Chapter II: Part 2

MRS. J. Very well, I will attend to it. You can go now. (_Exit BRIDGET, R._) I’m sure I don’t know what we’re going to do. I have received two letters from Lawyer Snap about the last month’s rent. The second one stated that if it was not paid immediately legal steps would be instituted.

(_At this moment hurried steps are heard, L., and MISS TRIST rushes into the room, closely followed by MR. SCOTT; her cap strings flying, and both hands are placed on her devoted head, as if fearing a blow there. Her companion dashes madly after her, holding a heavy music-book in a menacing way._)

MRS. J. Miss Trist, Mr. Scott—what is the matter?

MR. S. (_standing still for a moment, speaks in a fierce manner_). That woman (_looking toward MISS T._) has been tormenting me. I was engaged in improvising music, an opera which would have far exceeded anything that Verdi or Meyerbeer ever composed, and was just arranging one of the most delicate passages, when that woman knocked at my door. (_Enter SHERIFF and keeper by entrance back of MR. S._) Of course the interruption was fatal to my opera. And what did she come for? Why, she wanted me to go to the parlor piano, because my music disturbed her. And through her means, that divine opera is lost to the world. (_In a loud tone._) I will kill her! (_more fiercely_) I will annihilate her! I will crush her to atoms! (_AMANDA faints, MRS. J. clasps her hands with a deprecating gesture, and MR. S. dashes after MISS T., who has sunk with a frightened air into a chair in the farther corner. The SHERIFF seizes MR. S. from behind. The latter struggles furiously, but vainly._)

SHERIFF. Here, Randall, take charge of this man. He’s that lunatic who escaped from the asylum six weeks ago. They’ve searched most everywhere for him.

MR. S. (_who is quiet for a moment—with a smile_). I was too cunning for them. (_Again furious._) You shall not restrain me. I must annihilate that woman, and then finish my opera. (_RANDALL takes MR. S., screaming and struggling furiously, from the room._)

MRS. J. (_to SHERIFF_). How can I thank you, sir, for delivering us from that madman?

SHERIFF. I am happy to have been of service to you in that way; but my errand here was to give you trouble. (_MRS. J. looks expectantly toward him. MRS. WESTWOOD enters, R._) I have been instructed to levy an attachment on your furniture, on account of your refusing to pay your rent.

MRS. J. I am sorry it so happens. I depended on the money which I was to receive from my boarders to pay my expenses; but, of fifteen boarders, these two ladies are the only ones who have paid.

MRS. W. (_coming forward_). That’s a shame. Mr. Sheriff, what’s the amount of your bill?

SHERIFF. Rent $125, and costs $25 more.

MRS. W. Here’s the money, $150. Now give me a receipted bill.

SHERIFF. Here is one, though I didn’t expect to need it (_gives bill and takes money_). Thank you, ma’am.

(_Exit SHERIFF, L. MRS. J. gazes in astonishment._)

MRS. W. Mrs. Jones, what do your other unpaid bills amount to?

MRS. J. About five hundred dollars.

MRS. W. Well, I’ve got a proposal to make to you. In the first place, however, I must explain a little. Do you remember hearing your husband speak of his sister, Sarah Jane, who went to California to become a teacher, some twenty odd years ago?

MRS. J. Yes; she went away just before I became acquainted with him. He frequently spoke of the circumstance; but the vessel was wrecked, and he supposed, as he heard no further tidings, that she must have been lost with the other passengers.

MRS. W. Well, she wasn’t lost, but returned a couple of months ago, and now stands before you.

A. And are you my Aunt Sarah?

MRS. W. Yes. I went, as you know, to San Francisco with the intention of teaching, but on board the steamer I became acquainted with Mr. Westwood, who had started for California to seek his fortune. He and myself and one other passenger were the only persons saved from the wreck. He persuaded me to abandon my original plan, and marry him. I did so, and we went into the country, where he bought a sheep ranch. He was prospered in all his undertakings, and, last year, died, leaving me, by will, all he possessed.

MRS. J. But why haven’t you written to us in all these years?

MRS. W. We were intending, from year to year, to come back soon to surprise my brother, but circumstances constantly arose to prevent it. After my husband died, I determined to come at once and seek my relatives; but when I arrived I learned of my brother’s death. I then sought a boarding-place, and in looking over the paper met with your advertisement. Although the name was the same, I had no idea you were his widow till I saw his portrait hanging in the parlor. Though grown older, his features had not yet changed, and I recognized him at once. I engaged board with you, thinking if I enjoyed stopping here I would propose to become a permanent member of your family. I now propose to take the house, pay your debts and all the future expenses of house-keeping, in return for the society of yourself and daughter. What do you say to the plan?

MRS. J. I should be very glad to have it so, but I am afraid you do not realize what you are taking upon yourself.

MRS. W. Trust me for that. I know what I am about.

MRS. J. Then there’ll be no more anxiety and worriment about unpaid bills.

A. And no desire to continue the experiment of Keeping Genteel Boarders.

(_Curtain falls._)

MRS. SKINFLINT’S BARGAINS.

CHARACTERS.

MRS. SKINFLINT, a very Parsimonious Woman.
EZEKIEL ONTHANK, a Yankee Peddler.
SARAH JANE HOBBS, Ezekiel’s Sweetheart.
MRS. HOBBS, Sarah Jane’s Mother.

SCENE I.—_MRS. SKINFLINT’S sitting-room. MRS. SKINFLINT, a
tall, bony woman, with a sharp, pinched face, is sitting in a
rocking-chair, C., knitting._

MRS. SKINFLINT (_soliloquizes_). I declare I’ll never buy another thing at Thompson’s store. I paid fifteen cents a yard for my last kaliker dress, and Mis’ Hobbs bought one of a peddler yesterday, jest as good, for thirteen cents and three quarters. It’s a shame! On twelve yards I lost fifteen cents. That’s too much money to lose in these hard times. I wish that peddler would come along. I need a sight o’ things, and if I couldn’t beat him down, my name aint Betsy Jane Skinflint.

(_A knock is heard at the door, R. MRS. S. rises and opens it. The visitor proves to be EZEKIEL ONTHANK, a Yankee peddler, with a large pack on his back. He enters._)

EZEKIEL. Mornin’, marm. Anything in my line to-day? Dress-patterns, hoop-skirts, shawls, laces, ribbons, jewelry, spectacles, buttons, scissors, needles, pins—

MRS. S. Massy sakes! don’t tell any more of ’em. I shall forget what you sed fust. You haint got no good clocks, hev ye?

EZEK. Haint I though! I kin beat everybody on clocks. I’ve got some that cum clear from Switzerland. I imported ’em myself. Here’s one (_taking it from his pack_), the pootiest and best little timepiece ever you see.

MRS. S. Does it keep good time?

EZEK. I guess it does—tip-top. It goes ahead of anything ever you set your eyes on.

MRS. S. (_cautiously_). What d’ye charge for it?

EZEK. (_hesitating_). Well, I hev been sellin’ on ’em all along for twelve dollars apiece, but seein’ it’s you, I’ll let you have it for ten.

MRS. S. (_throwing up her hands_). Ten dollars! D’ye think I’m made o’ money? Besides, the clock aint wuth half that. But I don’t mind givin’ you five for it.

EZEK. That don’t pay the cost of importin’ ’em; but, ef you’re goin’ to buy consider’ble, I’ll say five for it. What’s the next thing?

MRS. S. I want ter git a pair o’ spettercles. As I was ridin’ to meetin’, last Sunday, mine fell off, and the wheel run right over ’em, and smashed the glass all to pieces. I cared more about ’em ’cause they’d ben in the famerly so long. Marm and granny both used ’em afore me.

EZEK. Mebbe they might be mended. Let’s see ’em.

(_MRS. S. produces a pair of heavy, iron-bowed spectacles. EZEKIEL looks at them dubiously._)

EZEK. I s’pose they might be fixed, but it’s my opinion ’twouldn’t pay. Besides, the bows are too heavy to wear. Didn’t nobody ever tell ye that wearin’ heavy-bowed specs sometimes made folks round-shouldered?

MRS. S. (_straightening up_). No. Dew tell!

EZEK. But I’ve got somethin’ here that’ll suit you to a T. Jest try ’em on (_handing her a pair of spectacles_). That’s jest the article you want.

MRS. S. (_trying them on and looking up_). Well, they’re pooty fair. But I s’pose you’ll charge as much as a dollar for ’em.

EZEK. A dollar! Why, woman alive, you don’t think I’d sell them specs for a dollar. They’re the real genuine periscopic Scotch pebble. They’re well wuth five dollars, but I shall only charge you three for them. ’Taint often you can get such a good article so cheap.

MRS. S. I’ll give you two dollars for ’em.

EZEK. No, I can’t afford to sell ’em so low. But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll split the difference, and let you have ’em for two-fifty. They’re very becomin’ to you—make you look ten years younger than the others did.

MRS. S. (_smiling at the compliment_). Well, I s’pose I shall have to take ’em. But I shouldn’t think ’twould take you long to get rich at that rate.

EZEK. The fact is, I’m growin’ poorer every day. I ought not to sell my goods so cheap; but the wimmen have such captivatin’ ways that I can’t resist ’em. What’s the next thing?

MRS. S. Well, I want some caliker for a new gown. I bought enough for one at Thompson’s, the other day; but I want another.

EZEK. I’ve got jest the thing for you (_showing her a piece of calico with stripes of red and yellow_). That’s exactly your style, and it’s only twelve and a half cents a yard.

MRS. S. Will it wash?

EZEK. Like white cloth. I’ve sold yards and yards of that same pattern. It takes so well that one factory don’t make nothin’ else.

MRS S. Twelve and a half cents a yard is too much. I can’t afford it, but I’ll give you a dollar for twelve yards.

EZEK. Couldn’t do it. Think of a nice dress pattern like that (_displaying the goods in a tempting manner_) bein’ sold for a dollar. No, marm, I can’t sell it any less.

MRS. S. (_looking at it longingly_). I’ll give you a dollar and a quarter.

EZEK. Well, as you’re taking consider’ble, I’ll let you have it for that; but you mustn’t say nothin’ about it. Why, Mis’ Hobbs bought some of it, and paid full price. I’m boardin’ there at Mis’ Hobbs’s. She’s got a pooty daughter—that Sairy Jane. Between you and me, that’s the reason I went to boardin’ there, for Mis’ Hobbs aint much of a cook.

MRS. S. (_elated_). I allers knew that. She never did hev much of a bringin’ up (_MRS. S. passes him money._)

EZEK. (_preparing to leave_). Thank ye, marm. Well, aint there sumthin’ more? You’ll want some hooks and eyes, and thread to make your dress with, don’t ye?

MRS. S. Oh, you’ll throw them in, won’t ye? The store people do.

EZEK. That’s askin’ a little too much.

MRS. S. Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you a mince pie for ’em. I made some fresh ones to-day. What d’ye say? You know yer boardin’-place aint anything to boast of.

EZEK. Well, I don’t mind doin’ it for once. (_MRS. SKINFLINT passes him pie from the table._) But I think I’d better be goin’. It don’t pay much to trade with you. You’re a deal too sharp. (_Taking his pack, he leaves the house._)

MRS. S. (_self-complacently soliloquizes_). I think I did make a good trade. Trust me for that. I saved enough on them trades to buy me a set of furs, next winter. They don’t cost but eight dollars, and I daresay I could get ’em for five. But there, it’s most twelve o’clock. I must be gettin’ dinner ready.

(_Exit._)

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE II.—_A curtain arranged from front to back, dividing the
stage into sitting-room, L., and kitchen, R., as both must be
seen at once. There must be a door between. MRS. HOBBS is in
the sitting-room, sewing, R. MRS. SKINFLINT enters, L._

MRS. S. How d’ye do, Mis’ Hobbs?

MRS. HOBBS. Why, how d’ye do, Mis’ Skinflint? I’m glad to see you. Sit right down in the rockin’-chair, do. (_She sits down, L._) It’s a pleasant evenin’.

MRS. S. Yes, very pleasant. I cum over this evenin’, Mis’ Hobbs, to see if there’s a peddler stoppin’ here. I bought a clock of one, this mornin’, and he sed he boarded here. The clock don’t go, and I want him to come and fix it, or give me another one.

MRS. H. Yes, that’s him; jest come into the kitchen. He’ll be right in, I guess. He always sits in here, evenin’s.

(_Just then voices are heard in the kitchen. SARAH JANE is seen knitting, L. EZEKIEL enters, R._)

SARAH JANE. Well, what adventures have you had to-day, ’Zekiel?

EZEK. The richest was with Mis’ Skinflint. Mis’ Deacon Pettengill told me she was as mean as dirt (_here MRS. S. starts, but, on second thoughts, waits to hear what is coming next. MRS. HOBBS smiles, grimly_), and I thought I see if I couldn’t sarcumvent her.

S. J. What did you do?

EZEK. I offered her a clock for twelve dollars, and she beat me down to five. I usually sell ’em for a dollar and a half.

S. J. I suppose ’twasn’t worth even that.

EZEK. It doesn’t go much, but when it does, it makes up for lost time. Then she wanted some _spettercles_. She took a pair for two dollars and a half that I generally get seventy-five cents for; but I’ll warrant they won’t magnify any too much, for there’s nothing but winder-glass in ’em.

MRS. S. (_emphatically_). The villain!

S. J. You was rather too bad, ’Zekiel.

EZEK. Not at all. She bought some calico, and asked if it would wash. I told her it would wash like white cloth, and I guess ’twill. After two or three washings, there won’t be a bit of color left in it.

MRS. S. Oh, the wretch! Won’t I give it to him! (_MRS. HOBBS smiles. She evidently enjoys the scene._)

EZEK. But the cream of the joke was that she wanted some hooks and eyes and a spool of thread, and gave me a mince pie for them. I tasted it, but it was such wretched stuff that I couldn’t eat it, so I threw it into the river for the fishes.

(_MRS. SKINFLINT dashes into the kitchen with arms akimbo. EZEKIEL shrinks back with mock terror. SARAH JANE and her mother come forward, smiling, to see what will be done._)

MRS. S. What do you mean, you wretch, by cheatin’ me in such a way?

EZEK. I didn’t cheat you. You tried to keep me from gettin’ any profit on my goods. I put a price on them, and you could take them or not, as you pleased. You was willin’ to pay what I asked for them; so I don’t see how I cheated you.

MRS. S. You didn’t tell me the truth about ’em (_furiously_). Then you called the nice pie I gave you wretched stuff. I shouldn’t ’a thought of givin’ it to you ef ye hadn’t said you didn’t git anythin’ fit to eat here.

MRS. H. (_starting forward_). What’s that? What did he say?

MRS. S. (_gloating over her discomfiture_). He said you wasn’t much of a cook, and, ef it warn’t for courtin’ Sairy Jane, he couldn’t stand it boardin’ here.

MRS. H. (_to EZEK._). So that’s the way you repay my kindness in taking you in, is it, you miserable villain? I’m mad enough to pull your hair—if you only had enough to pull.

EZEK. (_glancing sideways at her_). I shouldn’t dare to pull yours, marm, for fear ’twould come off in my hand.

MRS. H. (_advancing with a threatening air, and catching up the tongs as she goes_). Get out of the house, you insultin’ creature, and never let me set eyes on you again!

(_EZEKIEL goes out as if in fear, R., slyly beckoning to SARAH JANE to go too. She nods and goes out by another door, R. MRS. HOBBS throws EZEKIEL’S pack after him._)

MRS. H. (_going toward MRS. S. with tongs upraised_). Now, old Skinflint, do you go too. You’ve made mischief enough here. I don’t blame the man for throwin’ your miserable pie away. I hope it wont pizen the fishes.

MRS. S. (_looking back as she goes out, R._). I guess you’ll find you’ve got enough to look after, without ’tendin’ to your neighbors’ business (_pointing_). There goes Sairy Jane with that peddler’s arm round her waist.

(_Exit MRS. SKINFLINT from one door, R., while MRS.
HOBBS dashes out from another, R. Curtain falls._)

MRS. GRUNDY’S TYRANNY.

CHARACTERS.

MR. CHARLES GOODENOW, ⎫
MR. EDWARD HENDERSON, ⎬ Merchants.
MR. FRANK BURLEY, ⎭
MRS. BURLEY, Mr. Burley’s Wife.
MRS. STOCKBRIDGE, ⎫ Mrs. Burley’s Friends.
MRS. WHEELER, ⎭
JAMES, A Customer.
BRIDGET MURPHY, ⎫ Owners of Fruit Stands.
KATE O’CALLAHAN, ⎭

SCENE I.—_CHARLES GOODENOW, R., sits in a chair, tipped back,
gazing thoughtfully into the upper distance. His head rests
upon his hands which are clasped behind it. Enter FRANK BURLEY,
L._

FRANK. Hallo, Charlie. In the land of dreams? If so I won’t disturb you.

CHARLES (_not answering immediately_). Not exactly dreaming. There was too much reality about my thoughts for that. But sit down, Frank.

F. (_sitting down_). And what were you thinking about, if I am allowed to ask?

C. I was thinking what slaves we were to Fashion and Mrs. Grundy. I don’t know of one of my acquaintances who would have courage enough to do anything which would conflict with the usages of so-called good society.

F. Don’t include me in that category. I have too much independence to be subject to the dictation of others.

C. You think so, my dear fellow; but you don’t realize your own weakness.

F. On the contrary, I am confident of my strength, and am willing to wager you one hundred dollars against fifty that I will follow out any plan you may promise to test my courage.

C. I accept the stakes, and feel sure of winning them. Now what shall the plan be? Let me see. (_Covers face with his hands for a moment—pauses._) I have it. Frank, you must tend a peanut and apple stand in the Park for one whole day.

F. (_quickly_). I am willing to do it.

C. (_emphatically_). Remember, you must tend it the whole day long, without absenting yourself for any cause, except to take an hour for dinner.

F. I agree to that; nay, I will go further, and will promise to dine at the stand.

C. When shall the trial take place?

F. As soon as possible, that you may know how well I shall succeed. Let _to-morrow_ be the day.

C. Very well; but there is to be one condition about the matter. No one must suspect your reasons for doing this, as, in that case, there would be no test at all. If you even hint anything about it, you will lose the wager.

F. I agree to that.

C. Well, I’ll call round on you to-morrow, occasionally, to see how you make out in the new business.

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE II. _In the Park. Two apple-stands at the back of stage.
They are several feet apart, and presided over by BRIDGET
MURPHY, R., and KATE O’CALLAHAN, L. Enter FRANK BURLEY, who
stands a little in front, but between them, gazing first at one
and then at the other._

MRS. O’CALLAHAN (_rising—with her knitting in her hand_). Some peanuts, sir, or apples—nice apples three cents apiece?

MRS. MURPHY (_wiping apples on apron_). Here’s where you’ll find your nice apples—three cents apiece, and a good deal bigger than the other woman’s.

F. (_approaching MRS. M.’S stand_). What will you sell your whole stock to me for, my good woman?

MRS. M. (_regarding him attentively_). And what do the likes of you want of it?

F. I want to buy your stock, and tend this stand to-day.

MRS. M. (_doubtfully_). Honor bright?

F. Yes. To-morrow you can have it back again, and I’ll give you the stock that’s left over.

MRS. M. (_shrewdly_). What’ll you give for it?

F. I don’t know what it’s worth, but I’ll give you ten dollars for the lot.

MRS. M. (_quickly_). You can have ’em all for that.

MRS. O’C. That’s four times more’n they’re all worth.

MRS. M. You’d better mind yer own business, O’Callahan. There comes a boy that wants an apple maybe. (_Boy comes in, looks at apples and passes out._)

F. You’ll have to tell me how you sell the things. I don’t know anything about the prices.

MRS. M. The apples are three cents apiece. Some of the peaches are three cents, and some two cents, and them bananas are ten cents apiece. If you sell a dozen of ’em at once, you’ll sell at a little less price.

F. That’ll do. I guess I shall get along well now.

MRS. M. Shan’t I lend you my apron to shine the apples with?

F. No, I thank you; I guess they look well enough.

(_MRS. M. went out, L., going past MRS. O’C.’S stand, and holding the bill which she had received exultingly towards her. JAMES enters, L._)

JAMES (_to O’C._). How do you sell your apples?

MRS. O’C. Three cents apiece.

J. (_to F._). How do _you_ sell _yours_?

F. Two cents apiece.

J. Well as yours are bigger and lower priced I’ll take four of them. (_Takes them and pays for them and exit._)

(_Several other persons pass in and buy of FRANK, to all of whom he sells under price._)

MRS. O’C. (_coming towards him with threatening gestures_). What do you mean by coming here, and interfering with a respectable woman?

F. I am not interfering with you.

MRS. O’C. Aint you, though? I call it interferin’ with my rights when you come and sell your apples under price.

F. I’ll tell you what it is, my good woman, I’ve sold most of my apples, and I will buy some of yours.

MRS. O’C. (_somewhat mollified_). And what’ll ye pay me for them?

F. Three cents apiece.

MRS. O’C. (_surprised_). And you’re goin’ to sell ’em agin for two cents?

F. Yes, there’s nothing like keeping trade lively.

MRS. O’C. Well, you’re the quairest man I ever did see.

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE III.—_MRS. BURLEY’S parlor. MRS. B. present, R. MRS.
STOCKBRIDGE and MRS. WHEELER enter L. They cross the room and
shake hands cordially with MRS. B._

MRS. STOCKBRIDGE. How do you do, my dear Mrs. Burley?

MRS. WHEELER (_to MRS. B._) How do you do? I am delighted to see you looking so well.

MRS. BURLEY. Thank you; I am well, and glad to see you both. Take seats, won’t you?

MRS. S. (_aside to MRS. W._) _She_ doesn’t know of it, I’m sure. (_To MRS. B._) Have you heard the news about Mr. Walters?

MRS. B. (_interested._) No. What is it?

MRS. S. He is hopelessly insane.

MRS. B. That is very sad. But what was the cause?

MRS. S. Overwork, I believe. Is it not so, Mrs. Wheeler?

MRS. W. That is the report, and it is said his wife doesn’t dare to be alone with him.

MRS. S. I heard that, yesterday, he jumped from a window in the second story, and injured himself very much.

MRS. B. How shocking!

MRS. W. He said he intended to kill himself, and was sorry he didn’t.

MRS. B. No wonder his wife feels timid. I dare say he will make another attempt at suicide.

MRS. W. There’s no doubt of it. In fact he told his wife so.

MRS. S. He has threatened her life too; several times I believe. (_To MRS. B. in significant tone._) By the way, Mrs. Burley, is _your_ husband well?

MRS. B. (_startled_). Certainly. But why do you ask?

MRS. S. Oh, I merely inquired.

MRS. B. But you had some motive in asking. What was it?

MRS. S. Tell her, Mrs. Wheeler.

MRS. W. Oh, it’s nothing I dare say. Still, some things look a little singular.

MRS. B. (_anxiously_). Pray explain.

MRS. S. Was your husband at home to dinner to-day?

MRS. B. No, he said he should be too busy, and would dine down-town.

MRS. S. He didn’t state the nature of his business, did he?

MRS. B. No, but I supposed he was detained at the store. Do you know anything of it?

MRS. S. Yes; he’s been tending an apple-stand all day to-day.

MRS. B. (_surprised_). It cannot be. You are surely mistaken.

MRS. S. Not at all. It has been the town talk.

MRS. B. (_meditatively_). It is very strange.

MRS. S. Insanity is not hereditary in your husband’s family, is it?

MRS. B. Oh, no; and yet—let me see. Yes, I am sure he told me that his grandfather died insane. But Frank never could be in such a state. He has too strong a mind for that.

MRS. S. Still, you can’t help thinking it is a little singular.

MRS. B. Ye—es. But I cannot credit it. It seems impossible.

MRS. W. Suppose you walk down to the Park and satisfy yourself.

MRS. B. (_eagerly_). I will do so if you will go with me. I am too nervous to go alone.

MRS. S. We are willing to accompany you. Is it not so, Mrs. Wheeler?

MRS. W. Certainty. We could not desert you while you are in such trouble.

MRS. B. (_excitedly_). I will get my bonnet at once. I will not detain you but a moment.

(_Exit MRS. B., R. Curtain falls._)

SCENE IV.—_Same as Scene II., except that MR. B. has charge of
MRS. MURPHY’S stand. Enter JAMES, who examines fruit at each
of the stands. MRS. B. and two companions are seen at side
entrance, L., looking furtively at MR. B. They talk aside._

MRS. S. Arc you satisfied that it is he?

MRS. B. Yes, it is certainty Frank; but (_perplexed_) what can he be there for?

MRS. S. Why don’t you ask him?

MRS. B. I hardly know what to do.

MRS. S. There are two gentlemen coming. Wait and see what they say.

(_Enter MR. GOODENOW and MR. HENDERSON. MRS. B. beckons to policeman, and talks with him._)

MR. HENDERSON. Hallo, Mr. Burley; haven’t you got into a new business?

MR. B. Yes, I have (_smiling_).

MR. H. (_quizzically_). How do you enjoy it?

MR. B. Very much, of course, or I should not have entered into it.

MR. H. Going to make a permanent business of it?

MR. B. Can’t tell till I have tried it a week or two.

MR. H. (_amused_). Burley, you play your part well, that’s a fact.

MR. B. (_in apparent surprise_). Play my part well! What do you mean?

MR. H. Well, this is what I’ve got to say: If you are not tending this stand you must be insane. (_Turning to MR. G._) Don’t you think so, Goodenow?

MR. GOODENOW. It looks like it, certainly. (_Enter MRS. G. and her friends, L._) Ah! here comes Mrs. Burley.

(_MR. G. and MR. H. gaze at them with curiosity. MR. B. looks apprehensively._)

MRS. B. What are you doing, Frank?

MR. B. Tending an apple-stand, my love.

MRS. B. And pray what do you mean by disgracing your family in such a way?

F. I don’t see any disgrace about it. A dollar earned in this way is as good as one gained in Pearl street.

MRS. O’C. (_who has been listening interestedly_). An’ it’s little enough money you’ll make out of this business. Sure an’ the sooner you give up yer stand the richer you’ll be.

JAMES (_to F._). Here you, I say give me two of them bananas. (_Pays for them, and exit, eating._)

MRS. B. (_aside to ladies_). Well, I can’t bear this any longer. Something must be done.

MRS. W. What shall it be?

MRS. S. One can see plainly enough he is insane.

MRS. B. (_turning to policeman_). You can see that he is evidently insane.

POLICEMAN. He does act strange, don’t he? A rich merchant like him, to tend an apple-stand! But what shall I do?

MRS. B. I don’t know. This is probably the first stage of the disease. I’m afraid he may become violent.

P. Would you advise me to arrest him?

MRS. B. (_whose thoughts revert to MR. WALTERS_). I am so distressed I hardly know; but it seems as if he ought to be prevented from doing any mischief. Perhaps it would be better to do so. That would bring matters to a crisis, and we should know the worst.

(_Policeman goes round and comes in at an entrance back of MR. B. Before the latter realizes it, he is handcuffed. He starts up at once, indignant._)

MR. B. What do you mean by insulting me in this manner? Take these irons off this instant. Do you hear?

MRS. S. (_to MRS. B._). He is getting worse, you see.

P. I couldn’t do it, my man. You better come with me. (_Takes him by the shoulder._)

MR. B. Stop. First tell me what all this means.

P. Certainly. No gentleman in your position would think of leaving his business and tending an apple-stand if he was in his right mind. So I have put on these bracelets to prevent your doing any violence.

MR. B. Ha, ha, ha! “So fades my dreams!” Goodenow, you must give me credit for sustaining my part of the agreement, as far as I alone am concerned. But circumstances have conspired against me. (_Turning to his wife._) My friend and myself laid a wager that I had not sufficient courage to tend an apple-stand one whole day without giving any explanation thereof. In attempting to do this it seems I have laid myself under suspicion of being insane. I therefore abdicate in favor of Mrs. Bridget Murphy, trusting she may find the position a pleasant and more lucrative one than I have done. (_He comes forward and MRS. MURPHY enters and takes his place._) Henceforth, like a dutiful subject, I will restrain all improper inclinations, and confess that, like my friends and neighbors, I, too, am a slave of Mrs. Grundy.

(_Curtain falls._)

AUNT HANNAH’S VALENTINE.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MRS. CYNTHIA LELAND, a Farmer’s Wife.
MRS. MONTGOMERY, a Friend and former Schoolmate of Mrs. L.
HANNAH LELAND, Mr. Leland’s Sister.
OBADIAH RAKESTRAW, a Bachelor.
CARRIE LELAND, Mrs. L.’s Daughter.
HERBERT WALTON, Carrie’s Lover.
ADOLPHUS FITZ-WILLIAM, Mrs. M.’s Nephew.
CALEB LELAND, Carrie’s Brother.

SCENE I.—_In the field. CARRIE enters, R._

CARRIE (_soliloquizing_). So Mrs. Montgomery’s nephew is coming to-day. I hope he is agreeable. I wonder if he is engaged. It must be nice to marry a rich man, and live in the city, and go to balls, parties, and the theatre. I don’t understand why Mrs. Montgomery doesn’t feel so. She married a merchant, and can live in fine style in the city, but yet she prefers the country. And to-day her nephew is coming here. He thinks people on a farm are countrified, but I guess we can show him they are not all so. I’ve a good mind to flirt with him a little, by way of variety. I don’t believe it would be very difficult to captivate him. Perhaps, I can teach him a lesson. (_Enter HERBERT, L., with a rake in his hand._) Ah, Herbert—just going to work?

HERBERT. Yes. Won’t you go, too?

CAR. What inducement have you to offer?

H. A ride home on the hay after it is put into the wagon.

CAR. That might be sufficient sometimes, but not now, for I must hurry home. Do you know, Herbert, we are to have a new-comer at our house, this afternoon?

H. No. Who is it?

CAR. Mrs. Montgomery’s nephew. Adolphus Fitz-William is his name, I believe. His aunt says he has never been in the country at all, and he thinks farmers’ families are countrified to the last degree. She has his picture, and it looks very foppish.

H. And he is coming to-day, is he?

CAR. Yes; he’s expected in the first afternoon train, and it’s about time for that to be here. (_Hears a step, and turns toward L._) I guess that’s he now. I must go. (_She hurries out, R._)

(_ADOLPHUS enters, L. He wears eye-glasses, and carries a cane; speaks affectedly._)

ADOLPHUS. Can you tell me, aw, where Fawmer Leland lives, Jawnathan?

H. (_leaning carelessly on rake—aside_). I think I’ll humor him. (_Aloud._) Wal, there now, who’d ’a’ thought you’d known what my name was? Who told yer?

A. (_disdainfully_). You’re vewy familiah. Do you know where Fawmer Leland lives?

H. (_eagerly_). You aint come to court his daughter, be ye?

A. Ah, has he a daughter?

H. He has that, an’ a pooty one, too. Rosy cheeks an’ bright eyes she’s got. I tell ye, she’s harnsome. I think some o’ sparkin’ her myself.

A. (_contemptuously_). You, aw! Impossible! She wouldn’t look at such a fellaw.

H. You dunno. Love goes whar it’s sent, an’ mebbe it’ll be sent to me.

A. But, aw, you haven’t answered my question. Can you tell me, aw, where Fawmer Leland lives?

H. Oh, yes, I remember. But, ’say, did yer come from the city to-day?

A. No, aw didn’t.

H. Is that so? I swar, I thought yer did—yer look so ’mazin’ spruce. How long be yer goin’ to stay, now?

A. No mattaw.

H. Sho, now, don’t go ter gittin’ mad over it.

A. (_angrily_). Will you tell me, aw, where Fawmer Leland lives or will you not, aw?

H. In course I will; but you needn’t git so mighty mad. Ye haint asked me yit.

A. (_emphatically_). I’ve asked you fower sevewal times.

H. It’s no sich a thing. Ye asked me if I could tell yer where he lived and ef I knowed where he lived. In course I couldn’t arnser a question ’fore ’twas put. I was eddicated to be perlite even ter my inferiors. When yer _ask_ the question, I’ll arnser it.

A. (_in a loud voice_). You impertinent fellaw, where does Fawmer Leland live?

H. Don’t go to puttin’ on airs, now. D’ye see them chimblys over there? (_pointing R._).

A. Yes, aw do.

H. Well, then, make a bee-line for ’em. Them’s the chimblys to Farmer Leland’s house. (_Exit A., R._ _H., solus._) If he’d been a civil feller, I’d ’a’ shown him the path. Now he’ll have to climb four rickety stone walls, and I dunno as how he can do it safely with them tight breeches on. But I must go to work. _Tempus fuggit_, as the schoolmaster says.

(_Exit, L., with rake on his shoulder. Curtain falls._)

SCENE II.—_MRS. LELAND’S sitting-room. CALEB, sitting, R. C.,
peeling apples. CARRIE, L. C., dusting furniture. Enter AUNT
HANNAH, R._

AUNT HANNAH (_in a complaining tone_). Well, I declare, haint you begun your baking yet, Car’line? It’s nigh onto noon, and you won’t get dinner ready in season.

CAR. Well, you know I can’t make my pies till the apples are ready. You’ll have to talk to Caleb. I’ve been trying to hurry him.

A. H. (_to CAL., severely_). I should be ashamed, if I was a boy, to be so long peeling a few apples.

CAL. Oh, what’s the use in hurrying? There’s plenty of time.

A. H. (_testily_). In my young days things didn’t go on so. Good house-keepers got their bakin’ done by eight o’clock in the morning. They didn’t spend all day in the kitchen, as they do now.

CAR. Don’t be troubled, Aunt Hannah; everything will be finished early, and dinner on the table at the usual time.

A. H. Well, I hope ’twill, but things don’t look much like it now.

(_Exit A. H., L._)

CAL. Aunt Hannah is never happy except when she’s finding fault with somebody. She’s gone off mad, and I’m glad of it. I hope she’ll stay away.

(_Enter ADOLPHUS, L._)

ADOLPHUS. I’ve been looking for you, Miss Carwy. Will you, aw, go out and walk with me this morning?

CAR. I don’t think I could. Mother is away, you know, and I have all the housework to do.

A. Couldn’t I, aw, assist you, so you could go?

CAR. I think not. I’m afraid there’s none of my work that you could do.

CAL. (_shaking his head in a significant way_). You jest make me that offer, Mr. Fitz. I’ll warrant you I won’t refuse. I know you’ll be able to do _my_ work. And I can show you round a great deal better than Carrie can.

(_A. deigns no reply to CAL., but gazes earnestly at CAR._)

CAR. I declare, I’m afraid my bread is burning. I nearly forgot it. (_Goes out, R._)

CAL. Heigho! I don’t feel like peeling apples. I guess I’ll see what girl loves me best. (_Lifts the entire skin of an apple, which he has taken off in one long strip, and swings it slowly three times round his head, then drops it on the floor behind him. He stoops and examines it eagerly, then claps his hands._) Sure’s the world, that’s an L, an’ stands for Lizy Blake. I was most sure ’twould be so. That sign always comes true.

A. (_who had been looking on with interest_). What are you doing, aw, Caleb?

CAL. I’ve been finding out who was my true love. Want to try your hand at it?

A. (_glancing round to see that no one else is present_). Well, aw, I might try.

CAL. That one’s broken, but I’ll soon make you another. (_Takes an apple, peels it, and passes the skin to A. The latter swings it very awkwardly round his head, staggering as he endeavors to do so without breaking it. At last he drops it on the floor behind him._)

CAL. I declare, Mr. Fitz, you’re about as graceful as a cow.

A. (_unheeding his remark, and examining the skin, which lay curled up on the floor_). That’s a C, aw, plain enough.

CAL. (_looking at it closely_). It’s an exact H. Who can that stand for? Oh, I know. It must be that you’re going to marry Aunt Hannah.

A. What do you mean, aw, by such a fawlshood? (_Attempts to strike CAL. with his cane, but CAL. leaps behind a chair, which he lifts, and uses as a protection. Enter CAR._)

CAR. Why, what’s the matter?

CAL. Nothing, only Mr. Fitz has been telling me who his sweetheart is, and he don’t like it ’cause I won’t promise not to tell anybody.

CAR. You’d better go out in the kitchen, and finish your work. I’m in a hurry for the apples.

(_Exit, CAL., R. CAR. sits down, C._)

A. You must be tired, aw, with your labors.

CAR. Oh no, indeed; but I am waiting for that lazy Caleb to finish the apples, so I can be making my pies.

A. (_deliberately spreading his handkerchief upon the floor before her, and kneeling upon it_). Miss Leland—Carwy, I have long sought, aw, this opportunity to confess, aw, my love for you. Do not deny me, aw, and doom me to dwead despair.

(_A sound of approaching footsteps is heard._)

CAR. (_hurriedly_). Mr. Fitz-William, rise, I beseech you.

A. Not until you give me a favorable answer to my suit.

CAR. I cannot—I—(_Enter CAL., R. A. rises._)

CAL. (_laughs quite loud_). Ha! ha! ha! (_Enter MRS. MONTGOMERY and AUNT HANNAH, L._)

MRS. MONTGOMERY. What can be the matter?

A. H. What’s all this noise about? Anybody’d think the house was afire, to hear such a racket.

A. It’s that impertinent young wascal, aw, who’s been scweaming like a locomotive whistle.

CAL. Who wouldn’t ’a’ laughed, if they’d come in, as I did, and seen Mr. Fitz-William on his knees asking Carrie to marry him?

MRS. M. Why, Adolphus, I thought you were engaged to Helen Lindsay, who lives in the city.

CAL. And ’twarn’t more’n ten minutes ago that he spoke about marryin’ Aunt Hannah. (_The spinster smiles benignantly._)

A. I did not, aw. I’d sooner marwy Beelzebub’s daughtaw than such a she-dwagon.

A. H. (_seizing a broom and chasing him around the stage._) You would, would ye? Then, you just git out o’ this house. You shan’t stay in it a minute longer.

CAL. (_waving his hand_). That’s it, Aunt Hannah. Pitch into him lively. Go ahead, an’ I’ll help yer.

(_Exit A., L., followed by A. H. and CALEB._)

(_Curtain falls._)

SCENE III.—_The same. Time, six months later. MRS. LELAND,
sitting at table, R. C., and CALEB, L. C. Enter AUNT HANNAH, R._

A. H. (_going to MRS. L._). Is this stockin’ goin’ to be large enough for Calup?

MRS. LELAND (_examining stocking_). I guess so. It is larger than the last pair.

CAL. Aunt Hannah thinks my understanding is increasing pretty fast.

A. H. (_bluntly_). It’s a pity ’taint your politeness instid o’ your feet that’s agrowin’.

MRS. L. (_looking up_). Take another chair, Caleb, and let your aunt have the rocking-chair.

CAL. (_rising and taking another chair_). Of course—age before good looks.

A. H. (_sinking down into rocking-chair_). In my day, children warn’t allowed to make fun of their relations.

MRS. L. Caleb doesn’t mean anything, Aunt Hannah, but he ought not to speak so.

A. H. (_severely_). P’r’aps he don’t. This aint the fust time he’s been sassy to me.

CAL. Well, why can’t you be jolly, like other folks? I have to make fun so’s to make up for your lookin’ an’ talkin’ so dismal.

A. H. (_sighing_). Well, I shan’t always be here to trouble you with my looks. When I’m gone, maybe you’ll wish you hadn’t laughed at me as you have. (_Bell rings._)

CAL. (_eagerly_). There’s the door-bell. Shall I go, mother?

MRS. L. Yes, for I must go upstairs to get some pieces to mend this coat with.

(_Exit_, R.)

(_CAL. goes out, L., and immediately returns with a letter. He pretends to be studying the address._)

CAL. M-m-iss Lel-land.

A. H. Calup, that letter’s for me. Give it to me this minute.

CAL. (_holding it behind him_). It aint a letter; it’s a valentine. It’s got all sorts of pretty figures on the envelope. Promise, Aunt Hannah, that you’ll let me see the inside of it, and I’ll give it to you right off.

A. H. (_rising, and laying knitting on the table_). I shan’t make any promises. Give me that letter, Calup. (_CAL. runs round stage with letter. His aunt, running after him, tries in vain to catch him._)

MRS. L. (_from outside_). Ca-leb! Ca-leb!

CAL. (_darting across the room in a tantalizing way, lays letter on the table_). By the time you get it read, Aunt Hannah, I’ll be back all ready to see it.

(_Exit, R._)

A. H. (_takes letter eagerly, and sits down, L. C._). It is a valentine, as sure as I’m alive. Who could have sent it? (_Reads._)

“My dearest One: This is St. Valentine’s, the day when every
person is privileged to write tender epistles to their loved
ones. So I have seated myself to write to you. I did think of
asking you a question which my past attentions have, no doubt,
led you to expect. But, on second thoughts, I have concluded to
call on you and ask the question in person. I am sure you will
have no difficulty in recognizing

“YOUR DEVOTED VALENTINE.”

A. H. (_laying valentine on table, sits back in chair, clasps her hands together, rocking, and apparently meditating_). Well, there’s a perspective proposal, and I’m sure it couldn’t come from anybody but Obadiah Rakestraw. His mother’s just died, and he used to go to singing school with me when I was a girl (_complacently_), and he’ll be here to-night. I guess I’ll go and fix up a little, as long as he’s sent me word he’s coming.

(_Exit A. H., R. Enter CARRIE by same door._)

CAR. (_soliloquizing_). Oh, dear, how unhappy I am! it is six months since Herbert went away, and I know it was because he thought I liked that popinjay Adolphus. Of course, he doesn’t know that it was nothing but a flirtation, and that I couldn’t endure the sight of Adolphus afterwards. I didn’t think Herbert would have gone off so suddenly, without even writing me a note to say he was going. Six months ago, and I’ve been so miserable all this weary time! (_Suddenly sees the letter._) What’s this, a valentine, addressed to Miss Leland? Why, that’s my name, and, of course, I have a right to read it. (_Opens it, and notices contents._) Yes, it was intended for me, and is in Herbert’s handwriting (_joyfully_), and he is to be here this evening! But how came it opened? (_With sudden thought._) It must be that Aunt Hannah has opened and read it, thinking it was intended for her. I guess I’ll place the letter where I found it (_lays it down_), and leave the room till the time comes for Herbert to arrive.

(_Exit CARRIE, L., and enter CALEB, R._)

CAL. Well, that’s pretty treatment, for Aunt Hannah to go off when I told her partic’larly I was coming right back; and most likely she has carried the valentine with her. (_Looking round, his gaze falls on the letter._) No, she hasn’t, either. By George! she was quite good, for her. (_Takes letter, which he opens and reads. Looks up with ludicrous expression._) So Aunt Hannah has really got a beau! Who can he be? I guess he don’t know her as well as some folks do. Let’s see (_Consulting the letter._) He’s coming here to-night to ask her that question. It’ll be worth a great deal to see anybody making love to Aunt Hannah. How can I manage to be round to see how it’s done? (_Looks around._) Oh, this is just the thing. (_Goes behind a curtain, which he draws, thereby concealing himself. A. H., dressed in black silk and wearing a gay headdress, enters, R._)

A. H. (_taking letter, which she puts in her pocket_). Well, there, I was rather ventur’som in leaving this valentine on the table. It’s a wonder that Calup didn’t come in an’ get hold of it. If he had, I’d never have heard the last of it. (_A knock at the door, L. A. H. opens it, and ushers in OBADIAH RAKESTRAW._)

A. H. Good evening, Mr. Rakestraw.

OBADIAH RAKESTRAW. Good-evening, Miss Leland. So you’re all alone this evening. (_They sit down with their backs to CALEB’S place of concealment._)

A. H. Yes, I happen to be just now, but I suppose the rest of the folks will be in soon. (_Aside._) I wonder if he won’t take the hint.

CAL. (_aside._) Oh, my! aint she sly?

O. R. I thought I’d just come in and make a neighborly call this evening.

A. H. Just so. I’m glad the spirit took ye. It be kind o’ lonesome for you at home.

O. R. Wall, ’tis so sometimes.

A. H. Ye ought to get married.

O. R. I’m afraid nobody’d have me.

A. H. Oh, you’re too shy. There’s nothin’ like tryin’. To-night is St. Valentine’s, and there aint no time like the present. All ye’ve got to do is jest ask the question. I’ll warrant you’ll get a favorable answer.

CAL. (_aside_). Don’t she drive business?

O. R. Wall, I’ve a good mind to take your advice. As you say, ’tis kind o’ lonesome, an’ I can’t more’n get refused (_rising_); so I’ll jest go over an’ ask Hitty Trumbull if she’ll marry me.

A. H. (_indignantly, rising_). Mehitable Trumbull! You don’t mean you’re going to offer yourself to her.

O. R. That’s jest what I mean.

A. H. Well, it’s downright dishonorable treatment, after the letter you sent me to-day.

O. R. (_surprised_). I haven’t sent you any letter.

A. H. (_taking it from pocket_). Didn’t you write that valentine?

O. R. (_glancing over it_). I never saw it before; and, between you and me, I don’t think it was intended for you.

A. H. Do you mean to insult me by saying I open other folks’ letters?

O. R. Not exactly, but I think this was written to your niece. It aint the kind o’ valentine one would be likely to send to a person of your age.

A. H. (_in a high tone_). You mean to twit me about my age, do you? I’ll just let you know that I’m six years younger than Mehitable Trumbull. But I won’t listen to any more of your insultin’ remarks; so just leave this house, or I’ll call somebody to help you.

O. R. It’s lucky I didn’t offer to marry you, as you asked me to. I see your temper hasn’t improved any since we used to go to singing-school together.

(_Exit O. R., L. A. H., almost frantic, paces back and forth._)

A. H. The villain! to treat me so. But it’s lucky none of the folks know anything about it. I must change my dress before any of them come in.

(_Exit A. H., R._)

CAL. (_coming forward_). Wasn’t that rich? To think of Aunt Hannah, who “wouldn’t marry the best man living,” offering herself, and then, after all, that her love should be refused. (_Voices outside._) But who’s that? Perhaps, she’s coming back again. She mustn’t find me here. (_Hides behind the curtain. Enter HERBERT and CARRIE, talking earnestly._)

CAR. It was only by accident that I happened to see your letter at all. Aunt Hannah received and read it, and thought it was sent to her.

H. Who could she have supposed sent it?

CAR. I don’t know, I’m sure.

CAL. (_peeping out, aside_). I know all about it.

H. But you haven’t answered the question it contained.

CAR. (_demurely_). Did it contain one? I thought the note said you intended to ask a question; but, as you didn’t do so, I supposed you’d changed your mind.

H. You needn’t pretend ignorance. I can’t propose with the same grace that Adolphus did, but you can’t help knowing that I meant to ask you to marry me. (_Taking her hand._) Will you be my wife, Carrie?

CAR. (_archly_). I suppose it wouldn’t do to say anything but “Yes,” especially as, if I refuse, I couldn’t return your letter, since Aunt Hannah has taken possession of it.

H. I shouldn’t be satisfied with any other answer. Now, let’s go and tell your mother about it, and then we’ll set the wedding day.

(_Exeunt, arm in arm._)

CAL. (_coming forward_). Well that was a little addition I didn’t expect. I’ve always wondered how folks popped the question, but I’ve found out all about it, and now I can do it like a book. I guess I’ll go down and see ’Lizy Blake before I forget how it’s done. If she says “Yes” we’ll have a loaf of wedding-cake as big as our new school-house. (_With sudden thought_) I don’t know though, but I ought to write a valentine, and send to her, first, to let her know I’m coming. That’s the way Herbert did. But then, just as likely as not, her aunt Lizy’d get it, thinking ’twas for her. She’s cross-eyed, an’ wears false hair an’ store teeth, an’ I couldn’t have her on my hands. No, I guess I’ll go right down, an’ do my sparkin’ in good style, an’ wind up by askin’ ’Lizy if _I_ shan’t be her Valentine.

(_Exit L. Curtain falls._)

MR. BLISS’ VISION.

CHARACTERS.

MR. HIRAM BLISS, A Wealthy Bachelor.
DICK WELLINGTON, His Nephew and Prospective Heir.
MRS. MARIAN PAYNE, A Widow.
SERVANT.

SCENE I.—_MR. BLISS’ parlor. MR. B. present, pacing back and
forth._