in such a speech as that, is not a matter-of-fact stringing to- gether of historical facts; but symbols, flowers of rhetoric, and figures of speech. Julius {sitting down). Pitch in! Roland {rising). Fellow citizens! {Very slowly and with marked emphasis,) Soaring above us in the zenith, the bird of Freedom tosses from his unfettered wings the dewdrops of Hope upon this memorable day ! From the hour when he lay crushed, wounded, and bleeding, under the outstretched talons of the lion of oppression, to the great day when, with outspread wings, he overshadowed the conquered brute, the sun of Liberty has never set upon the folds of our starry flag! Frank {clapping his hands). Hear! hear! Claude, Whew ! Mao:. Where did you steal that? Roland {grandly) , I do not depend upon others for my ideas, sir ! Frank, Give us some more. Roland, When the gushing floods of Freedom's sun- light were, for a time, obscured by the clouds of treason, and the proud bird of — Max, See here, old fellow, no personalities, if you please. {Dramatically,) Remember the hot blood of Louisiana courses through my veins ! Claude, And Virginia's through mine ! Roland, I stand corrected. I will sink in oblivion THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION 155 the late differences of opiaion^ though I claim Massa- chusetts for my native State. Julius. I think if Frank could collect all the frag- ments of oratory he has heard^ he might work up a first-rate speech. Frank {stiffly). Thank you. I don't write my speeches as my grandmother makes quilts — out of patches. {Takes his manuscript). Julius, Oh^ you needn't get riled! The great bother I should have would be in winding up. Frank, So I should judge from the way you run on. Julius, Stopping gracefully is a great point. Claude, Yes. You can't say yours truly^ as you do in a letter. Maoj, Or, farewell^ forever! Roland, Or, I tear myself away with pain, as you do at an evening party. Max (rising). Oh^ that's easy enough. (As if ad- dressing an audience.) I will conclude these few re- marks, by proposing three cheers for the stars and stripes ! Frank (rising). Fearing to exhaust your patience, I will now bid you a final farewell. Claude, Mercy on us, Frank, that is too touching. Final farewell! That would never do. (Rising.) Thanking you all for your patient attention, I will now — now — (commencing again). Hoping we may all meet upon some future occasion, I will — will (des- perately). Stars and stripes! American eagle! Three cheers ! Julius (rising). Trusting that I have repaid you for your patient indulgence — Frank, That's modest ! Julius (rapidly and without punctuation, as before). I will conclude these remarks by expressing the hope that no cloud will ever dim the sun of our nation's prosperity no war desolate her borders no turmoils dis- turb her peaceful tranquillity no invasion threaten no thunder roll over her head that with untrammeled feet 156 THE FOURTH OF JULY ORATION she may march through the paths of futurity her head proudly erect her weapons glittering her robes grace- fully floating in the breeze of liberty to soar ever up- ward and onward borne aloft by the patriotism of her sons spurred to future conquests by the loveliness of her daughters stimulated by the memory of the past boiling over with the glories of the present to make in the future a still greater — Frank {rushing at Julius), Stop! Claude {putting his hand over Julius' mouth). You will never get done at this rate. Julius {struggling) , A still greater commotion — Max {holding Julius), Your arms will drop off if you swing them in that way much longer. Roland, Don't interrupt the speaker ! Julius {shaking himself free). You fellows laugh if one stumbles^ and stop him if he goes on. Roland {rising and speaking slowly, as before), I will close, fellow citizens, with the hope that the rush- ing waters of our nation's patriotism may never break the confines of peace. {All speaking at once with dramatic emphasis, and great gesticulation) . Frank, Fellow citizens, I rise before you — Claude. Fellow patriots, I am conscious of my own — Max. Ladies and gentlemen, I will tax your — Julius, Gentlemen, feeling as I do the deficien- cies — Roland. The great American eagle, soaring — Frank {hammering on the table). Order! order! {Dead silence.) Max, Let's each write an oration, and give Frank his choice for his Fourth of July effort. {All seize pencils and paper, and write,) ENTERTAINMENT BOOKS FOR YOUNG FOLKS Compiled by CARLETON B. CASE HOLIDAY RECITATIONS Pater Corers 160 Pagres Price 30 cents. All the holidays are fully covered. In this carefully chosen series of recitations for special days the older students and the little folks alike will find an abundance of fresh and pleasing material for their use at school, in the Sunday School and church, in the home parlor, and wher- ever else the celebrations of the several days may be held. There is humor in plenty, where humor is appropriate, and the i>athetic, the serious and the classic hold their several places in due measure. Diversity, completeness and a high grade of excel- lence govern the selections as a whole. Just out* HIGH SCHOOL DIALOGUES Paper Covers 160 Pagres Price 30 cents. This book of little comedies contains selections especially adapted to the needs of the High School scholar and more advanced members of the Grade schools. 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