Chapter IV: Act IV: SCENE:—A grass plat with trees in background (1)

_ENTER MR. and MRS. TWIGGS, R. 1._

MRS. T. We must find them; blood will be shed and, oh dear! Mr. Topp may be killed!

MR. T. Sophronia, duels are not for the purpose of shedding blood. They are for the vindication of wounded honor.

MRS. T. Josiah, human life is trembling in the balance, and I believe you actually enjoy it.

MR. T. My dear, I can’t say that I enjoy it so far. Our walk in search of it has been rather hurried. They should have hired a hall and sold tickets.

MRS. T. Josiah, you’ll drive me to the grave. But if you do not respect the feelings of the wife of your bosom think of your child.

MR. T. Our child is all right. She is not going to fight.

MRS. T. But think of her future?

MR. T. Which future, my dear? There appears to be two of him.

MRS. T. Josiah, you stand here talking while every moment is a question of life or death.

MR. T. (_Coolly._) I’m waiting for developments, dear.

MRS. T. Developments, indeed! Do you think they will come to you? They may be in the dells.

MR. T. No, this is the right spot. All our high-class affairs occur here. Capt. Throckmugger died at the foot of that tree just over there.

MRS. T. Mercy! Josiah, how can you speak of blood! You want to kill me?

MR. T. Sophronia, dear, I disclaim—

MRS. T. (_Pulling him away._) Come along, we must find them! To the dells! Quick! (_Exeunt, L._)

_ENTER excitedly ANGIE and MRS. T-K. R. 1._

MRS. T-K. I’m sure I heard voices!

ANGIE. But there is nobody in sight. Sister, do you think our coming here is exactly proper?

MRS. T-K. True love dares all for duty.

ANGIE. Yes, but isn’t our affection rather recent to be put to such a test.

MRS. T-K. Recent! Love knows nothing of time or place when its object is in danger.

ANGIE. It is _so_ romantic. Is there really any danger?

MRS. T-K. Duels are sometimes in earnest, and Mr. Topp is a dead shot they say.

ANGIE. Horrid old thing! Poor Mr. Tick!

MRS. T-K. Dear Mr. Topp!

ANGIE. Mr. Topp is a blood-thirsty old monster. I don’t like him one bit, there now!

MRS. T-K. Brave man, he is fighting for you, and thus you repay his gallantry.

ANGIE. (_Petulantly._) I don’t want him to fight for me. Oh, if Mr. Tick should be hurt.

MRS. T-K. Mr. Tick is a villain.

ANGIE. Mr. Topp is a fool; a little blood-letting would do him good.

MRS. T-K. Sister, don’t mention blood, I shall expire. I know I shall. Dear me, what a snarl things are in. We must stop this duel. Dear Mr. Topp!

ANGIE. Adorable Mr. Tick!

MRS. T-K. They may have gone to the dells. Let’s go there (_Exit, running L._)

ANGIE. Wait, sister! (_Exit, following, L._)

_ENTER TICK and GINGER, R._

(_Ginger carries large pair of corn knives or, as known to farmers, “corncutters,” in a gunny sack._)

TICK. Ginger, I don’t like the looks of those corncutters. How do you use them?

GIN. You jes cut an’ slash, that’s all. (_Business with knife._)

TICK. But suppose old Topp gets his slash in first. Where am I?

GIN. Say, looky hyah, Mistah Tick, do you like dat gal well enough to fight fur ’er?

TICK. (_Swaggering._) I’d die for her. I’d wade through—

GIN. Never mind de wadin’! Keep youah shoes on an’ listen to Ginger Potts. Ye want to play a big bluff, don’t ye?

TICK. Yes.

GIN. An’ I get ten dollars if de bluff goes?

TICK. That’s right.

GIN. Then you do jes as Ginger Potts tells you. If massa ever find dis job out he’ll jes naterally skin me. I wouldn’t have him know it fur de purtiest twenty-five dollar bill you ever see. Nosiree! Ye see, Mistah Tick, when Cadwalader Topp sees dem corncutters he’ll be too mad to fight. He’ll be madder’n a wet hen. He’ll say dem weepons is unnateral an’ outrageous an’ sich as no gentleman kin use. You got de right to choose de weepins. He raises a bushel of objections an’ you insists. Den you see dah’s no jewel because de gemmen can’t agree on weepins. Ye’s both saved yer honah an’ youah hides.

TICK. That’s a great scheme, Ginger. But suppose he agrees to the weapons. I don’t like the looks of his eye.

GIN. (_Puzzled._) Dat’s an extreme case, but if it comes to extreemities, an’ not till den min’ ye, call fur me an’ say you have to insult me.

TICK. Why should I insult you?

GIN. Doesn’t every gentleman insult his second?

TICK. Oh, I see, _consult_.

GIN. Exactly! Dat’s what I said! When ole massa sees me he’ll be consulted. ’Cause ye see I’m a nigger an’ a nigger aint no gentleman. He’ll jes have more dignity than a pew full o’ deacons and walk off consulted.

TICK. Wont that get you into trouble?

GIN. Well, ole massa’ll storm ’round an’ threaten to lam me, but he wont even tech me ’case massa’s a gentleman an’ I’ve been in de family three generations!

TICK. Oh you prevaricator!

GIN. A what! Say dat again. I didn’t quite git dat.

TICK. You’re not over twenty-five years old.

GIN. Twenty-five las fall come a year. But ye see my gran’mammy she was in de family, dat’s one generation; and my mammy she was Mr. Topp’s nurse, dat’s two generations, ain’t it? An’ I was one generation, aint I?

TICK. There’s no doubt of it.

GIN. All right, I ain’t no great scholar, but I know three times one is three times.

TICK. All right! I hear voices. Skip into the bushes and I’ll say my second is looking for a surgeon. (_Exit GIN. hastily, L._)

_ENTER MR. TOPP, SPRATT and very dignified Surgeon, R. Latter carries case of instruments, which he leisurely unpacks, showing a very formidable saw, etc._

TOPP. (_To TICK._) Ah, prompt, I see. Where is your second?

TICK. He is delayed a little looking for a surgeon. I expect him momentarily.

TOPP. That is unfortunate. Quick work here is the order. We are liable to interruption from the police. We have brought a surgeon, Dr. Short.

TICK. Let your man Spratt and Doctor Short arrange details, I’m indifferent.

TOPP. (_Haughtily._) This is no place for a display of generosity, sir. This is very irregular and time is pressing.

SPRATT. I see no objection to stepping the ground, for example if Dr. Short will stand for Mr. Tick.

TOPP. Very irregular, very. What do you say, Dr. Short?

DR. S. (_Very formal and dignified._) I coincide, sir. It is highly irregular, I might add, perhaps, unprecedented. Had I the pleasure of the acquaintance of your opponent—

TOPP. (_Bowing low._) I beg your pardon! I forget you were not acquainted! Mr. Tick, I have the pleasure of introducing Dr. Short. Dr. Short, Mr. Tick. Mr. Tick, Dr. Short. (_They bow._)

DR. SHORT. (_Judicially and with great dignity._) I think I may lay it down as an axiom of the code that one gentleman _may_—I say _may_—stand at all times for any other gentleman. Now, the fact that the gentleman’s second is absent looking for a surgeon must be considered a valid reason for delay and consequently _may_—I say advisedly _may_—allow slight alterations of previous plans. My decision, then, is that your humble servant might with absolute propriety—I say _might_ advisedly—stand temporarily for the absent second of Mr. Tick. (_Bows to TICK._) I am at your service, sir. I consent, to satisfy honor.

SPRATT. Very well, then let’s step thirty paces! (_Business of measuring._)

TICK. (_Chuckles aside._) That’s a safe distance.

SPRATT. Now for choice of position. Heads or tails? (_Produces coin._)

DR. SHORT. (_Solemnly._) Heads.

SPRATT. (_Tossing._) Heads it is!

SHORT. (_Tosses._) Tails!

SPRATT. (_Tossing._) Heads it is! Your man gets the advantage of the light. (_To TICK._) Let us examine your weapons. Are they loaded?

TICK. (_Producing knives from sack._) They are! (_All start at sight of knives._)

TOPP. (_Surprised._) What in time are those implements?

TICK. The weapons.

TOPP. Why, confound you, sir, I wont fight with a butcher’s cleaver.

SPRATT. Corncutters, I beg your pardon.

TOPP. A vulgar agricultural implement. I won’t fight with them.

TICK. I insist. I have the right to choose the weapons.

TOPP. But only gentlemen’s weapons. I’ll have you understand, sir, that I do not choose to be hacked to pieces with a sausage machine. Dr. Short, I appeal to you.

DR. SHORT. (_With great deliberation._) Your objection is reasonable, and I may add, most weighty. This uncouth weapon is unusual, and—and, _vulgar_, I use the word vulgar advisedly in the sense of _common_, without casting any reflection on this humble but useful agricultural tool.

TICK. Gentlemen, _my_ second pronounces the weapons all right.

TOPP. A most remarkable second, sir! I’d like to see him. Why doesn’t he appear.

TICK. I think I see him coming now. (_Hellos off R._) Hello! Hey! Hurry up there.

_ENTER GIN. R._

TOPP. (_Astonished, falls back._) A niggro!

SPRATT. (_Repeats._) A nigger.

DR. SHORT. (_With disgust._) A niggro. This is no place for a gentleman. (_Begins to pack his kit._)

TICK. Isn’t he a man and brother?

TOPP. (_Furious._) This is insufferable! This is a gross insult to be atoned at once. (_Seizes one of corn knives._) I accept the weapons! Take your place. At the word three, advance and defend yourself. I’ll make shoe strings out of you, sir. (_Vehemently._) I will, on my life I will!

SPRATT. One, two, three!

TOPP. Come on. (_Makes pass at TICK who easily eludes him. Business of TOPP chasing TICK around the stage, his movements those of a heavy, stiff man. TICK easily eludes him, and makes no effort at defense. Business, ad lib._)

_ENTER TWIGGS suddenly, R._

TWIGGS. Hello! What’s this? I expected a duel and here’s a sprinting match. (_Laughs heartily. Looks at TOPP._) Why, Topp, what is that you hold in your hand? An oyster opener? (_TOPP and TWIGGS R. SHORT and SPRATT up C. TICK L., GIN. behind him._)

TOPP. Do you dare poke fun at me, sir. Don’t do it again. You laugh again at your peril.

TWIGGS. Excuse me. I didn’t mean to talk shop, my cachinatory muscles are subject to spasmodic movements. But what are you doing?

TOPP. (_Throws it away in disgust._) That man had the impudence to bring a sausage knife on these hallowed precincts.

TICK. Pardon me! A corncutter!

SPRATT. No gentleman would propose a corncutter as a decent weapon.

TWIGGS. Quite right! We’ll have none of them. They are perfectly absurd! Fit only for niggros. Nothing like hair triggers. (_Steps toward C._) Has any gentleman a brace of pistols? I think I can arrange all to the satisfaction of the company.

SPRATT. (_Comes down C._) I brought a pair for alternatives. (_Produces them from case._)

TWIGGS. Ah, beauties!

TICK. I object to hair triggers!

TWIGGS. On what grounds, sir?

TICK. They might go off.

TWIGGS. A frivolous objection, sir! You owe Mr. Topp satisfaction. Your position is absurd, and let me say, sir, subjects you to suspicion; yes sir, to suspicion of cowardice!

TICK. (_Comes toward them, C., blusters._) I’m no coward, mind that! (_Aside._) This is serious. (_Aside to TWIGGS._) I don’t want to fight.

TWIGGS. (_In a friendly manner._) Don’t want to fight? What are your reasons?

TICK. I might get hurt!

TWIGGS. That’s no reason!

TICK. Come aside and I’ll tell you all.

TWIGGS. Publicity is the only recourse at this stage of the proceedings.

TICK. If you must then, I—I don’t wish to deprive an honored house of its head.

TOPP. None of your sentiment, sir!

TWIGGS. A very commendable sentiment, but invalid.

DR. SHORT. Yes, insufficient.

TWIGGS. At this stage of the quarrel, without having satisfied wounded honor, no gentleman would ever speak to either of you again. I advise one shot anyway.

TOPP. I insist on one shot.

TICK. I object to Mr. Topp’s second. He is here through motives of revenge. I’ll leave it to Dr. Short if motives of revenge are allowable in an affair of honor.

DR. SHORT. (_Emphatically._) Never! (_To SPRATT, sternly._) Is this true, sir? (_SPRATT silent._)

GIN. It is. He’s mad at Mistah Tick ’cause he made fun of his twins, Grover Cleveland Spratt and Benjamin Harrison Spratt.

TOPP. I recall some words now, when I come to think of it.

TWIGGS. Resign, sir, at once! Do you resign?

SPRATT. I do! (_Aside._) They are onto my scheme.

GIN. (_To SPRATT, aside._) Bettah git now.

SPRATT. I’ll get even with you, you black rascal. (_Exit, while GIN. goes through pantomime of kicking him out._)

TWIGGS. (_Muses._) Hang it all, I’ll act as second for both parties. How’s that?

DR. SHORT. (_Gravely._) Unusual, without precedent but _honorable_.

TWIGGS. (_Brusquely._) Gentlemen, consider it settled! Take your places! (_They move to places. TOPP R., TICK L. TICK mechanically, as if half dazed._) The word is one, two, three, fire. (_Thrusts pistol in hand of each and goes up C. to give signal. TICK holds his weapon very awkwardly, pointing down._) Young man, are you going to shoot a hole in the earth? (_Adjusts pistol on level for him._)

TOPP. (_Dodging._) I don’t like that. That’s partiality.

TWIGGS. Ah, possibly. (_Reflects a moment._) Stay, I have an idea. (_Produces pistol from pocket._) Dr. Short, favor me with your weapon. (_Takes SHORT’S pistol and goes up C._) Ready, gentlemen. Dr. Short, I’ll trouble you to give the signal. The principals will kindly aim at each other and, to show strict impartiality, I’ll shoot at both. (_Levels a pistol at each of the principals._)

TOPP. (_Dodging._) Hold on there!

TICK. (_Dodging, immediately recovering himself._) No sir—ee! that wont do!

DR. SHORT. Extraordinary!

_ENTER MRS. TWIGGS, R., runs to TWIGGS._

MRS. T. Oh, Josiah, have you found them? (_TWIGGS hastily thrusts one pistol in his pocket and tries to hide the other under his coat._) Oh, Josiah, why don’t you speak. Is anybody killed? Has blood been shed?

TWIGGS. (_Disgusted._) Not a blamed drop! (_Aside._) Fun all spoiled.

_ENTER ANGIE and MRS. T-K., running R._

MRS. T-K. (_Running to TOPP, R._) Oh, Mr. Topp, I implore you spare him!

ANGIE. (_Running to TICK, L._) Spare him, Mr. Tick! Spare him!

TICK. Certainly! I can spare him! (_Puts arm round her waist._)

TOPP. (_Furious._) Bless my eyes! Look at his audacity! I will commit murder. (_Tries to get at TICK, flourishing corncutter. MRS. T-K. clings to him._)

MRS. T-K. You shall not! (_Tableau._) Be merciful!

TOPP. Rash woman, let me go! My honor is at stake.

MR. T. Mr. Topp, there’s a slight mistake somewhere. (_Everybody pauses for explanations, T. crosses to TOPP._) I’ll try to clear it up. You advertised for twins?

TICK. Twins! (_Makes face of surprise._) Dogs!

MRS. T. Generous man!

TOPP. (_Annoyed._) Madam, this is no place for a disquisition on generosity.

MRS. T. So modest! Don’t deny it.

MR. T. Your advertisement brought my daughters to your house. You admired one of them, but I fear you made advances to the wrong one by mistake.

TOPP. (_Pointing to ANGIE._) That is the young lady I meant.

MRS. T-K. But unfortunately she objects. (_Confidentially._) I fear her affections are elsewhere. (_ANGIE cuddles up to TICK._)

TOPP. (_Regarding ANGIE and TICK._) Humph! Well, I shouldn’t be surprised if they were. Here’s a pretty state of affairs. I’ve made a fool of myself. Well, “There’s no fool like an old fool.”

MR. T. My dear Mr. Topp, a young man should not be so pessimistic. Let me match your maxim with another. “There’s just as good fish in the sea as ever were caught.” (_Nudges MRS. T. aside._) How’s that for a pointer?

MRS. T. Mr. Topp, let me introduce my daughter, Mrs. Twiggs-Knott. (_TOPP bows. MRS. T., confidentially._) She is the mother of lovely twins.

TOPP. Ah! indeed, madam? (_To MRS. T-K._) Boys?

MRS. T-K. Fine fellows.

TOPP. Age?

MRS. T-K. Seven.

TOPP. Both the same age?

MRS. T-K. (_Confused._) Why, to be sure.

TOPP. (_Confused._) Yes, of course, I beg pardon!

MRS. T-K. (_Nudging Josiah._) Confused! That’s a good sign.

MR. T. Rattled!

TOPP. Healthy?

MRS. T-K. Tough as pine knots.

MR. T. (_Laughing._) Pine knots, Twiggs-Knotts too. (_Laughs at his witticism._)

MRS. T. (_Aside._) Josiah, your puns are atrocious. (_Twiggs goes L. C. to TICK and speaks inaudibly to him._)

TOPP. Madam, I’ll take the goods, if they’re up to grade.

MRS. T-K. The goods?

TICK. Now, the old man is talking shop himself.

TOPP. I mean, I’ll take the boys.

MRS. T-K. Oh, thank you! Oh, how good of him!

TOPP. Mr. Twiggs, you seem to know that young man of monumental assurance. Who is this Tick?

TWIGGS. Tick? Why, his name is not Tick. That is a nick-name the boys gave him. He is the son of my oldest friend, John Baggs. He is in the employ of Topp & Topp.

TOPP. (_To TICK._) Are you my man, Jim Baggs?

TICK. (Bowing.) I have that honor.

TOPP. Playing tricks on the “old man,” eh? I’ve a mind to discharge you on the spot. Well, I wont, come to think of it. The manager says you could sell oysters to a tobacco sign.

TICK. (_Bowing._) Thank you!

TOPP. But I can’t forgive such freaks, sir.

TICK. I’m very sorry—

TWIGGS. Yes, he’s sorry. Young blood you know and none spilled either—(_All laugh._)

MRS. T. (_Severely._) Josiah!

MR. T. Yes, my dear!

MRS. T-K. We had better go home!

TOPP. Certainly, madam. Potts! Where’s that niggro?

GIN. (_Coming forward._) Yis, sah.

TOPP. Go to the cab stand at the Park and send carriages to meet us at the fountain.

GIN. Yis, sah. (_Exit L._)

MRS. T-K. (_To TOPP._) I do so dislike to part with my dear little boys. Only poverty—

TOPP. They shall have all the advantages of wealth.

MRS. T-K. There _may_ be conditions attached to their going?

TOPP. Indeed? I thought that was all settled?

MRS. T-K. (_Sentimentally, with languishing glance._) I should be very lonely.

TOPP. Ah, I think I understand the conditions. (_Looks at her significantly._) The mother goes with the twins?

MRS. T-K. She _might_ be induced—that is—oh, dear, how sudden! how embarrassing!

TOPP. To relieve that embarrassment, I accept the conditions.

TWIGGS. Take her, my boy! Take her, and God bless you, my children. (_Slaps TOPP on back._)

MRS. T. Josiah, you shock me. You anticipate. This is no place for such demonstrations. _Will_ you go home?

MR. T. I will. Come along. (_Seizes her arm._)

TOPP. (_Taking arm of MRS. T-K._) Come, dear. The house of Topp & Topp shall still keep in the line of its traditions. Twin brothers, same age. (_TICK takes ANGIE’S arm. Dress stage._)

TABLEAU:

_R._ _L._

SHORT, MR. TOPP, MRS. T-K., TWIGGS, MRS. T., ANGIE, TICK.

CURTAIN.

ABOUT THE PLAY.

_Costumes_ of the day. No special make-up is needed and the only direction to be given is that each person should dress in character.

The _dialect_ of GINGER is largely that of the conventional stage darky, which is absurdly unlike the real thing. It is used here for two reasons. First because it is the conventional type that people in the north expect; and second, because the real negro speech is very hard to express in print, and would be very difficult for an amateur to render with such slight study as is usual. In fact the negro dialect of the south consists largely in the peculiar _sonorous quality_ of the negro voice and in the use of _quaint expressions_. To pronounce “Massa” “Massy” is to fail utterly in imitating the African. It is broad and rich, _Mas’r_ (_nearly_). Their grammar is frequently very good, but the penchant of the African to use high-sounding words often leads to very ludicrous results. TOPP’S TWINS will require careful _rehearsal_. Owing to the peculiar nature of the humor and the droll situations, anything like lagging will ruin the effect. The man who plays CADWALADER TOPP must not forget that he is always a gentleman, even in his anger, but he is a _genial_ gentleman and not an icicle. TICK’S assurance always has good nature in it, while SPRATT’S is malicious. MRS. DUBBLEDAM is slow, heavy and serious in all she does.

The author has endeavored to follow the old style and let the humor of the play flow continuously rather than to depend on startling climaxes for effect.

The _duel_ scene may be made very effective, but it must not descend to “horse play.”

PATSY O’WANG

AN IRISH FARCE WITH A CHINESE MIX-UP

BY T. S. DENISON

_Author of_
Odds with the Enemy, Initiating a Granger, Wanted, a Correspondent, A
Family Strike, Seth Greenback, Louva, the Pauper, Hans Von Smash,
Borrowing Trouble, Two Ghosts in White, The Pull-Back, Country Justice,
The Assessor, The Sparkling Cup, Our Country, Irish Linen
Peddler, The School Ma’am, Kansas Immigrants, An Only Daughter,
Too Much of a Good Thing, Under the Laurels, Hard Cider,
The Danger Signal, Wide Enough for Two, Pets of Society,
Is the Editor In? The New Woman, Patsy O’Wang, Rejected,
Only Cold Tea, Madam P’s Beauty Parlors, Topp’s
Twins, A First-Class Hotel, It’s all in the Pay-Streak,
The Cobbler, A Dude in a Cyclone, Friday Dialogues.

_Also the Novels,
The Man Behind, An Iron Crown, etc._

CHICAGO:
T. S. DENISON, PUBLISHER,
163 RANDOLPH STREET.

PATSY O’WANG.

COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY T. S. DENISON.

CAST OF CHARACTERS.

PATSY O’WANG, alias Chin Sum, from Hong Kong.
DR. HENRY FLUKE, who runs a sanitarium.
MIKE, from the ould sod, an assistant.
MR. BOYLER, a patient with rheumatism.
MRS. HARRIET FLUKE.
MISS SIMPER, who has a mission, a Chinese Sunday-school.
NORAH, maid of all work.

_Time of Representation, thirty-five minutes._

SYNOPSIS AND HINTS TO PLAYERS.

The key to this capital farce is the remarkable transformation of which Chin Sum is capable. Born of Irish father and Chinese mother and brought up in barracks at Hong Kong he has a remarkable dual nature. Whiskey, the drink of his father, transforms him into a true Irishman, while strong tea, the beverage of his mother, has the power of restoring fully his Chinese character. Dr. Fluke employs Chin as cook, on the hearty recommendation of his old friend, Major Barker. Unfortunately for the doctor, Chin gets at the whiskey bottle through the carelessness of Mike, who, in his way is no less a character than Chin Sum himself. For the subsequent ludicrous incidents read the text of the play.

The author believes that this farce will prove one of the most popular. The extraordinary success of his previous plays, notably the farces “Hans Von Smash.” “Irish Linen Peddler,” and “Wide Enough for Two,” renders this prediction a safe one. What the public wants is _humor_ and _action_. In the latter feature “Patsy O’Wang” is unequaled. _Caution_, in fact, is necessary here lest the play be overdone. Excessive boisterousness and “horse play” should be carefully avoided.

This is a play that must be _well rehearsed_. It must be kept in mind that while Mike and Norah are conventional Irish with a thick brogue, Patsy (after his transformation) speaks good English with little if any brogue. In Hong Kong his associations were with officers of the British army (as servant) and naturally he acquired the language of gentlemen.

No instructions can be given here concerning the Chinese part except that the _timbre_ and _tones_ of the Chinese voice are very peculiar, and can be learned only by listening to Chinamen. The Chinese dialect as written here (and elsewhere in America) is at best but a poor imitation, but good enough to be funny, which is the only object in view.

COSTUMES of the day. Patsy, very thick-soled shoes (can be fixed at home), and tunic to wear outside pantaloons.

PROPERTIES.

Machine of some kind to make noise in wings; bottles in box, bottles on shelves, extra coat and shoes for office, ulster, hot-water bag and tube, funnel, cane, letter, large syringe, or other article to serve as stomach pump, tray, tea-pot, cups, plate of crackers, pig-tail for Patsy, wig for Boyler.

STAGE DIRECTIONS.

_R._ means right of the stage _C._, center; _R. C._, right center; _L._, left; _1 E._, first entrance; _U. E._, upper entrance, etc.; _D. F._, door in flat or back of the stage. The actor is supposed to be facing the audience.

PATSY O’WANG.

SCENE—_DOCTOR FLUKE’S office. Main entrance L., private
consultation room R., massage and electric room entrance D. F.
R. C. Table C., with old papers and magazines. Small bookcase
with books, or shelves with bottles at option, by flat L. C.
Diploma on wall. Sign on door “DR. FLUKE, hours 12 to 4.”
Settee, R._

MRS. F. (_Discovered as curtain arises._) Well, Dr. Fluke, _I_ shant take the responsibility of having a Chinaman in the house.

DR. F. My dear, don’t be absurd! There’s no responsibility in the case. Out in California, you know, people are charmed with Chinese cooks. Why, your sister couldn’t be induced to part with Weak Lung.

MRS. F. Maria always was eccentric.

DR. F. But you know, darling, we have tried everything but the Chinese—Irish, Swede, German, French, African, Yankee—that’s so as we haven’t had any Hindoos yet nor Cannibal Islanders.

MRS. F. Dear me! It makes me weary to think of it. Why can’t we get along with Norah?

DR. F. (_Sarcastically._) Or transform Mike into a cook.

MRS. F. Now you are absurd, Henry. I’ll wash my hands of the whole affair.

DR. F. My dear, that is just what I wanted you to say.

MRS. F. Indeed, then you needn’t have asked my opinion at all.

DR. F. I am sure this Patsy O’Wang is a treasure.

MRS. F. (_In astonishment._) Patsy O’Wang! Patsy doesn’t sound very Chinese.

DR. F. But he has a history.

MRS. F. Oh indeed! That’s rather a doubtful accomplishment for a cook.

DR. F. Quite the contrary! Harriet, I tell you that I’ve found a treasure. Let me read you what Major Barker says in his letter recommending Chin Sum.

MRS. F. Chin Sum! I thought you said his name was—what barbarous name did you say?

DR. F. (_Laughing._) Patsy O’Wang! but that’s only a nick-name. The Chinese of it is Chin Sum. Now Chin is the son of a wild Irish officer in the tenth Artillery stationed formerly at Hong Kong. His mother was a pretty Chinese girl.

MRS. F. (_Surprised._) Well, did you ever!

DR. F. My dear, I admit that there is a slight flaw in his pedigree. (_Looking at letter._) But let me skip all that. Major Barker speaks of him in the most extravagant terms—(_reading_): “The best cook I ever saw,” “the most obedient servant,” “the most affectionate creature”; (_triumphantly_) isn’t that enough?

MRS. F. I suppose so since apparently it is all settled.

DR. F. There’s more.

MRS. F. Never mind, skip it.

DR. F. Eh, what’s this? “Never under any circumstances let him taste a drop of whiskey.”

MRS. F. Humph, then you’ll have to keep him and Mike apart.

DR. F. (_Reads to himself._) Really that is surprising.

MRS. F. What’s surprising?

_ENTER NORAH, L._

DR. F. Nothing, my dear (_reads_). “The remedy is”—

NORAH. If you plaze, sor, the Chinee cook has come.

DR. F. All right, Norah, show him his room and then take him to the kitchen. My dear will you install him?

MRS. F. No indeed! You may do that, Henry, till he gets a start. Decidedly I feel nervous with a Chinaman in the kitchen. Who knows but he may poison us all.

NORAH. (_Re-enter with card._) If you plaze, Mrs. Fluke, Miss Simper’s at the dure.

MRS. F. Show her in, Norah, at once. (_Exit NORAH, L._) Now she will be trying to convert him.

_ENTER MISS SIMPER, L._

MRS. F. I’m delighted to see you, Miss Simper.

MISS S. Thank you! I just run in for a minute. Good morning, Dr. Fluke.

DR. F. Good morning, Miss Simper. How charming you look. That tonic benefited you greatly. Shall I change the prescription?

MISS S. (_Hastily._) No, thank you, I have come to-day in the interest of the missionary cause.

MRS. F. Wont you step back into the parlor where we can talk at leisure?

MISS S. Oh no, I’m in a dreadful hurry. The African Argonauts meet at eleven and I preside. We start our first worker to Ashantee to-morrow. At 4 p. m. the Mongolian Mediators have a meeting and at 8 p. m. is the debate in which we shall answer the Cannibal Calumniators.

DR. F. You are a very busy bee, Miss Simper.

MISS S. No, I’ve resigned from the Busy Bees; concentrating you see. They say you have a new Chinese cook, Mrs. Fluke.

MRS. F. Not I. He’s the doctor’s importation. Talk to him.

MISS S. (_Enthusiastically._) Oh doctor, tell me all about him. My heart bleeds for the millions of Asia who sit in outer darkness.

DR. F. My dear Miss Simper, he is a gold nugget; he will be a capital acquisition in your mission school, so intelligent, so docile, so affectionate, so—so—

MISS S. Just so. Oh, I’m perfectly delighted. Doctor, does he—ah—has he doffed the Chinese garb yet and donned the raiment of civilization?

DR. F. Blessed if I know. I’ll call him in and introduce him at once. (_Rings._)

MISS S. Do so. I was just going to ask that very favor. I’m sure he will agreeably surprise us all.

DR. F. He will. (_NORAH enters L._) Bring Chin Sum here.

MRS. F. I hope the wretch doesn’t smoke opium.

DR. F. Harriet, don’t expose your ignorance. That is done in _joints_.

MRS. F. What kind of joints?

DR. F. Blessed if I know, bamboo joints possibly. I hear the Chinese do most everything with bamboo except to fight Japan. They did that in their minds.

_ENTER NORAH followed by CHIN._

DR. F. Chin Sum, I want to introduce you to my wife; by the way, I think I will call you Patsy. Wife, our new servant Patsy O’Wang. (_MRS. F. surveys him in silence._)

PATSY. (_Puts left hand to heart and bows._) Velly much glad see Missee Fluke.

DR. F. And this is Miss Simper, a mission young lady.

PATSY. Vellee nice mission gull (_girl_).

MISS S. (_Blushing._) Mr. O’Wang, you’re _so_ gallant. Promise me to come to Bible class next Sunday.

PATSY. Sooh thing!

MISS S. How intelligent!

PATSY. Leadee all same Biblee in Flisco?

MISS S. I don’t understand him. (_Turns enquiringly to Dr._)

DR. F. Yes, Patsy, they read the same Bible as they do in Frisco.

PATSY. Sing velly nice hymn-song all same day?

DR. F. Yes!

PATSY. Chin Sum make be school boy next Sunday all same day.

DR. F. (_Looks at watch._) Patients will be coming soon. Patsy, I’ll show you the kitchen and tell you what to prepare for dinner to-day, after that Mrs. Fluke—

MRS. F. Oh dear!

MISS S. How charming! So childlike!

PATSY. (_Grins._) All samee lika big man-shile? No catchee what say.

DR. F. Patsy, go to the kitchen, I’ll be there in a minute. (_Dr. goes into office changes coat, putting on light jacket, hanging coat in office. Follows Patsy out L._)

_NORAH and MIKE heard D. F._

MRS. F. Here are the attendants getting the baths ready. Come into the house. It may be all right but I’m afraid.

MISS S. What, afraid of Chin! I shall call him Chin, poor boy. I think those Chinese names perfectly lovely. So brief, so simple, so childlike. Chin! just think! _so_ expressive.

MRS. F. (_As they go, L._) And those horrid stories of rats and opium.

MISS S. I don’t believe a word of it. (_Exeunt, L._)

_ENTER MIKE and NORAH from D. F._

NORAH. What do you think, Mike, of havin’ a Chinee cook in the house?

MIKE. Ah Norah, it’s an outrage, that’s the whole blissid truth. To think of a blackgyard haythen cookin’ for dacint people.

NORAH. It’s a disgrace, I’ll give notice, I will—

MIKE. I’ll not ate a bit o’ his dirthy cookin’, faith I’ll not.

NORAH. But what’ll ye do. Them that works must eat.

MIKE. (_Winking._) O’im all right as long as free lunches hold out.

NORAH. Free lunches ye’d better let alone, Mike.

MIKE. Norah, it’s not the lunches that afficts me. It’s what goes with thim.

NORAH. Last time you know, Dr. Fluke said you’d have to leave if you got drunk again.

MIKE. It’s a bit o’ charity the doctor needs. Ivery mon has some wakeness.

NORAH. And woman is weak too, so just carry out that box of bottles for me, I’ll have to wash them here. The doctor has some of his truck in the laboratory.

MIKE. He’ll be blowin’ the whole place up yit with his dinnymite an’ farmacopy. (_Brings out bottles and sets box L. up._)

NORAH. Mike, ye’d better get ready for Mr. Boyler. He’ll be here pretty soon for his electricity and that Englishman will want his bawth. (_NORAH washing bottles._)

MIKE. Faith it’s enough to try the patience of ould Job himself. Begob, Job never was docthor’s assistant. I regret I iver intered the midical profession. Ivery toime I look at ould Boyler he sez, Mike, ye’ve hurt me rheumatiz again.

NORAH. Mike, you are too strong, you must be careful.

MIKE. Faith I handle him just like a new born baby, or like the egg with the chick unborn. But the ould badger’s that tender I’m mortally afraid he’ll go all to pieces in the bath tub.

NORAH. Mr. Boyler complains to Doctor Fluke that you are too rough.

MIKE. Too rough, is it! Faith he’ll have to be packed in cotton nixt. The Docthor was after tellin’ me to stretch Boyler’s limbs gintly loike an’ I tuk hold av his arm with one hand and his shoulther with the other like this and pulled like this, sort o’ bracin’ mysilf loike with one fut forinst the tub. I’m a thafe if some jint or other didn’t snap like a pistol. I was so scared that I dropped the ould bundle in the wather hid over ears. I thought he was goin’ to exshplode right there in me hands.

NORAH. (_Laughing._) What did he say?

MIKE. I don’t know what he intinded to say. He sthrangled.

NORAH. Why, was he under the water so long as that?

MIKE. No, indade it wasn’t the wather. It was the strong language. He is that way sometimes when his emotions overcome him. When the ould sinner gets to swearin’, he can’t stop till he sthrangles. After that he’s very paceable for a shpell.

NORAH. But he’s awful good in spite of his rough ways. He gives you many a quarter.

MIKE. That he does and I couldn’t think more of an only child if I had wan nor an only father ayther for that matter. I’m prayin’ for him night an’ day. If he survives these baths and the alectricity an’ the drugs and the plasthers, it’ll be a great triumph of the midical profession. There he comes now, I hear his cane on the walk.

_ENTER BOYLER, L., limping and twisted with rheumatism._

BOYLER. Good morning, Mike, good morning, Norah.

MIKE. Mornin’, sir. Begob, ye’re spry as a kitten this marnin’. I thought it was the milkman whin I heerd yez.

BOYLER. Mike, try to be careful to-day. You rubbed my right side yesterday till I think you started all my ribs.

NORAH. Do be gentle, Mike.

MIKE. I’ll be as tender—as tender as a shpring chicken. It’s alictricity, sor, to-day?

BOYLER. So it is, I forgot.

MIKE. The docthor said yez couldn’t stand another bath to-day. (_Catching himself._) I mane ye’re improvin’ till yez don’t nade it. (_Leads B. into D. F. to operating room._)

NORAH. (_Washing bottles._) Such dirty bottles. The labels ain’t half soaked off and the half of them look greasy. (_Sound of machine humming._) Boyler groans: “Oh! Mike, that’s too strong.”

NORAH. Poor man, I wonder if it does him any good?

_ENTER PATSY O’WANG, L._

PATSY. Ilish gal! Monnin’, Nolee.

NORAH. (_Looks up._) What’s that?

PATSY. All samee nice day.

NORAH. Go back with yez to the kitchen.

PATSY. Chin Sum want see.

_ENTER MIKE from D. F._

MIKE. Yez want to see? All right ye shall see. That (_Points R. door._) is the Docthor’s private consultification room. Nobody but himself and patients and mimbers of the profession like mesilf go in there. (_B. calls_ “MIKE.”) Back there is the operating room. Whin yez git hurted that’s where they saw yer leg off.

PATSY. (_Starting._) What time saw leg?

MIKE. Ony toime.

PATSY. Who leg?

MIKE. Begob, onbody’s if they can pay for the job. (_B. impatiently calls “MIKE, MIKE!”_)

MIKE. Comin’, sor.

PATSY. (_Sees machine through door._) What machine? All samee lope loun wheel.

MIKE. (_Scratching his head._) I’m thinkin’ it would take a Frinchman or a Dago to talk to the haythen.

PATSY. Lope loun wheel. (_Makes sign of turning._)

MIKE. He wants to turn a bit. Begob, yez may turn awhile.

NORAH. Be careful, Mike. The doctor wouldn’t like it. (_They enter D. F._)

MIKE. (_Voice heard._) Turn aisy loike. It’s great shport. (_Patsy turns machine._)

_RE-ENTER MIKE._

NORAH. Doctor wouldn’t like your letting that Chinee boy meddle here.

MIKE. I’ve a bit of an arrant. He may turn till I get back. (_Exit L._)

NORAH. Worry now! These be a bad lot of bottles. (_Drops one and breaks it._) There, I’ve broken one. (_B. groans_ “Hold, that’s too fast.” _PATSY turns faster. B. yells_ “stop.” _Chinaman does not understand. B. screams in pain_, “stop, you scoundrel!”)

NORAH. Oh dear, there they go. I knew there would be trouble. (_Calls D. L._) “Mike, Mike, come quick. Where is the doctor? He ought to be here.” (_Runs out L._)

BOYLER. (_Gets up, and crash of chair upsetting._) You Mongolian idiot. (_Comes out D. F._) Where is that rascally Irishman? (_PATSY follows out, looks puzzled._) John, you are a fool.

PATSY. (_Grins._) My name not John. Name in Chinee Chin Sum. Melican name Patsy O’Wang.

B. Stop your chatter, you mummy, you saffron colored rat catcher! Where is that rascal of a Mike? When I get well it’ll be a bad day for him. I’ll murder that man yet. (_Dances around._) How my nerves thrill, oh! oh! (_Seizes left leg and dances around on right._) The liniment! No attendance here. I’ll sue Fluke for damages. Here, you moon-faced Mongolian monkey! What are you grinning at? Do you see that bottle of liniment? (_Points with cane to bottle on shelf._)

PATSY. Heap bottle, one time, whichee?

B. That one! bring it in and rub me. I’m on fire.

PATSY. Melican man hot like old boy; all bun up.

BOYLER. I’ll die in this infernal torture chamber. (_Roars._) Bring the bottle! (_Enters D. F. growling and holding leg._)

PATSY. (_Takes brandy bottle, uncorks, smells._) Um! Hong Kong blandy! make toddy likee time in Hong Kong. Dlink heap toddy. (_Takes drink, rubs stomach._) Um! velly good.

B. (_Calls._) Hurry up, you! What on earth are you doing?

PATSY. (_Takes bottle of liniment, enters D. F. Rubs B., who gives grunts of satisfaction. PATSY runs out, takes another drink, rubs stomach, runs back again, rubs B. Business ad lib._)

_ENTER MIKE suddenly, followed by NORAH, L. They surprise PATSY with bottle._

MIKE. Put that down, ye haythen!

PATSY. Ilishman dlunk! (_Runs back and turns handle furiously._)

NORAH. Do ye hear that, Mike? That Chinaman’s goin’ to ruin the place! Oh, do stop him.

MIKE. Let the haythen airn his wages. (_Piercing shrieks from B._)

NORAH. Oh Mike, do stop him. He’ll kill Mr. Boyler.

MIKE. (_Unconcernedly._) Faith, that’s nothin’. That’s the way the ould badger goes on ivery day if I only touch a bit av a sore spot. A good shakin’ up’ll benefit him greatly. I think he’ll be ready nixt for the bat’s liver oil.

NORAH. Merciful powers! Did ye say bat’s liver oil?

MIKE. Bat’s liver oil, I said. (_PATSY comes out to make sneak for bottle, MIKE turns and sees him._) Hould on there, Patsy! The docthor and meself have institooted a regular coorse (_B. yells_) “Mike, where are you?” Here, sor. (_To NORAH._) First comes the hot bath at noinety noine degrays Farenhot, followed by pullin’ the limbs, on the injy rubber plan. (_Business of stretching patient’s arm._) Nixt is the alictricity an’ liniment; thin comes the bat’s liver oil.

NORAH. An’ what will be next?

MIKE. That’s a saycret like the Kaly cure.

NORAH. Tell _me_ wont you Mike?

MIKE. Yis, if yez wont tell onybody. (_Approaches her and puts up hand to her ear, then in very loud distinct stage whisper._) Sand paper!

NORAH. Go ’long with yez. (_Slaps him._)

B. (_Inside._) Murder! Oh! oh! You infernal scoundrel. (_Great racket of B. getting out of chair. PATSY comes out flying with B. after him. They come down C. B. strikes PATSY with cane. PATSY grabs at cane and pulls B.’S wig off. Runs with it into office, R., and closes door as B. throws cane after him._)

MIKE. Thank God he’s cured! He’s throwed away the cane. (_B. clutches at MIKE’S throat, MIKE dodges._) Aisy sor, aisy, ye’re all right now.

B. (_Speaks with difficulty._) You villain! My leg is on fire. (_Makes after MIKE, chases him round the table._)

MIKE. I belave it, sor. It’s a very lively leg, Mr. Boyler. (_They stop, MIKE next L. B. R. of table._)

B. (_Trying to speak but can not for rage and excitement._) Oh, you—you—

MIKE. Aisy sor, careful sor. Wont ye step into the office and write a bit of a tistimonial for the inshtitootion? (_B. shakes his fist at him, speechless._)

NORAH. Oh dear, we’re all ruined. He’ll tell the Doctor.

MIKE. Whist, he’s stranglin’ now. It is the profanity. He’s often took that way. (_PATSY in office utters a loud whoop._)

NORAH. Where _is_ the Doctor. Everything’s going to ruin. (_Runs out L. Another whoop in office. B. frantically rubbing lame leg._)

MIKE. That haythen is gettin’ gay. I’ll tache him a lesson he won’t forget soon. I’ll tache him to stay in the kitchen. (_Goes toward office door._)

B. (_Recovers speech._) I’ll have you arrested, you villain, for malpractice.

MIKE. Malpractice! What sort o’ practice is that?

B. You are a pair of knaves. (_In excitement puts down lame leg._)

MIKE. What a wonderful cure. Beautiful! I’ll just kape this stick as a tistimonial.

B. None of your insolence. I’ll sue Doctor Fluke for damages, and as for you and that Chinaman, I’ll have you put in jail. (_Going L._)

MIKE. A beautiful cure, sor. Ye walk as straight as—as straight—as the moral law. Ye’d make an illegant drum-major.

B. (_Snorts._) Drum-major! (_Going._)

MIKE. Wont yez take yer hat, sor? (_Exit B. L. limping very little._) Now I’ll just settle with John Chinaman, bad cess to him.

_ENTER PATSY suddenly from office._

PATSY. Whoopee! Feel good! Allee same day feel bully! (_Jumps from floor and kicks his wooden-soled shoes like an athlete._)

MIKE. (_Starting back._) Faith I think he’s possissed! (_PATSY still clutches wig in left hand, seizes cane from table and jumps up again. Comes down with a whoop and makes a lightning shillelah pass at MIKE’S head._)

MIKE. The divil’s in him. I’d betther call the docthor. (_Starts L. slowly at first with PATSY advancing. They keep eyes on each other and MIKE gradually gets in a panic. He suddenly darts for door just as PATSY throws an empty bottle from table at his head. Bottle breaks outside with a crash._)

PATSY. (_Comes down C._) It’s a bad head I have! Where am I? What am I? (_Thinks a moment._) Now I have it. I’m an Irishman again. Is this Hong Kong? No, this is America. (_Looks round._) A doctor’s shop! I was this way once before in Hong Kong when I got drunk in the barracks. Whiskey brings out the Irish in me. But they put me back. What did they give me? I can’t remember. My head’s all confused. (_Hands to head._) Well, I wont be a Chinaman. I wont take a blessed drop of anything but poteen. I’ll get rid of this Chinese dress. I hate it. (_Notices wig._) Just the thing! (_Coils pig-tail up carefully on top of his head and puts on B.’S wig. Looks in hand glass that is on shelf._) Not so bad! Old coat, I’m done with you, too. (_Throws of Chinese tunic. Gets doctor’s coat from nail inside office and puts it on. Looks in glass._) Not so bad a fit, though a bit too long in the tails. (_Walks across stage._) Well now, aint I good enough Irish for New York or Chicago or Cork ayther? (_Sees shoes._) Look at the bloody shoes. (_Kicks them high in the air._) Off with ye. Cow leather’s good enough for me. (_Goes in office and comes out with doctor’s shoes. Puts them on._) Now me toilet is more to me likin’. (_Struts admiringly._) Let that ould bear come back an’ the doctor and his man. I’ll thrash the whole crowd if they lay hands on me.

_ENTER MRS. FLUKE, L._

MRS. F. A patient? The doctor will soon be here. Have a seat, sir. (_Notices oddity of PATSY’S appearance. Starts._) Oh! Who are you?

PATSY. Don’t be alarmed, madam. I’m Patsy O’Wang. I’m the new—No, indeed, I’m _not_ that.

MRS. F. The new cook, and crazy! Oh dear, I knew there’d be trouble. Oh, _why_ doesn’t Dr. Fluke come!

PATSY. I beg, madam, that you do not give yourself any uneasiness about the doctor. He’ll soon be here, I assure you.

MRS. F. He seems harmless. I declare if he hasn’t a wig! And as I live the doctor’s coat on. (_Aside._) A robber in disguise.

PATSY. Madam, you are not well. (_Politely._) I beg you to be seated. (_Points to chair by table._)

MRS. F. He’s very polite, at any rate. (_During this dialogue MRS. F. has been getting closer to door L. and at last darts out suddenly to surprise of PATSY._)

PATSY. There’s goes another! It’s not much confidence the new mistress has in me. They’re puttin’ a job up on me. What is it they gave me before? (_Thinks._) I’d give a thousand dollars if I could only think of it.

_ENTER DR. F. L. followed by MRS. F., NORAH, MIKE, MISS SIMPER. PATSY runs into office R. and locks himself in._

MRS. F. Doctor Fluke, I told you something would happen.

DR. F. Pshaw, nothing has happened. Mike let him have whiskey.

MRS. F. I told you so. The very thing he shouldn’t have had.

DR. F. I’ll cure him quick enough, and Mike you are very careless.

MIKE. I’m very sorry, sor, but I didn’t let him have the whiskey. Do yez think I’d be wastin’ good liquor on a Chinaman?

MRS. F. But he’s got it now and what will you do, I’d like to know?

DR. F. I’ll just give him the remedy spoken of by Major Barker.

MRS. F. What is the remedy?

DR. F. (_Claps hand in pocket._) Where is that letter? Here’s a go! (_Turns over papers on table looking for letter._)

MRS F. Have you lost the letter?

DR. F. It seems so. (_Business of diving his hands into his pockets._) Oh, I have it!

MRS. F. Read it then!

DR. F. I mean, I know where it is. I changed coats.

MRS. F. And Patsy has the coat on!

DR. F. Well that is a situation!

MRS. F. (_Hysterically._) Now he’ll murder us all.

DR. F. Nonsense! Major Barker says he’s the most affectionate creature.

MRS. F. Major Barker, fiddlesticks!

MISS S. I am sure the major must be right. I do think the Chinese have such lovely dispositions.

MRS. F. Miss Simper, you and the doctor fatigue me with such twaddle.

DR. F. Mike, suppose you go into the office and ask him for my coat.

MIKE. If you plaze, sor, I think my appearance excoites him a bit.

MISS S. Oh, let me go. (_Starts._)

MRS. F. Miss Simper, are you out of your senses? (_Pulls her back._)

DR. F. I will go in.

MRS. F. (_Pulling him back._) Henry, do you want to be murdered?

DR. F. (_Petulantly releasing himself._) Let me alone. (_Goes toward door, knocks._) “Patsy! Patsy!”

MRS. F. Oh rash man! Henry, I know we’ll all be killed in our tracks.

MISS S. Let me reason with him!

MRS. F. Oh you silly goose. Do be quiet, wont you. What _can_ he be doing? (_All listen._) It’s as quiet as the grave. I’ll bet he’s taking poison in his desperation. Or hanging himself, may be.

MIKE. There’s a noice bit o’ rope on the pulley machine.

MRS. F. We’ll all be killed yet, I know. Miss Simper, save yourself. (_Shoves MISS S. and NORAH out, L._)

DR. F. Harriet, there isn’t the slightest danger.

MRS. F. Dr. Fluke, why do you stand there like a post? Why _don’t_ you send for the police before that Chinaman does anything desperate? He is crazy and so are you.

DR. F. Humph! He’s drunk!

MRS. F. He’s crazy. Mike, run for the police.

DR. F. Mike, stay where you are, to assist me.

MRS. F. What _are_ you going to do, Henry?

DR. F. Going into that room. (_MRS. F. throws up her hands and then suddenly lays hold of DR.’S coat tails._) Let me alone. (_Breaking loose, raps on door; MRS F. runs to door L. DR. calls_) “Patsy!” “Say! Chin Sum!” (_Voice inside_) “Sir.” Will you let me in? (_Voice answers._) “No.” I don’t want to arrest you. (_Voice indistinctly._) I give you my word of honor. What? Yes, I’ll send them all out.

MRS. F. Indeed, I wont go out and see you killed.

DR. F. Harriet, how could you see me killed if you went out. (_Through door._) Yes, I’ll send them _all_. Mike go at once. Harriet, please go. He wont open the door till you all go. He is afraid we’ll take him to jail.

MIKE. Sarve him good and roight, I say.

MRS. F. Yes he ought to be jailed for acting that way. (_Exit MIKE to operating room, D. F._)

DR. F. (_Leads MRS. F. out L., she, protesting, returns to office door, R._) Just hand my coat through the door, please. (_Door opens and coat is pushed through._)

DR. F. Now for the remedy! (_Eagerly opens letter, reads._) “Affectionate creature.”

MRS. F. (_In door L._) Stuff!

DR. F. Hum, “most confiding”—yes, it seems so. Oh, here it is.

MRS. F. (_Entering, eagerly._) What is it?

DR. F. Harriet, why do you interrupt? Oh, here it is! “If he ever gets under the influence of liquor he labors under the strange delusion that he is an Irishman.”

MRS. F. How absurd! He’s crazy, I’d call the police.

DR. F. (_Petulantly._) My dear, will you allow me? This is a very curious case. “The remedy is _tea_, plenty of strong _tea_.” How very simple. (_Rings bell._) I’ll give him enough tea to settle him in short order.

_ENTER NORAH, L._

NORAH. What is it, sor? Is he still voilent?

DR. F. Peaceful as a lamb! He wants tea.

NORAH. Tay is it! Did yez iver—

MRS. F. As well try a pinch of salt.

DR. F. Don’t stand there talking, Norah. Bring the tea at once. Plenty of it! Strong! Just throw about half a pound into the tin pot and fill it with hot water.

NORAH. The tin pot houlds a gallon, sor.

DR. F. (_Impatiently._) Will you obey orders? Go! Run! (_Exit NORAH grumbling, L._)

MRS. F. Tea! The idea! (_Follows NORAH out L._)

DR. F. (_Pacing floor, excitedly._) This is a great case. I’ll write it up for the medical journals. A wonderful case—

_ENTER BOYLER, L. angry._

B. All humbug, sir!

DR. F. What’s that? Oh, it’s you, Mr. Boyler.

B. At last I’ve found you out, Dr. Fluke!

DR. F. So it seems. Why bless me, if you aint cured. Walking without a cane!

B. Humbug! I said.

DR. F. But it’s a fact!

B. You can’t hoodwink me, sir. You’re a charlatan!

DR. F. Don’t be unreasonable!

B. Unreasonable! Oh, I _can’t_ stand that. (_DR. laughs._) Gad, sir, you are actually laughing at my misfortunes. Do you call yourself a gentleman?

DR. F. Cut all that! What do you complain of? You are cured.

B. Confound your cure. You first maltreat me, outrage my feelings and then laugh at me.

DR. F. When has all this happened?

B. Every day for a month, Dr. Fluke. First you put a Hercules in the shape of a wild Irishman to rub me in the bath. He breaks every bone in my body by installments. Then he pummels me by degrees into a jelly.

DR. F. Well, what did you expect, Mr. Boyler? This isn’t a kindergarten, and your rheumatism was a very obstinate case.

B. Obstinate case! Let me say, sir, you are a butcher and that Irishman is an executioner. To crown the indignity you set a crazy Chinaman to give me the electrical treatment. He runs a stream of liquid fire through my leg.

DR. F. Which cured you completely!

B. Will you let me speak, sir? When I protest, the heathen doubles the quantity. Why gad, sir, it was something terrific. I saw the constellation of Orion in broad daylight.

DR. F. Ah, it _is_ a fine machine! A beauty!