Scene.—The Forest.
Showman (outside, calling out). Now, Mr. Punch, I want you to show yourself.
Punch (within). All right; let me put my boot on.
Showman. Your boot on—hurry up.
Enter Punch. After a few preliminary squeaks, he bows three times to the spectators—once in the centre and once at each side of the stage, and then vigorously beats the stage with his club.
Enter Scaramouch.
Scara. Hollo, Mr. Punch, what is all this noise about?
Punch. Who are you?
Scara. I want to know what you’ve done with my dog Toby.
Punch. Your dog?
Scara. Yes.
Punch. I know nothing about him.
Scara. That won’t do, Mr. Punch. You were seen going round Gretna Square with him last night, and I want that dog.
Punch. You are a cure. (beats his stick on the stage.)
Scara. You call me a cure; that won’t do, Mr. Punch.
Punch (dancing around). Yes, you are, you are.
Scara. Now, Mr. Punch, that is too bad for you to call me a cure, when here I am thought handsome, and am engaged to be married to Miss Jennie L—— early next week.
Punch. I don’t believe it.
Scara. Yes, yes, it is true, and Bella’s to be at the wedding, too; but what, Mr. Punch, have you done with my dog?
Punch. I told you that I knew nothing about him. (he knocks Scaramouch down-stairs with a blow of his club.)
Enter Dog Toby.
Toby. Bow, wow, wow!
Punch. How do, my good friend, your master, Mr. Toby? How do, Mr. Scaramouch?
Toby. Bow, wow, wow!
Punch. I’m glad to hear it. Poor Toby! What a nice, good-tempered dog it is! No wonder his master is so fond of him.
Toby (snarls). Arr! Arr!
Punch. What! Toby! you cross this morning? You got out of bed the wrong way upwards?
Toby (snarls again). Arr! Arr!
Punch. Poor Toby! (putting his hand out cautiously, and trying to coax the dog, who snaps at it) Toby, you’re one nasty, cross dog; get away with you! (strikes at him.)
Toby. Bow, wow, wow! (seizing Punch by the nose.)
Punch. Oh, dear! oh, dear! My nose! my poor nose, my beautiful nose! Get away! get away, you nasty dog—I tell your master. Oh, dear, dear! Judy! Judy!
(Punch shakes his nose, but cannot shake off the Dog, who follows him as he retreats around the stage. He continues to call, “Judy! Judy, my dear!” until the Dog quits his hold, and exit.)
Punch (solus, and rubbing his nose with both hands). Oh, my nose! my pretty little nose! You nasty, nasty brute, I will tell your master of you.
Re-enter Scaramouch.
Scara. Ah, ah! Mr. Punch, you got the worst of it. My dog got hold of your nose. Ah, ah! (Punch, mad at being made fun of, aims a blow at Scaramouch, but misses; he, quickly disappearing, pops up again, saying: “Never mind, Mr. Punch, I’ll fetch up a fine horse for you.” Punch commences to dance about in high glee. Scaramouch below stamps his feet, calling out: “Wo, ho, my Hector! this way, my Hector.” Punch continues his dance, then attempts to mount his Hector by the tail. Horse gallops away, Punch in pursuit.)
Re-enter Punch, leading his horse by the bridle over his arm. It prances about, and seems very unruly.
Punch. Wo, ho, my fine fellow! Wo, ho, Hector! Stand still, can’t you, and let me get my foot up to the stirrup.
(While Punch is trying to mount, the horse runs away round the stage, and Punch sets off after him, catches him by the tail, and so stops him. Punch then mounts by sitting on the front of the stage, and, with both his hands, lifting one of his legs over the animal’s back. At first it goes pretty steadily, but soon quickens its pace, while Punch, who does not keep his seat very well, cries: “Wo, ho, Hector! Wo, ho!” but to no purpose, for the horse sets off at full gallop, jerking Punch at every stride with great violence. Punch lays hold around the neck, but is ultimately thrown upon the platform.)
Scene.—Interior of an Hotel.
Punch. Judy! Judy, my dear! Judy, my dear, can’t you answer, my dear?
Judy (within). Well, what do you want, Mr. Punch?
Punch. Come up-stairs; I want you.
Judy. Then want must be your master—I’m busy.
Punch. Judy, my dear! Judy, my love! Pretty Judy, come up-stairs.
Enter Judy.
Judy. Well, here I am. What do you want, now I’m come?
Punch (aside). What a pretty creature! An’t she a beauty?
Judy. What do you want, I say?
Punch. A kiss; a pretty kiss! (kisses her, while she hits him a slap on the face.)
Judy. Take that, then. How do you like my kisses? Will you have another?
Punch. No; one at a time, one at a time, my sweet pretty wife! (aside) She always is so playful. Where’s the child? Fetch me the baby, Judy, my dear.
Judy. The baby? I’m afraid that she is asleep—I’ll go down and see. [Exit Judy.
Punch (solus). There’s a wife for you! What a precious, darling creature! She go to fetch our baby.
Re-enter Judy with the Baby.
Judy. Here’s the child. Pretty dear! Take the baby.
Punch (holding out his hands). Give it me—pretty little thing! How like its sweet mamma!
Judy. How awkward you are!
Punch. Give it me; I know how to nurse it as well as you do. (she gives it him) Get away! (Exit Judy. Punch, nursing the Child in his arms) What a pretty baby it is! was it sleepy then? Hush-a-by, by, by. (sings to the tune of “Rest thee, Babe”)
Poor, dear little thing! it cannot get to sleep. By, by; by, by, hush-a-by. Well, then, it shan’t. (dances the Child, and then sets it on his lap, between his knees, and sings the common nursery ditty)
(After nursing it upon his lap, Punch sticks the Child against the side of the stage, on the platform, and going himself to the opposite side, runs up to it, clapping his hands and crying, “Catchee, catchee, catchee!” He then takes it up again, and it begins to cry.)
What is the matter with it? Poor thing! it has got the stomach-ache, I dare say. (Child cries) Hush-a-by, hush-a-by! (sitting down, and rolling it on his knees) Naughty child! Judy, (calling) the child has got the stomach-ache. Judy, I say! (Child continues to cry) Keep quiet, can’t you? (hits it a spank) I won’t keep such a naughty child. Hold your tongue! (strikes the Child’s head several times against the side of the stage) There—there—there! How do you like that? I thought I’d stop your squalling. Get along with you, naughty, crying child! (throws it over the front of the stage among the spectators) He, he, he! (laughing and singing to the same tune as before)
Re-enter Judy.
Judy. Where is the baby?
Punch. Gone—gone to sleep.
Judy. What have you done with the child, I say?
Punch. Gone to sleep, I say.
Judy. What have you done with it?
Punch. What have I done with it?
Judy. Aye; done with it! I heard it crying just now. Where is it?
Punch. How should I know?
Judy. I heard you make the pretty darling cry.
Punch. I dropped it out at window.
Judy. Oh, you cruel, horrid wretch, to drop the pretty baby out at window. Oh, (cries, and wipes her eyes) you barbarous man! Oh, I’ll make you pay for this, depend upon it. [Exit in haste.
Punch. There she goes. What a piece of work about nothing! (dances about and sings, beating time with his head, as he turns round, on the front of the stage.)
Re-enter Judy with a stick; she comes in behind, and hits Punch a sounding blow on the back of the head before he is aware.
Judy. I’ll teach you to drop my child out at window.
Punch. So—o—oftly, Judy, so—o—oftly! (rubbing the back of his head with his hand) Don’t be a fool now. What you at?
Judy. What! you’ll drop my poor baby out at window again, will you? (hitting him continually on the head.)
Punch. No; I never will again. (she still hits him) Softly, I say, softly. A joke’s a joke.
Judy. Oh, you cruel brute! (hitting him again) I’ll teach you.
Punch. But me no like such teaching. What! you’re in earnest, are you?
Judy. Yes, (hit) I (hit) am. (hit.)
Punch. I’m glad of it; me no like such jokes. (she hits him again) Leave off, I say. What! you won’t, won’t you?
Judy. No, I won’t. (hits him.)
Punch. Very well, then, now come my turn to teach you. (he snatches at, and struggles with her for the stick, which he wrenches from her and strikes her with it on the head, while she runs about to different parts of the stage to get out of his way) How you like my teaching, Judy, my pretty dear? (hitting her.)
Judy. O, pray, Mr. Punch—no more!
Punch. Yes; one little more lesson. (hits her again) There, there, there! (she falls down, with her head over the platform of the stage; and as he continues to hit at her she puts up her hand to guard her head) Any more?
Judy. No, no; no more. (lifting up her head.)
Punch (knocking down her head). I thought I should soon make you quiet.
Judy (again raising her head). No.
Punch (again knocking it down, and following up his blows until she is lifeless). Now, if you’re satisfied, I am. (perceiving that she does not move) There, get up, Judy, my dear; I won’t hit you any more. None of your shamming. This is only your fun. You got the headache? Why, you only asleep. Get up, I say! Well, then, get down. (tosses the body down with the end of his stick.)
Showman (outside). Oh, Mr. Punch, what have you done? You will have a ghost after you now.
Punch. I don’t care.
Showman. You don’t care?
Punch. No; I’ve seen five ghosts.
Showman. Five ghosts! What would you say were you to see one now?
Punch. I’d knock him down.
Enter Ghost, which rises at back of the stage, stealthily advancing to the front.
Showman. Well, there is one coming now; look to your left.
Punch (looking right round the corner of the stage). Here?
Showman. No; the other way.
Punch (looks every way but the right direction; he at last sees the Ghost; he trembles, saying). Oh, dear! oh, dear! I’ve seen a ghost, ghost, ghost! [Exit Ghost.
Showman. What is the matter, Mr. Punch?
Punch. I’m sick! I’m sick! I’ve seen a ghost. (he lies down on the stage.)
Showman. Well, call the doctor.
Punch. Doctor! Doctor!
Enter the Doctor.
Doctor. Who is that calling the doctor?
Punch. It is me.
Doctor. Where are you hurt? Is it here? (touching his head.)
Punch. No; lower.
Doctor. Here? (touching his breast.)
Punch. No; lower, lower!
Doctor. Here, then? (going downwards.)
Punch. No; lower still.
Doctor. Then is your handsome leg broken?
Punch. No; higher.
(As the Doctor leans over Punch’s legs to examine them, Punch hits him in the eye.)
Doctor. Oh, my eye! my eye!
Punch. Aye, you’re right enough; it is my eye, and Betty Martin, too.
Doctor. Let me feel your pulse, Mr. Punch.
Punch (wriggling his body as he lies, says). Oh, dear! so sick! so sick!
Doctor (feeling Punch’s pulse). Why, Mr. Punch, you are all right; forty-five to the minute.
Punch. Oh, no! I’m dead! I’m killed!
Doctor. That won’t do, Mr. Punch; dead men don’t talk.
Punch (jumping up with a lively gait). Ah! that is so.
Doctor. Then, Mr. Punch, since you are not dead, pay me my fee and let me go.
Punch. Your fee?
Doctor. Yes, my fee.
Punch. How much?
Doctor. Five dollars.
Punch. Five dollars! Five dollars! Well, I’ve not got it.
Doctor. Well, then, go down and get it.
Punch. Ah! that is so! I’ll just go down and bring up the money. [Exit.
Re-enter Punch, with a stick.
Punch. Five dollars?
Doctor. Yes, and little enough, too.
Punch (hitting the Doctor on the head). One, two, three!
Doctor. Oh! golly, golly, Mr. Punch, what are you about?
Punch. Four, five, six dollars—one for good measure.
(The Doctor falls lifeless on left-hand of the stage, and is left lying to count up in the next act.)
Enter Scaramouch.
Scara. Ah, ah! Mr. Punch, I’ve found you out. That’s the way you killed my poor dog, is it?
Punch (striking him on the head). Yes; just so.
(Scaramouch falls dead beside the Doctor. Punch counts them up, “One, two.”)
Enter Irishman.
Irish. Hey day, Mr. Punch, I’m glad to see you. (he shakes hands.)
Punch. Ah, ah! Paddy, you look merry this morning. What brings you this way?
Irish. Only a little on the spree, and I’m going to tell you a little story.
Punch. Well, go ahead.
Irish. The other day, Mr. Punch, as I was going through the forest, I met little Sammy Slick. He had in his hand a pretty little likeness of his wife. He kissed it o’er and o’er. “Just like her,” says he.
Punch. Just like who?
Irish. Why, just like his wife.
Punch. Ah! just so. (he gives a dance, then listens.)
Irish. Well, on comes his wife, and says: “Did it kiss you back, my dear?” “No,” says he. “Then,” saith his wife, “how can it be like me?” (Irishman commences to dance, singing) I’m o’er young to marry yet, to marry yet, to——
Punch (hitting him a terrific blow with his stick says). So I think—you are o’er young to marry yet. (he counts the dead bodies up) One, two and three.
Enter Negress.
Negress. Oh, Mr. Punch, I’ve been looking for you.
Punch. Well, my Julia, what can I do for you?
Negress. I want you, Mr. Punch, to introduce me to the proprietor of this show.
Punch. Well, Miss Julia, I’m the proprietor. What do you wish?
Negress. What! Are you the proprietor?
Punch. Yes, I am.
Negress. Mr. Punch, I’m an opera singer, and I want to sing to the ladies and gentlemen here assembled.
Punch. You an uproar singer?
Negress. No, an opera.
Punch. Yes; I said an uproar singer.
Negress. Opera.
Punch. Yes, yes, an uproar.
Negress. Well, then, an uproar, if you will have it so.
Punch. Well, what are you going to sing?
Negress. Well, I can sing politics, sentimental, or on love.
Punch. Then let’s have it on love.
Negress (sings).
Punch (strikes her down with a blow from his stick, and says). If that is uproar singing, we will have no more of that. (he counts the bodies up) One, two, three and four.
(Punch, suspecting there to be life in some of the bodies, carries them, one at a time, to the right-hand side of the stage. After he has arranged two bodies, and is going for the third, a Clown walks up from behind and carries back one of the bodies; he also lies down as if dead. Punch, missing the body, seems nonplussed. Makes some remark, then fetches another. The Clown, unperceived by Punch, repeats his fun. Punch is dismayed. Returns to the left of the stage and asks the bodies: “Are you all dead?” and, whilst Punch is looking towards the right, the Clown, jolting up his head, says: “Yes; all dead.” Punch, touching a body, says: “Was that you?” He goes down for his club. Clown shifts one to the centre of the stage. Punch, returning, belabors it with his club, says: “Oh! it is you, is it?”—hit, hit—“You will be dead this time, I think.” Hit, hit, and places it on the right of the stage. He now discovers the Clown at his antics. Punch makes for him; stands him up against the left pillar of the stage; makes thrusts at him with the end of his club, counting, “One, two, three—e—e;” but every time the three is pronounced the Clown falls flat down, causing Punch to miss his mark. Punch says, “I’ll fix you now.” He spits against the post of the stage, and rubs the Clown against it. He counts, “One, two, three—e—e.” This time pins the Clown to the post; but the moment the end of Punch’s club is removed, the Clown darts away, giving Punch a lively knock on the back of the head—makes after to run off with some of the bodies, and betwixt the Clown and Punch the stage is soon cleared.)
END OF PART II.
The performer, when engaged at Church Fairs to give his representations before successive audiences, holds up the negro to make the following announcement: “Ladies and Gentlemen: The last act concludes the show. Our next performance will take place in the course of fifteen minutes, during which we shall have the honor of introducing the famous act of
Enter Schmidt, carrying carpet-bag.
Schmidt. I vonder vether I can find a place vere I can sleep tonight. Here is an hotel. I will just ring the bell. (he sets carpet-bag on stage and rings the bell.)
Teddy (pokes his head through the window, says). I say, you there, what are you doing ringing dat bell all this time for?
Schmidt. What, you old black nigger, come at last?
Teddy. How dare you insult? Call me no nigger. I’m de colored man from de South; and what do you want, I say?
Schmidt. Yaw! What you want with yat black face through dat window? Come right out here; I vant to talk business.
Teddy. Who are you calling black? Who rang dat bell?
Schmidt. I’ve walked von thirty-five mile this day, and I want von place to sleep down on.
Teddy. One place to sleep?
Schmidt. Yaw. Who keeps this hotel?
Teddy. My mistress, sar—Mrs. Barrisnobe.
Schmidt. Then call that old basket up.
Teddy. She is neither old nor a basket, sar.
Schmidt. Yaw! Vell, basket or no basket, call the old woman up.
Teddy. What might your name be, sir?
Schmidt. I am John Schmidt.
Teddy. I thought John Smith was dead.
Schmidt. No humbug! I am te original John Schmidt.
Teddy. Well, Mr. Smith, I want my parquisites. (goes to take carpet-bag.)
Schmidt. You can’t steal mine garpet-bags.
Teddy. Ye’s lying—under a mistake.
Schmidt. You tell me I’m lie, I vill blow your nose off. (squares himself, puts down carpet-bag, Teddy takes it up—Schmidt scuffles with him—Teddy trips him—he falls on stage with carpet-bag in his arms) Oh, mine bump! If mine vrow have seen you drip up mine heels von top tis floor, un bang mine bump, she would give you fury. I will have te constobber to take you mit te bost-office. (Teddy helps him up.)
Teddy. I hope you’re not hurt, sir. You’re mistaken; I’m the servant. (brushes him off) I beg your pardon, sir.
Schmidt (L.). You begs mine bardon. Vell, I don’t care. Der ish mine hand. I am John Schmidt, von ter firm of Schmidt, Vondunder, Kelt un Co., boot un shoes tread finters, un nunder tinks.
Teddy. I’m here, sir, waiting yer orders. What’ll ye have, Mr. John Smith?
Schmidt. I van some lager pier un spretsel—von leetle glass dat ish not as much as tri cent.
Teddy. A little glass, Mr. Smith! You have mouth enough to swallow a hogshead. [Exit Teddy, R.
Schmidt. Dat ish funny fellow. He drips up mine heels, un den he pegs mine bardon; un ven I ask him for tri cent glass lager bier, he say mine mouth is pig as hogshead mouth. Ven I vash leetle poy, as no pigger ash dot, ter gals say tat mine mouth ish burty, un mine frow say tat mine mouth ish burty, un by dinks I dinks so, too.
Enter Mrs. Barrisnobe, with bier, R.
Mrs. B. Your bier, sir.
Schmidt. Vot vilst du haben vor tat?
Mrs. B. Three cents, sir.
Schmidt. Yaw! Ter ish five cent—I will haben two cent change.
Mrs. B. Very well, sir; I will send the change.
Schmidt. Landlady, have you got von leetle bit onion tat ish notinks, un tat you will give to me mitout any charges?
Mrs. B. Well, that certainly is meanness. I’ll see sir, and send the change.
Schmidt. Landlady, I have gone to sleepen, till to-morrow morning. Vot you ask for un bed?
Mrs. B. Four dollars.
Schmidt. Four dollars! my Got un hemmel! Why, I gets un bed in Chatham Street, New York, for swelve un a half cent.
Mrs. B. You will remember, sir, you are not in New York; and if you obtain a bed here, four dollars will be the charge.
Schmidt. Landlady, I don’t mean ter bed; I only vant sometinks to lay down mit, un shut mine eyes open—sometinks dat cost not ash moch ash fifty cent.
Mrs. B. There is a room next to my own, which is not occupied, you can have for four dollars. I’ll send your change immediately.
Schmidt. Landlady—two cent change.
Mrs. B. I remember—two cents. That is the meanest man I ever saw. [Exit, R.
Schmidt. Four dollar for one ped! Tat ish enough to set up von saving bank, un many saving bank hash got not ash moch as dat.
Enter Pretty Polly with onion, R., she holds it out to him at arm’s length.
Polly. Here is your onion.
Schmidt. Tat ish nice leetle gal. I have got un boy tat ish un gal—she ish ’pout your age, if she ish older ash you.
Polly. Why, sir, I am not a little girl—I am nineteen.
Schmidt. Never mind; you are nice, good gal, un wen I goes away I will make you un present.
Polly. Make me a present, sir?—what?
Schmidt. Yaw—of a kiss.
Polly. Thank you, sir; we ask double for that.
Schmidt. Well, I won’t take some. [Goes up.
Polly. He’s a brute, and has no taste for luxuries. [Flounces out.
Schmidt (at table). Tat was a burty leetle gal, un if she hadn’t charges so moch, I would make her von present mit a kiss before I go. Tis onion ish ash strong dat if you but him on top tis table for five minutes, he jumps all round so moch ash like ter spirit-knockers.
Enter Mrs. Barrisnobe and Teddy carrying bedstead, which they fix in position by adjusting the side posts in the two holes sunk in stage.
Mrs. B. Now, Teddy, have you fixed it up nice for the gentleman?
Teddy. Yes, ma’am.
Mrs. B. Then you can go. [Exit.
Schmidt. Is this my bedroom?
Mrs. B. Yes, and you can sleep on that bed for four dollars.
Schmidt. That bed? Why, where is the bed?
Mrs. B. (looking over the head-board). Lor, that is so. Teddy, Teddy!
Enter Teddy.
Teddy. Yes, ma’am.
Mrs. B. Why, Teddy, Teddy, you never brought up the feather-bed.
Teddy (with surprise). Lor, sure, where was my head? [Exit.
Mrs. B. Teddy, have you brought the pillow?
Teddy. Yes, ma’am; all here, (he throws them into the bedstead, then laying himself down, says) Ah, ah! here, nice, soft, downy bed.
Schmidt (pushing him off). Hi, you black nigger, get off of my bed!
Mrs. B. Yes, sir, you can sleep on that bed for four dollars.
Schmidt. I told you that I did not want to buy the bed.
Mrs. B. No, I do not want to sell you the bed. I’ll let you that bed one night for four dollars.
Schmidt. No, no; me not vont to buy it, me vont it only till the morning.
Mrs. B. Yes, yes; I let you the bed till morning for four dollars.
Schmidt. Very well; me tired, cannot stay talking, walked thirty-five miles; call me in the morning. (lays himself down on bed.)
Mrs. B. At six o’clock?
Schmidt. Yaw. [Exit Mrs. B.
(Schmidt is troubled with the mosquitoes; he rises, shakes the bed, lies down again, is just boasting that when the morning comes he’ll walk out and forget to pay the four dollars, when he finds himself disturbed by the black servant.)
Teddy. I say, you, here!
Schmidt (remaining snugly ensconced in bed). Well, well; what is it you want now?
Teddy. Mrs. Barrisnobe sent me up for that four dollars.
Schmidt. What, didn’t I pay her?
Teddy. No, you did not.
Schmidt. Well, tell the old woman that I will give her the money in the morning.
Teddy. You will pay me four dollars now.
Schmidt. No, not till the morning.
Teddy. I say now.
Schmidt. No.
Teddy. Oh! no, is it? I’ll soon show you all about paying that money. (exit, and returns with a broomstick, belaboring Schmidt all over head and body, says) Pay me that money, will you?
Schmidt (springing up from the bed, says). Oh, yaw, yaw! I’ll give you the four dollars; yaw, yaw, me no stand the clubbing.
Teddy. Thank you, sar. I’ll call you at six in the morning.
Schmidt. Got away with yaw six and clubbing. [Exit.
Enter Clown.
Clown (entering, gazes at the headboard of the bed, says). Confound it! Why don’t they mark the numbers plain, so that a fellow can read them? However, I will wake the man up. (giving him a shake, says) Charley, Charley, wake up.
Schmidt (moving himself on bed restlessly). What is the matter now?
Clown. The matter? Why, we are ordered for an early morning rehearsal. Get up.
Schmidt. I want no hearse; me not dead yet. Go away.
Clown. Hearse! Funerals! No. Me and you got to get to the circus and rehearse the double somersault.
Schmidt (sitting bolt upright in bed, says). I want no summer suit; my clothes are right here.
Clown. Oh, dear, I made a mistake. I thought you was a clown, and you are an old Dutchman. Get back into your bed. A thousand pardons. [Exit.
Schmidt. Confound it! Four dollars for a bed! First that old nigger comes and gives me a clubbing, then that other white-faced monkey comes here and wants to know if I want a hearse, a summer suit, then says it’s a beefsteak.
Enter an Irishman.
Pat (enters, says). Ah, this must be the bed. You here, Mike? Mike, hurry up.
Schmidt. Hi, now, vot is all dis trouble about?
Pat. Why, Mike, hurry up; we got to catch the early morning train. We must start, you know, for Boston, and that right away. Now hurry up.
Schmidt. I want no train, no Boston. I paid four dollars for this bed, and I’ve had no sleep on it yet.
Pat. Four dollars for that bed? I don’t believe it. But, I say, do you hear, hurry up, no fooling.
Schmidt (rising up). Are you going to get out of here?
Pat. Oh, dear, I’ve made a mistake. You are an old Dutchman, and I after an Irishman. Beg pardon. Will leave you for a good night’s rest.
Schmidt. Confound them! Another beefsteak! Wonder if I shall get any sleep before morning!
Enter the Doctor.
Doctor (pushes his head in at the window, says). I believe this is Mrs. Barrisnobe’s hotel. I will enter by the front door. Ah, this must be the bed. Come, young man, are you fast asleep?
Schmidt. Me asleep? Vot sleep! Paid four dollars for that bed, and have gotten woken up all dis night long.
Doctor. A little of the deliriems-tremins, young man. You are very sick. You must take some physic. I’m the doctor.
Schmidt. Me vants no doctor, no physic; vant to get four dollars worth out of dis bed.
Doctor. But I’m the doctor. I want five dollars.
Schmidt. You get right out of here and I’ll give you ten dollars in the morning if you will physic that old nigger down-stairs.
Doctor (retreats, saying). I see I made a mistake; gone to the wrong bed. [Exit.
Schmidt. Another beefsteak. I vonder if any more of ’em is coming up. Four dollars for dis bed!
Enter Young Lady with a long nose.
Adelina (shows herself at the window, says). I think my Willie must be here. I will enter. (she approaches the bed) Willie, Willie.
Schmidt. Vot matter now? I no Willie.
Adelina. Willie, what did you run away from me for?
Schmidt. Oh, vot a nose!
Adelina. My nose, sir, is as good as yours, and more, for you have none at all.
Schmidt. Oh, vot a nose. (he tries to touch the end of it.)
Adelina (gets excited, says). My nose is handsomer than yours. But, Willie, Willie, what did you run away for?
Schmidt. Vot, me run away from you? I vood not run away from a little girl so high. (he measures the height with his two hands.)
Adelina. You promised to marry me, then you run away from me in Philadelphia.
Schmidt. Vot! Me marry you viv that ’ere nose?
Adelina (very passionately). Nose or no nose, I’ll not marry you at all now. You are one nasty, bad man; took me to Philadelphia, promised to marry me, then ran away. Bad man, bad man. I come right here and found you out. [Exit.
Enter Captain Blowhard, L., with candle, which is suddenly put out as he enters.
Capt. B. I need no light to punish a scoundrel. (comes up, and strikes bed with whip—Schmidt jumps up) So, sir, I’ve found you—you rascally kidnapper!
Schmidt. You are mistaken. I am somebody else.
Capt. B. I know you are Mr. Brown, and that’s sufficient.
Schmidt. I am not Brown, I am te original John Schmidt.
Capt. B. Brown or Smith, did you not decoy Adelina from her father’s arms?
Schmidt. Nein.
Capt. B. Did you not run away with my child?
Schmidt. Nein, I never run away nobody.
Capt. B. Did you not swindle me of a hundred dollars?
Schmidt. Nein.
Capt. B. Are you not a liar?
Schmidt. Nein. I never lie but in my bed.
Capt. B. Is not your name Brown?
Schmidt. I dell you I am de original John Schmidt.
Capt. B. I’ll make you confess you are a liar, a swindler, a villain, and that your name is Brown.
Schmidt. Mine Got in Himmel! vot a peoples!
Capt. B. Now, sir, (beats him) are you not a rascal?
Schmidt. Nein. (Captain beats him) Yaw! yaw!
Capt. B. Are you not a swindler? (beats him.)
Schmidt. Nein. I am no swindler. (Captain beats him.)
Capt. B. You are not? (beats him.)
Schmidt. Mine Got in Himmel, yaw, I am a swindler.
Capt. B. So much, so good.
Schmidt. So much, blarney bad.
Capt. B. Are you not a liar and a villain?
Schmidt. Nein. (Captain beats him) Yaw, yaw, I am a Dutch villain, John Schmidt.
Capt. B. No, sir, your name is Brown. Are you not Brown?
Schmidt. Nein. (Captain beats him) Yaw, yaw, I am black and blue.
Capt. B. I am satisfied for the present, but I shall send another injured party to you. So good-night, and pleasant dreams, Mr. Brown. [Exit.
Schmidt (sitting up in bed, crying). Oh! oh! oh! Boo! oo—oo—oo! I shall die, I shall be killed in dis house. Oh, my poor frow! She will never see her husband, John Schmidt, not any no more. What will become of me!
Teddy (without, L.). I’ll find him, Captain.
Schmidt. Te Old Harry, dere is un under one! He sha’n’t find John Schmidt. (jumps out of bed, finds carpet-bag, goes up to window) Here is von window; now I will jump out. (carpet-bag drops out of his hand. Crash without) Dere goes mine carpet-bag; now I will jump out. (dog barks) Now I will not jump out. I will go—I know what I will do. I will fool them this time. (he crawls beneath the bed) I’m right snug here now, they no find me out.
Enter Policeman.
Officer. This is the hotel. I wonder if I can find the man that robbed that bank. I’ll just search round. Nobody in that bed; wonder if he is hid beneath the mattress. (pokes at it with his club) Sometimes they conceal themselves beneath the bed itself. I’ll just look. (he looks beneath) Oh, here you are, caught at last. (beats him out of his concealment with his club) Did you not rob the Manhattan Bank?
Schmidt. No—I robbed nothing.
Officer. Did you not run away with the Squire’s daughter?
Schmidt. No, I ran off with nothin’.
Officer. Did you not rob the National Bank?
Schmidt. No, I done nothin’.
Officer. Nothing, aye. Ah, what do you call nothing? (he sets to and gives him a vigorous clubbing) You didn’t rob the bank—aye, aye.
Schmidt. Yaw, yaw; hold off, I say. I did rob the bank. Yaw, yaw.
Officer (getting a clearer view of his man, says). Oh, lor, you are not the man now, after all. The man that I am after has an Irish pug nose, and you are an old Dutchman. Get back into your bed. I made a mistake.
Schmidt. Yaw, another beefsteak. Vonder when they’ll stop coming and let von fellow get von little sleep.
Enter Ghost, who opens and closes his ghostly teeth..
Schmidt. Oh, vot is o’stealing o’er me? I tremble, I shake. Oh, that clubbing! (he sees the Ghost; he trembles) Oh, oh! Four dollars for a bed in a haunted house. [Exit Ghost.
Enter Lawyer.
Schmidt. Now that horrid ghost is gone, vill try and get some sleep.
Lawyer. Mr. Timothy Slobberchops.
Schmidt. Vot now—von you another ghost?
Lawyer. No, sir, I be no ghost; I’m a lawyer.
Schmidt. I vant no lawyer.
Lawyer. Give me my retainer.
Schmidt. Retainer? Vot do yer call that?
Lawyer. Money. Hand me fifty dollars.
Schmidt (with surprise). Vant fifty dollars? Vot for?
Lawyer. Did you not send for me to get a divorce from your wife?
Schmidt (lies down on his bed). Diworce from my vife? I got no wife. I want no retainer; I vant four dollars out of this bed.
Lawyer. I see they have been fooling me. That man hasn’t a cent of money. I’ll make tracks. [Exit.
Schmidt[1] (now sits up in bed and sings his little song).