The Mimic Stage / A Series of Dramas, Comedies, Burlesques, and Farces for Public Exhibitions and Private Theatricals

Lucy. I see her again! She’s ironing now; and she irons and sings, irons and sings. (Imitates.)

Mrs. L. Just like me—just like me!

Lucy. And now she sweeps (imitates), and now scrubs (imitates), singing all the while. Hark! what is it she sings?

Mrs. L. (Singing.)

Lucy. Yes, yes! That’s it! But now it changes. I see her again: she appears feeble and weak, and complains. Oh, how she complains! (Imitates.)—“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I’m so weak—I’m so weak! My camphor, aunt Midget! Fan me, my child!”

Mrs. L. Oh, dear! that’s me.

Lucy. (Gesticulating, as though shaking somebody.) What is this that now urges me to seize this woman and shake her?

Aunt M. Angelina, that gal’s going to fight somebody. Don’t yer come a-near me.

Lucy. (Slowly approaching Mrs. L.) All this woman needs is exercise, and I must give her exercise. (Imitating shaking.)

Aunt M. (Jumping into chair.) Massy sakes! this is a raving lunatic.

Mrs. L. (Starts up.) Come, come, young woman, this is quite enough.

Alice. You musn’t touch my mother.

Aunt M. That gal’s a Shaker; I know she is.

Lucy. (Still approaching her.) To shake this woman—to shake this woman!

Mrs. L. This woman declines being shaken. I’ll do all the shaking myself. (Seizes Lucy and shakes her.) What do you mean by such conduct? Who are you? (Shakes her again, which shakes off her “front” and hat.) Lucy Aiken! Why, what does this mean?

Lucy. That I have turned physician, owing to the extraordinary inducements held out in an advertisement entitled “No Cure, no Pay.”

Mrs. L. What?

Alice. Yes, mother, I thought it a pity to waste money in advertising when we had three such good female physicians in the neighborhood.

Enter Jenny Carter and Susan Dean, L., disguised as before.

Here are the other two.

Mrs. L. And pray, who are they? (Jenny and Susan throw off their bonnets.)

Jenny. A disciple of the lionian school!

Mrs. L. Jenny Carter!

Susan. And a student of the grassalogical treatment.

Mrs. L. Susan Dean! Well, I am amazed.

Aunt M. (Getting down from chair.) If that gal’s got through her tantrums, I’d like to get down!

Mrs. L. But there was another—a deaf old lady.

Alice. (Imitating.) Hay?

Mrs. L. Why, Alice! have you been concerned in this too? Do you know it was very wrong to deceive your mother in this way?

Alice. Perhaps it was, mother; but I think you are better for the very singular treatment you have met with.

Aunt M. Law, child, what are you thinking of? You have been standing nearly five minutes.

Mrs. L. And I propose to stand five minutes more, for the purpose of thanking these young ladies for the very excellent manner in which they have treated my complaint. Ah, Lucy, that little touch of the old life you gave me has awakened my slumbering energies. I think I shall be able to go about and do a portion of that duty which is given the rich to perform—succor the needy and relieve the distressed. In such employment I need fear no return of my complaint. But how can I reward you?

Alice. Remember your promise; five hundred dollars—

Lucy. Which we gladly renounce, looking for reward in the approval of our friends here.

Mrs. L. But will they grant it? If, like me, in your practice they have found a cure for idle complainings, they certainly will; if not, you must all remember the conditions—No Cure, No Pay.

DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS AT END:

L. Susan, Jenny, Lucy, Mrs. Languish, Alice, Aunt Midget. R.

HUMORS OF THE STRIKE. A FARCE.
FOR MALE CHARACTERS ONLY.

CHARACTERS.

COSTUMES, MODERN.

Scene.—President’s Room. Chair, L. Table, C.

Enter Knockdown, L. Whipstock, R.

Knock. Whipstock, my boy, how goes the strike?

Whip. As well as could be expected. It’s evident we shall have to give in. Old Greenbax is still determined not to pay the advance asked for.

Knock. Won’t he? We’ll see about that. The strike has continued but eight days, and they have used up all means in their power to get conductors and drivers. I saw the seven o’clock car standing before the station, waiting for somebody to put it through. We have taken good care nobody shall be found; and I rather think this predicament will bring our worthy president to terms. There’s nothing like a little pluck, my boy.

Whip. Oh, yes; it’s all very well for you to talk, who have a chance at the pickings; but as for me, I’m pretty well played out; and if old Greenbax don’t come down soon, I shall, with a rush.

Knock. Nonsense! Never say die, my boy.

Whip. I don’t mean to; but if this thing continues much longer, Mrs. Whipstock will say it for me, emphasized with a broomstick. Halloo! here’s old Greenbax. Now for a breeze.

Enter Greenbax, R.

Green. (As he enters.) Trumps! Trumps! I say, where can that fellow be? Trumps! (Sees Knockdown and Whipstock.) Halloo! what are you doing here? Ready to go to work, hey!

Knock. Yes, sir, ready to go to work—at the advance prices.

Green. Hum! (To Whipstock.) And are you ready to drive?

Whip. Certainly—at the advance prices.

Green. (C.) Hum! Will you both serve us faithfully?

Whip and Knock. (Advancing eagerly on each side of him, and speaking quickly.) Oh, yes, sir; yes, indeed!

Green. At the advance prices? I’ll see you farther, first, and then I won’t. No, sir; we pay you too much now. Clear out, both of you. I don’t want you around here. Quit! Exit! Vamose!

Whip. Did you ever! The old curmudgeon! Exit R.

Knock. No, I never! The skinflint! Exit, R.

Green. (Seating himself at desk.) Here’s a pretty condition for the Broadaxe Horse Railroad to find itself placed in. A parcel of whipsnappers dictating to Horatio Greenbax, president of the corporation. Strike away, you scoundrels! You’ll find those who have the longest pockets can strike the hardest and stick the closest. (Enter Trumps, R.) Well, Trumps, what’s up now?

Trumps. We are, I should say. Here’s the seven o’clock car waiting for both driver and conductor, and none to be had.

Green. Then get new ones.

Trumps. It’s very well to say get new ones; but where to get them, is the question. Our discharged men have induced everybody in the neighborhood to refuse.

Green. They have, have they? (Voices heard outside shouting, “Halloo!” “Conductor!” “Time’s up!” “Halloo!” “Hurry up!” “Hurry up!”)

Trumps. There, you hear that; the passengers are impatient.

Green. Well, well; drive it yourself.

Trumps. I can’t do that; somebody must look after the company’s property. (Voices heard again impatiently shouting.)

Enter Hartshorn, L.

Harts. Mr. Pwesident, what is the meaning of this wow, and wiot, and wumpus? ’Pon my word, this is decidedly wulgaw; we shall be disgwaced with such an outwageous disturbance in fwont of our door—we shall, indeed.

Green. The fact is, Mr. Hartshorn, the company finds itself destitute of both drivers and conductors, in consequence of the strike.

Harts. Stwike! what a wevolution! You alawm me—you do, indeed.

Green. Well, don’t get frightened; you won’t be struck.

Harts. What’s to be done?

Green. Don’t know; unless you volunteer to drive that car down.

Harts. I volunteaw to dwive a paiw of vulgaw howses down Bwoadway, and one of these filthy caws too! I nevaw! The effluviaw fwom those cadavewous cweatures is howible! ’pon my word, howible! (Voices again.) There’s the wow again!

Enter Hardhead, R.

Hard. Where’s the president of this confounded road?

Green. I believe I have the honor to be its presiding officer.

Hard. Hey?

Green. I am he.

Hard. Hey? Speak louder; what are you mumbling about?

Green. (Very loud.) I am the presiding officer.

Hard. Coffee, sir? I didn’t say any thing about coffee. I’ve had my breakfast, and, if it hadn’t been for that infernal car, should have been down town before this.

Green. This old gent is a little hard of hearing.

Trumps. It hasn’t affected his vocal organs, anyhow.

Harts. Yaas; he’s got an impediment in his eaw.

Hard. What do you all stand there growling for? Why don’t you answer me?

Green. I am the person you want.

Hard. Hey?

Green. (Very loud.) I—am—the—President. (Lower.) Confound your picture!

Hard. Oh, you are; then you ought to be ashamed of yourself. What’s that car waiting for?

Green. Somebody to drive.

Hard. Hey?

Green. (Very loud and angrily.) Want somebody to drive.

Hard. Somebody’s wife? What business have you to keep a car waiting for somebody’s wife? I don’t ask you to wait for my wife—do I? Where’s your conductor?

Green. He’s on a strike.

Hard. Hey?

Green. (Very loud and excitedly, and flourishing his arms.) I tell you he’s indulging in a strike.

Hard. (Raising his cane.) Oh, that’s your little game, is it? You want to indulge in a strike! Well, indulge, then. Come on, you scoundrel; I’ll strike!

Green. No, no! (Dodging behind Hartshorn.) I don’t mean any thing of that kind. Keep off!

Harts. Good gwacious! what a tewible monstaw!

Hard. (To Hartshorn,)—Oh, you’ll have it—will you, Whiskers? You want a crusher—do you?

Harts. No, no; I don’t want a cwusher! (Dodges behind Greenbax.) I won’t have a cwusher!

Trumps. (Stepping before Hardhead, and speaking very loud.) Beg pardon, sir; but you misunderstand. Our drivers have struck for higher wages.

Hard. Oh, that’s it. Why didn’t he say so? (To Greenbax.) Well, what are you going to do about it? I must go down town at once.

Green. (Loud.) If you will be patient a few minutes, we will try to accommodate you.

Hard. Look here, Mr. —— (to Trumps), what is that individual’s name?

Trumps. Greenbax.

Hard. Look here, Mr. Beeswax; if you don’t hurry up that car, I’ll have you arrested as a swindler. (Voices outside again.)

Trumps. Come, Mr. Greenbax, something must be done at once.

Green. What can I do?

Trumps. Hire the men at the new prices.

Green. Never! I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t, if no cars run to-day.

Trumps. Very well, sir; I have done all I can do. (Exit.)

Hard. Are we going down to-day or not?

Green. I wish you was down where you belong, with all my heart. (Louder.) Very warm to-day, sir.

Hard. Hey?

Green. It’s very warm to-day.

Hard. Pay? I’ll pay you if you don’t start that car soon. (Goes up to table and sits.)

Green. O, pshaw! it’s no use talking to him. Well, Hartshorn, what’s to be done?

Harts. ’Pon my word, I don’t know. S’pose you dwive down yourself.

Green. Me? When I do, just inform me—will you? (Noise again outside.) Halloo! Who’s this?

Enter Finnegan, R.

Fin. Is the prisidint widin, I dunno?

Green. Well, I do. He is; and I am he.

Fin. Yer are—are yez? O, yer spalpeen! and it’s there ye are, thaif!

Green. Come, come; be a little more respectful.

Fin. Respictful, is it? By my sowl, and ain’t you the sarvant of the public? and ain’t I the public, bedad? What do yer mean by kaping me standing outside there squatting in a car, and waiting to be took to the arms of Biddy and the childers, afther I’ve fit, bled, and died for ould Ireland up in Can-a-dy, shure I’d like to know?

Hart. Good gwacious! what a fewocious foweigner!

Fin. And who the deuce are you, onyhow? You chatter like a monkey, and you look like a baboon! By my sowl, I believe you’re Barnum’s What Is It!

Green. Come, come; this won’t do.

Fin. Won’t it? and who’s to hinder, I’d like to know? Faith, do ye mind who I am? I’m a full-blooded Fenian; ready to sthrike for ould Ireland; and if that car don’t start soon, I’ll strike you, ye blackguard. (Flourishing his shillalah.)

Green. Come, come; be quiet. (Dodging behind Hartshorn.) Pacify him, Hartshorn.

Harts. Pacify him? Good gwacious! here’s another stwiker! Don’t flouwish that club in that mannaw. Gweenbax will talk to you. (Dodges behind Greenbax.)

Green. Put up that stick. You shall have a conveyance in five minutes.

Fin. Conveyance, is it? I want no conveyance. I want a car, and that quick.

Hard. (Starting up and shouting.) Is that car going or not?

Fin. Faith, here’s another belated gint. (To Greenbax.) Don’t yer hear the gintleman?

Green. Confound the gintleman, and the car too. Was ever a president in such a fix? Here’s another! Well, come on all at once.

(Enter Dan, R.)

Dan. Say! where’s the president of this here road? Say!

Hard. Is that car going?

Fin. Fetch on your conveyance, ould chap.

Green. One at a time, if you please. (To Dan.) I am the president. What do you want?

Dan. Well, say, old cove, what do yer mean by keepin’ folks waitin’ in this style, say?

Fin. Faith, ould gint, if yer don’t spake up, there’ll be “say” enough to dhrown ye.

Green. There’s a little delay on account of the strike.

Fin. Sthrike, is it? A sthrike, bedad! I’m on hand like a picked-up dinner. I sthruck a blow for ould Ireland in Can-a-dy, and then I sthruck for home; and, bedad, I’ll sthrike for any thing at all, at all.

Dan. I say, Pat, hush yer jaw; we’ll jest clean out this institution.

Fin. Faith, that we will. It’s a dirthy place onyhow.

Hart. Good gwacious! there’s going to be more stwiking!

Dan. Look here, Smellin’ Bottle! (Seizes Hartshorn by the collar, and brings him to the centre.)

Hart. Good gwacious! Welease my coat! You awe too polite—you awe indeed!

Dan. Am I? Jest look a here, Smellin’ Bottle! and you too, prez—look sharp! fur I’m a goin’ to talk to yer like a first-class sermon! I drives fur old Swizel, I does; and I kills fur Swizel too; and I’m goin down town in that car in five minutes! You understand?

Hard. (Shouting.) Is that car going, or is that car not going?

Dan. Say, old gent, you jest subside.

Hard. Hey?

Fin. Faith, the ould gint’s as dafe as a haddock. (Goes up to table and talks to Hardhead in dumb show.)

Dan. Now, prez, I want yer to understand I’m a goin’ down town; and I want a driver and a conductor.

Green. But I tell you there is a strike.

Dan. Yes; and there’ll be another very soon. Here, Smellin’ Bottle, I guess you can drive pretty well.

Harts. Good gwacious! Me? O, nevaw. I should be exhausted at once! I should indeed!

Dan. Then we’ll exhaust you. Come, heave ahead, and take the ribbons.

Harts. But, good gwacious! considaw; I should soil my dwess; I should indeed!

Dan. Well, we’ll fix that. Here, Pat.

Fin. (Coming down.) Here yer are, my darlint.

Dan. Bring some old clo’s in here from that next room—the dirtiest yer can find.

Harts. Good gwacious!

Fin. Faith, that I will. (Exit, R.)

Green. I protest against this proceeding. You are trespassing upon the premises of the Broadaxe Railroad.

Dan. Oh, simmer down, now; your turn will come soon.

(Enter Finnegan, R., with a couple of dirty old overcoats and a couple of shocking bad hats.)

Fin. Here you are.

Dan. Now, Smellin’ Bottle, jump into this. (Holding up the dirtiest overcoat.)

Harts. Good gwacious! what a howible coat! No, nevaw; twy the pwesident. (Dodges behind Greenbax.)

Dan. All right. (Seizes Greenbax.) Prez, jump in.

Green. No; I will submit to no such outrage. I am the president of this corporation.

Fin. Thin we’ll invist you wid this robe of office.

(Dan and Finnegan seize Greenbax, and thrust him into the coat.)

Green. Oh, you shall suffer for this!

Fin. We do, my darlint; now for your crown. (Claps hat on his head.) Ivery inch a king!

Dan. Now, then, for Smellin’ Bottle. (Seizes Hartshorn.)

Harts. Good gwacious! I’m innocent; I am indeed! I’m only a poor diwector.

Fin. Thin come here directly. (Seizes him, puts on coat and hat, he all the time protesting.)

Green. Oh, if there is any law, you shall suffer for this!

Hard. Is that car going?

Dan. Directly. We’ve procured a driver and conductor, and now we’re off. Come, Pat, lead off with the prez—I mean driver.

Fin. Faith, that I will.

Dan. And I’ll take Smellin’ Bottle. (They take Greenbax and Hartshorn by the arm, who struggle and protest.)

Green. (To Hardhead, who comes down.) This is an outrage. I call upon you to protect me.

Hard. Hey?

Harts. Yes, yes; pwotect me, pwotect me!

Hard. Hey?

Fin. Bedad! that ould gint is like a horse; he’s full of hay!

Dan. Now we’ll be down town in a jiffy. Come on.

Enter Trumps, R.

Trumps. What’s the meaning of this?

Dan. We’ve procured a conductor and a driver for the seven o’clock car.

Trumps. We don’t want them.

Dan. Yes; but we do.

Trumps. No; for the conductor and driver have come to terms; and if you’ll jump aboard, we’ll be off in a jiffy.

Green. Strike over?

Trumps. Entirely.

Harts. Good gwacious! that’s lucky!

Dan. You can bless your lucky stars, prez.

Green. I do; and if ever there’s another strike on this road, I’ll resign at once.

Fin. (To Hardhead.) Strike’s over!

Hard. Hey?

Fin. (Loud.) The strike’s over.

Hard. Anybody knocked down?

Dan. The conductors will attend to that part of the business.

Trumps. Come, gentlemen, jump on; can’t wait any longer.

Green. Jump on, gentlemen; the strike has concluded to our satisfaction; let us hope it has to the satisfaction of all who have taken this little trip with us on the Broadaxe Horse Railroad.

DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS.

R. Trumps, Finnegan, Greenbax, Hartshorn, Dan, Hardhead, L.

BREAD ON THE WATERS.
A DRAMA IN TWO ACTS.

CHARACTERS.

COSTUMES.

Dr. Harlem. Act 1, Black suit, white cravat, long white hair. Act 2, Dressing-gown, &c.

Harry. Act 1, Lad of eighteen. Roundabout jacket, rolling collar, &c. Act 2 (disguised), Gray wig and beard, sailor’s blue shirt, white trousers.

Fred. Act 1, Lad of eighteen. Roundabout jacket, rolling collar, &c. Act 2, Stylish modern costume.

Bob. Act 1 (Very fat), Costume same as Harry and Fred. Act 2 (genteel figure), Very fashionable.

Butts. Act 1, Blue coat, brass buttons, short pants, iron-gray wig, shabby hat. Act 2, same as in Act 1.

Mrs. Loring. Act 1, Old lady’s suit. Act 2, Same as in Act 1, with the addition of cap and spectacles.

Dilly (aged 13). Act 1, Short dress, curls, &c. Act 2, Young lady’s modern dress.

Lucy (aged 16). Act 1, Dress neat and pretty. Act 2, Young lady’s modern dress.

Act 1.

Scene.—Parlor in the house of Dr. Harlem. Table, L., with chair R. of it; arm-chair, L. C.; small table with chair, R.; Lucy, R., sewing; Mrs. Loring seated in arm-chair, reading.

Mrs. L. Lucy, my child, how very quiet you are!

Lucy. Indeed, Aunt Loring, I cannot help it. You know to-day is the very last of the term. School closed; all the pupils gone except Fred Hastings and Bob Winders, and they leave us to-day: the thought of the quiet humdrum life we are to lead for the next two months makes me feel very sad.

Mrs. L. The change will be a relief to all of us. Think of your father: he needs the rest which the close of the term will bring.

Lucy. I do think of him; and for his sake I am glad. But still we lose many friends in the young gentlemen who have left us. I’m sure we shall miss them.

Mrs. L. Especially your particular friend, Fred Hastings; hey, Lucy?

Lucy. Oh! of course. You know he is very agreeable, Aunt Loring, and has been very kind to us.

Mrs. L. He is no favorite of mine. He has been very agreeable, especially to you; while to your brother Harry he has been altogether too kind.

Lucy. Why, Aunt Loring! Harry thinks there never was such a friend.

Mrs. L. Harry is young; he has seen little of the world: and the gay, dashing style of Fred Hastings has won his admiration. But Master Fred Hastings has already led him into mischief. Their pranks in the village have reached my ears, and, I fear, those of your father. Fred Hastings is not a fit companion for our Harry; and it will be a relief to me when he quits this place never to return.

Lucy. Don’t talk so, Aunt Loring. You are mistaken in him.

Mrs. L. I hope I am. But, during the ten years I have been housekeeper for your father, I have seen a great many young men, and learned to read their characters; and I say that Master Fred Hasting has too much money, too much assurance, and too much love for what is called sport, ever to make a good man.

Lucy. I do hope you are mistaken. I’m sure you must be.

Mrs. L. Well, well, child, we shall see.

Butts. (Outside, C.) Don’t tell me. How do you know? None of your lying. I’ll find out for myself. (Enter Butts, C.) How do you do, marm? Hope you’re well, Miss Lucy. Where’s the doctor?

Mrs. L. He’s out, Mr. Butts. What is the matter?

Butts. Matter! What should be the matter, when a set of jackanapes are allowed to roam through the village, pillaging, burning, and insulting? I won’t have it: the law shall be respected.

Mrs. L. Burning and pillaging! Why, Mr. Butts, have any of our young gentlemen been engaged in such disreputable proceedings?

Butts. Worse than that, marm. Worse than that. I’m disgusted with seminaries. If I could have my way, there shouldn’t be any thing like a school in the land.

Mrs. L. Then I’m very glad you do not have your way. What is the cause of complaint now?

Butts. The majesty of the law has been outraged; and I, as the representative of the law, have been insulted. Those rascals of yours have been at their pranks. Going to my office this morning, I found a crowd of the rag, tag, and bobtail of the village gathered about it, hooting and yelling at some object in the window. Madam, imagine my indignation when I found that object to be a stuffed figure wrapped in my dressing-gown, with a foolscap on its head, and labelled “Jonathan Wild Butts, Thief-taker,”—seated in my arm-chair too, at the open window. Think of that, marm!—an outrage, a diabolical outrage, upon justice!

Mrs L. Who could have done it?

Butts. You ask that, marm?—you who have lived for ten years in this den of iniquity, this nursery of roguery, this incubating machine of vice? Who did it?—why, Dr. Harlem’s pupils, of course.

Lucy. Why, Mr. Butts! They’re all gone except Fred Hastings and Bob Winders.

Butts. Except—Add your brother Harry, and you have the ringleaders in every assault upon the peace and quiet of the place. I know them. I’ve winked at many of their misdeeds; but, when they assault justice, I tell you Jonathan Wild Butts has his eye on ’em. I say, respect the law, respect the law.

Mrs. L. I assure you, Mr. Butts, I have a great respect for the law and its officers. Take a seat. The doctor will soon return.

Butts. No, I thank you, marm. I’ll call again. It’s my duty to keep an eye on rogues; and I flatter myself I know my duty. Let the wicked tremble; for justice is on their track. (About to exit, C., runs against Dilly, who enters, C.)

Dilly. Dear me, Mr. Butts. Don’t knock a body down.

Butts. (Taking her by the ear, and bringing her down stage.) Ah, ha, you little baggage! I’ve got you at last.

Dilly. Don’t, Mr. Butts: you hurt. I ain’t done nothing.

Butts. Look me in the eye.

Dilly. Which one, Mr. Butts?

Butts. Silence!

Dilly. Well, you needn’t holler so: I ain’t deaf.

Butts. Silence! You took my horse and chaise yesterday while I was in Mr. Bates’s house, drove through the town like mad; and, when I found them, they were locked up in the pound, the horse in a perspiration, and the chaise nearly stove to pieces. What have you to say to that?

Dilly. Let my ear alone. I won’t tell you a word until you do.

Butts. Speak out, quick! What did you take my chaise for?

Dilly. La, Mr. Butts! I didn’t mean to hurt it. You posted a notice on the church-door, warning people to beware of leaving horses in the street over twenty minutes; for, if they did, their horses should be put in the pound, and their owners fined.

Butts. What’s that got to do with my horse?

Dilly. Respect the law, Mr. Butts. I saw your horse stand at Mr. Bates’s door over half an hour; and you know what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander: and so I drove him to the pound. Ain’t you much obliged?

Butts. Much obliged, you young jackanapes? If ever I find you meddling with my horse again, I’ll have you locked up in a pound where you won’t get out in a hurry.

Dilly. La, Mr. Butts, don’t get angry! What’s the use of making laws, if you break them yourself.

Butts. Oh, bother! Precious little you know about law. Good-morning, Mrs. Loring; good-morning, Miss Lucy (going, C.).

Dilly. Good-morning, Mr. Butts: going to have a ride?

Butts. Oh, bother!

Dilly. I say, Mr. Butts—

Butts. Well, what now?

Dilly. Respect the law.

Butts. Oh, pshaw! (Runs off, C.)

Dilly. Ha, ha, ha! What a queer old customer!

Lucy. Why, Dilly!

Mrs. L. Dilly, child, you mustn’t talk so.

Dilly. That’s what Harry calls him.

Mrs. L. That’s no reason why you should speak so. Mr. Butts is a very worthy man, and tries to do his duty.

Dilly. He’s a constable, and I do hate constables: they’re always round poking their noses into every thing, and spoiling all the fun.

Mrs. L. It is his duty, child, to look after mischief-makers.

Dilly. But he makes such a fuss about it, and he always manages to catch the wrong ones.

Lucy. He didn’t catch the wrong one to-day. Why, Dilly, how could you do such a thing?

Dilly. Pooh! It is easy enough if you only know how to drive.

Mrs. L. That poor horse!

Dilly. Well, it’s Mr. Butts’s fault that he is poor. He ought to feed him: I’m sure he’s rich enough! Harry says he’s an old—

Mrs. L. Stop, child! never mind what Harry says.

Dilly. But I do mind what Harry says. Harry’s my father and mother and brother all in one. I’m sure I shouldn’t know what to do without Harry.

Mrs. L. You have great cause to love him, for to Harry you owe all you have.

Dilly. Yes: he found me a little bit of a girl in the streets, and brought me home. Don’t I love him for it, though? He calls me such queer names! Don’t you think, auntie, this morning, he called me “Little Bread upon the Waters.” What a queer name! I’m sure I don’t know what it means.

Mrs. L. I’ll tell you, Dilly. Nine years ago, the night before you were brought here, Dr. Harlem, Harry, and myself were sitting in this very room. The doctor, as usual, was reading from the Scriptures before retiring for the night. During the reading, this sentence attracted Harry’s attention, “Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days.” Harry looked up with his bright eyes. “That’s a queer sentence, father,” said he. “Ah, my boy!” said the doctor, “there’s many sentences in this book to puzzle young heads like yours, and many to puzzle older ones than mine. ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters’ means, do all the good you can in this world, never looking for reward; for it will always come, sooner or later. Do a good deed, be it to benefit rich or poor, high or low; for your reward will surely come.” The next morning, Harry drove his father to the village at a very early hour, as the doctor was going a journey, and wanted to catch a train. On his return, he saw a little bundle of rags by the way-side. He alighted, and was surprised to find a little girl four or five years old, almost dead,—a poor little sick, suffering thing, evidently left to die by some inhuman mother.

Dilly. That was me, wasn’t it, auntie?

Mrs. L. That was you. Harry looked at you, and was about to turn away, when he remembered the lesson of the previous night. “Father says, ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters,’” said he; “so this little one shall go home with me.” The doctor was very much surprised on his return, and very much inclined to send you to the poorhouse; but Harry begged so hard to keep you, that he relented, and here you have been ever since.

Dilly. That’s why Harry called me, “Bread upon the Waters.” I wonder if such a little crumb as I am can ever repay him.

Mrs. L. No doubt, Dilly.

Dilly. Perhaps I shall turn out to be some rich heiress, that some cruel uncle wanted to get out of the way. If I do, won’t I make Harry rich!

Mrs. L. There’s not much chance of that. No clew could be found to your parentage.

Dilly. And I hope there never will be. I don’t want to leave Harry and you, auntie, and Lucy, and the dear good doctor. If I’m a nobody, I mean to be happy; and, if ever I can do any thing for Harry to repay him for—for—for— (Bursts into tears.)

Mrs. L. There, there, Dilly, don’t cry. We all love you dearly; and, while you live, there is a warm home for you in Greenlake. Come with me. I’ve got a new canary in my room. (Exit, R.)

Dilly. A canary? Oh, my! ain’t that splendid? (Exit, R.)

Lucy. Harry in danger! I do not believe it. Fred Hastings is a dear, delightful fellow, and I am sure would lead nobody into danger.

Bob. (Without, C.) O Lord! O murder! oh, bring somebody here quick! (Enter, C., dragging a trap, in which his foot is caught.)

Lucy. Why, Bob, what have you been doing?

Bob. Practising your favorite song, “I’ve been roaming, I’ve been roaming;” and this is the consequence.

Lucy. Ah! too many sharps in that tune for you.

Bob. Altogether. I don’t like the measure. Won’t you be kind enough to release me?

Lucy. Certainly. (Releases his foot.)

Bob. Thank you. Ah, Lucy, if I only had you to release me from all the traps I get into!

Lucy. Oh, pshaw! you should keep out of them. Now, I’ll warrant you’ve been in somebody’s melon-patch.

Bob. Lucy, you wrong me. But it’s just my luck. I never shall be understood. I’m born to be unappreciated in this world. I haven’t been in any melon-patch at all. I climbed Farmer Butts’s wall to gather a bouquet for you, when I stuck my foot in it. It’s just my luck. I never tried to gather a rose but what I stuck my hands full of thorns.

Lucy. Ah, Bob, you went too near Farmer Butts’s melon-patch.

Bob. Well, now you mention it, I did take a look at them there bouncers, and they seemed to say, “Come and take us melons;” but this trap said, “Can’t elope,” and fastened its cruel teeth in my tender ankles. Just my luck.

Lucy. O Bob! I’m ashamed of you.

Bob. Now, don’t, Lucy! I’m an unfortunate chap. I was born to be unlucky. I tell you, you should have had the most beautiful melon,—I mean bouquet,—if it hadn’t been for this trap. Just my luck! Here I’ve been sent to this school by my fond but mistaken parent to be fitted for the bar or the pulpit. Fit subject I am for either. The only bar I hanker for is a horizontal bar. I’d like to be a gymnast, join a circus, or something of that kind; but there, you see, I’m too fat. It’s just my luck. If I go out with the boys on a frolic, I’m sure to get caught. If I race on the water, my weight either capsizes the boat, or leaves me a mile behind. I tell you, Lucy, I’m born to ill luck.

Lucy. Oh, no, Bob! Have more confidence in yourself.

Bob. Confidence! Well, I like that. Confidence in what? I’m always at the foot of the class, always the last one up in the morning, and always the last in every thing. Oh, dear! I wonder what will become of me. If it wasn’t for Harry, I should drown myself. No, I couldn’t do that. I’m too fat: I couldn’t sink. Just my luck.

Harry. (Outside, C.) Halloo! halloo! house! house! house!

Fred. (Outside, C.) Fish! fish! fish!

Lucy. There’s Fred and Harry.

Dilly. (Runs in, R.) Oh, here’s Harry! Harry, here we are. (Enter Fred and Harry, C., with poles and fish-baskets.)

Harry. Halloo, Dilly! such a mess of trout for dinner!

Fred. Such capital sport! Halloo, Bob! where have you been? We are looking for you!

Bob. Oh, I’ve been fishing too.

Harry. No! Have you? What luck?

Bob. Oh! I caught some.

Lucy. Yes: brought them home in a trap too.

Harry. Oh, ho!

Fred. Ha, ha!

Harry. Been in that melon-patch again?

Fred. O you rascal!

Harry. You promised to wait till dark.

Bob. Sh—Confound it!

Fred. Selfish chap! Wanted them all for himself.

Bob. Oh, bother! I was only reconnoitering.

Harry. And got snatched by the sharpshooters.

Bob. Sharpshooters! you may well say that. Such sharp, shooting pains as I’ve had in my ankles!

Harry. Served you right.

Bob. Just my luck!

Harry. Never go into anybody’s melon-patch without your friends.

Fred. No, sir! Greedy boys always get punished.

Dilly. O Harry! what splendid trout! what bouncers!

Harry. Well, you bounce into the kitchen with them, quick; we must have them for dinner.

Dilly. That I will. (Singing.)