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SOOPROOODESR
MART TOASTS &

FOR tHE ; Be
: “SMART SETS
RAR A RAIA

(VEST-POCKET SIZE.)

i THs book of toasts has all
the other books beaten to
a standstill. It is essentially
UP TO DATE. . Cover design
is in two colors, red ind black,
printed on good cadet-gray
cover paper, making an at-
tractive combination.

The reading matter is print-
ed on a coated. wood-cut pa-
per, and the book is sewn so
as to open easily. It is made
up of 64 pages, and contains
Toasts on nearly every con-
ceivable subject.

The ‘Toasts are indexed, so
that one can readily find any
particular toast wanted with-
out having to wade through a
mass of matter,

The following are some of
the Toasts.in the } ook: 7

Drinking, Firemen, Masonic,
Love, Miscellareous, Political,
Patrioti¢. Naval and Military, —
Sentimental, Sporting, Tem- i
perance, and Woman. :

Order through your local

' newsdealer, In ordering eall
for Ivers’ ‘* Smart ‘Toasts.””

(See side of page for cover
illustration in black.)

Pee fel
BY MAIL, POSTPAID, 12 CENTS PER COPY.
1c. and 2c. Stamps Taken.

 

Nn

 

\

 

Address M. J. IVERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street, New Yor
THE DIME

DIALOGUES No.38.

AN ALL ORIGINAL COLLECTION OF

DIALOGUES, COLLOQUIES,

MINOR DRAMAS AND DRESS PIECES.

HUMOROUS, SERIOUS, LAUGHABLE
AND SENTIMENTAL,

FOR ALL GRADES OF SCHOOLS,
FOR EXHIBITIONS AND ENTERTAINMENTS, .
FOR THE LYCEUM AND CLUB, :
FOR THE AMATEUR DRAMATIC STAGE,

AMERICAN DIME NOVEL EXCHANGE
2 EAST 23rd ST., NEW YORK CITY

PREPARED EXPRESSLY FOR THIS SERIES,

——ooo—_———

M. J. IVERS & CO., PUBLISHERS,
(J. AMES SULLIVAN, | PROPRIETOR),

879 PHaRL STREET, New York,

 
 

 

intered according to Act, of Congress. in the year 1890, by
BYADLE AND ADAMS,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

 

peepee

 
     
     
        
    
 
  
    
 
 
  
  
   
 
   
  
   
 
 
   
       
   

CONTENTS.

1 PAGE

A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY; or, How tae “Scnama”
DWRORKED 0 cco vecnvics tcc stvevetacesteeves rey ECR eet ae ners 9

A Comedy of aa al ok Deception. For the Parlor, Exhibition
or Amateur Stage. For five males and four females, By. Mrs. Metta
Victoria Victor, ; .

IL
AUNT DEBORAH IN THE CITY........ eee cecccccsesccevecensccccs OB
A Midnight Interlude. For two females, By M. Estes.

Ti.
A CHINAMAN IN CAMP............ Give be koit'diieweiewe seevcccecccscceee Bl

A Wild West Escapade. For three males. By H. N. Wakeman,

TV.
PLAYING HOSTESS; or, THAT TERRIBLE CHILD .........c.seeeeee0 95

A Look Behind the Home Scenes, For two ladies and a little girl,
By Mrs. M, A, Lee.

|
;
\

Vv.
SLIGHTLY HILARIOUS; or, Too Mucu for RAcKETTS....... tages (00 ‘a
A Rather Lively Office Affair, For four males. Py Frank S. Finn, aa

WHAT HAPPENED TO HANNAH; or, Tau “Bosttna” Cure. .. 43

An Old Humestead Verification. For two males and one female,
By L. St. John,

 

; VIL.
I THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS.............cceeeeee8 5 AS ze

_ A Dress and Character Drama. For a Girls’ School. By the author Si
.of “fhe King Discrowned”’ (Dime Dialogues No. 36), and “The
Fairies’ Prisoner ’’ (Dime Dialogues No, 37),

vii.
PLATO PENDEXTER’S ASHES; or, Tustrva ‘Sryzisn” Stn
ee OBR o rag tas aia cae o0is dey meee saw om hha 8 ven nap GORE eB ee NN wpe eemepeiee

A Decidedly Effective Case of Learning the Truth. For four
females and two males, By Frank 8. Finn.
 

cx. PAGE

THE SPIRIT OF DISCONTENT............ Le cenees¥esee eeeceecceees

An En-Series and En-Character Rebellion. In Verse. For nine
little boys. By Frank Snelling.

x.
THE GOOD STRIKERS. .....0. .cosseccccceccccecseccccses Sar
A Juvenile Home Missionary’s Appeal. For six little girls. By
Flossie Dana, .
XI.

THE MISSING ESSAY; or, Envy, Hatrep AnD ALL UNCHARITABLE-
NESS UNMASKED, ©. 5... ccccccsccees Eagepccse akosieasi a mbagenss Soke

A School and Par'or Drama. In two scenes, For a number of
girls and teacher. By Miss E, M. Thatcher.

XII.

THE WELL TAUGHT LESSON; or, Take Onty THAT Wack 1s
ISIN Sio'n cise oes av isin alg atinlnnd $'Viv.400's paloa © 0 ores owe e nes” pepa Dake taee

A Little Club Episode with a Big Moral. For several boys. By
Marion Estes.
XI.

EPHRAIM BLACK’S POLITICS; or, Gettina His NAME IN THE
PAPMRG Sore rises tat cncdinscsssccetabgeado ved 07ense0 enegeee eoee

An Expose of Modern Political Methods and Morals, For several
males ma one female. By Mrs. M. L, Lee.

XIV.

THE STR KE THAT FAILED............0ccccecscccscccccocvseccces

A Very Happy Illustration of Cause and Effect. Wer three boys.
By L. St. John,

 

64

66

69

v3)

 

 

 

 
     
    
   
  
     
     

THE DIME

DIALOGUES No.38.

 

 

A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY;

OR,
HOW THE ‘“SCHAME” WORKED.

IN FOUR SCENES,

Characters:—BrttE Dr LANy, GRACE Der Lany, sisters ;
AUNT PRUDENCE, spinster ; Praay, lady’s maid ; KuGENE
Firzerpsons, RupoueH Sr. Ciarr, StR Harry O’MAL-
Lory; Mr. De Lany, the father ; Popxtnys, butler.

Scene I.—A drawing-room of country villa. De LAny, AUNT
PRUDENCE, BELLE, GRACE. The first two in street costume ;
the girls in morning dress.

Bette. Papa, are you in earnest?
Dr Lany. In dead, earnest, as they will find, to their cost,
- if they come here again. j

Grace. Oh, papa, how can you be so cruel?

AuNT PRUDENCE. It’s the kind cf cruelty, Grace, which is
real kindness. A pretty future you have laid out for your- = |
selves!—girls brought up in luxury, as you have been—to
marry, one a poor clerk, the other a poor artist.

Dre L. Paint-pots and tape-measures! Girls, never let me
hear another word of this; and mind, if either of them seek to
enter this house again, Podkins has orders to kick them down
the steps. (Knock. Enter Popxrys, with letter on salver. DE
Lany receives tt, and opening, runs eye over tt.) By Jove!
girls, here’s a letter from your mother’s cousin, Sir Harry
O’Mallory, of Castle Cork, Ireland. He is coming to see us;
actually arrived in New York yesterday. Well, I shall goto —
his hotel to-day, and bring him out with me this evening.
There would be a match for one of you girls worth making!
Sir Harry is a bachelor—rich, jolly—one of the first families |
of Ireland. He has an income of twenty thousand pounds a
year! Think of that! Besensible, girls; set your cap, one of.
you, for him, and forget your late folly. _ (Girls ery.)

Aunt P. Don’t cry, girls! There are far nicer men in‘the
vorld besides these two lackadaisical lovers of yours, For

 
       
 

 

    
 
      
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 
     
 

   
   

 
 

 

 

10 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

»y part I think they are only after my brother’s money—mere
fortune-hunters.

De L. Sir Harry says, further, that he has brought with
him a young friend, Lord Frederick Sprowls, of England, a
young gentleman of the best character—also a bachelor, and
rich, whom the titled misses of London society have failed to
eapusre, and who comes to America to see its society and

eauty.

Aunt P. There, girls, one apiece! It seems as if Provi-
dence had a hand init. Oh, isn’t it fortunate?

De L. Five minutes to train time, Prudence! Good-by for
the day, my daughters! Tell cook to get up a state dinner.
Good-by, my pets! No answer? Sulky? By Jove! what a
task it is to bring up a pair of motherless girls, (Dr L. and
Pop. go out. The girls remove their handkerchiefs from before

- their eyes, and look at each other.) :

B. What shall we do? Never speak to them again? I
think I see myself! ~

G. I hate this cousin, Sir Harry, with his twenty thousand
pounds a year! I detest these English lords, with their
abominable airs! I wouldn’t give one of Rudolph’s little fin-
gers for both of them! So now!

B. It’s awfully cruel! I wonder if papa really did tell
Podkins—I'll ask him. (Opens side-door and calls ‘‘ Podkins |”
Enter Popxtns.). Did papa give you orders to kick Mr. St.
Clair, and Mr. Fitzgibbons down the steps if they came here?

Pop. Yes, miss; he said I was to be wery pertickelar to
kick ’em soundly!

G. But, you wouldn’t do it, Podkins?

Pop. Master’s horders is law and gospel to me, miss.

B. But, in this case, you see it would be an outrage, and
we should never forgive you, Podkins. Now, these young
gentlemen are coming here this very morning, and we want
De to admit them quietly, and say nuthing to papa, or Aunt

rudence. Will you, Podkins? ;

G. Will you, Podkins? (Appealingly.)

Pop. I dunno. If. master finds it out, I'll lose my sitewa-
tion ’as I’ve ’ad so long.

G._ Well, if you don’t obey us you'll lose your situation,
and Peggy in the bargain. Aha! (Hnter Praay with some
flowers for piano.) Won't he Peggy?

Preey. What, ma’am?

G. Lose you if he makes us lose owr lovers.

Praey. hat he will! Podkins, if you don’t do whatever
my missuses wants you to, J’ll find another place. How do
you like that? et

B. There they are, now! Podkins, do your duty to us,
and all will be well for you. (PopKuNs goes out side-door
¥ dances out the other.) : :

 

 

  
 

 

  

 
 

A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY,

(Enter Eqennt and Rupotrw. They shake hands with the
girls.)

B. Have you heard the news?

Evcrene. News? No.

G. We've had a scene with papa.

Rupoirex. About us?

G. Yes; how did you guess it?

R. I know of bis settled antipathy to us. We are too poor
to suit a man of money.

And, to make it worse, we heard this morning that a
second cousin of ours, Sir Harry O’Mallory, a wealthy Irish
gentleman, has come to pay us a visit, and brings with him a
certain Lord Frederic Sprouls, you know.

’ E. Sprouls? Oh, ye gods, you know! Sprouls rhymes
with jowls, blaist if it don’t!

G. And we are to favor them—bait our lines and get them
to bite, you sce. Delicate business, isn’t it? There’s Aunt
Prue, the most prim, particular, modest woman that ever
lived, deliberately telling us to fish for rich husbands!

E. Oh, that’s the money of it. Character is nowhere!

B. And [ had to bribe Podkins to keep hini from following
papa’s orders and kicking you down the steps. F

R. Podkins ought to have tried it. There could have been
more fun than a circus—ha-ha!

(Knock, Enter Popxins, with card on salver.)

G. Belle, our cousin, Sir Harry! Isn’t it too bad! We
didn’t expect him until papa should bring him home to-night
I wish he was in Ballahack, where he belongs.

(Enter Str Harry O’Maunory, as she makes the last remarl: )

Str Harry. Och, now, me purtby, an’ isn’t it the shame
o’ the wurrld to give yer own blood relation the could shoul:
ther like that? Wish me back in Ballahack, when I’ve braved _
storms and say-sickness—bad ’cess to that latther say I!—just
to set me eyes on my two pretty American cousins! By the
bones of St. Patrick, I wish that same mesilf thiu. But, it’s
a cruel thing for ye to say, me jewil. Take it back, won't ye,
now? and rel’ave me disthress?. 1’d as l’ave be in Ballahack
as anywhere if this is the way I am tr‘ated,

B. (Taking his hands.) Forgive me, Cousin Harry.
Ididn’t seriously mean it, We've been put out of temper
this morning. I’m Grace, and this is Belle. We're awfully
glad to see you, only papa provoked us.

B. (Shakes hands with him.) If you only knew, Cousin
Harry, you wouldn’t blame us. Cousin Harry, allow me to
present Mr. Fitzgibbons and Mr. St. Clair. Take a seat. I’m
very sorry papa has gone to town. He expected to meet you
there, and bring you home with him to-night, Aunt Prue has
gone with him. eae nates
Sir H. Ab! Isee. When the cat’s away the mice will

gah oat

 

  
 
 

12 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

play. And you were a bit annoyed, me jewels? because I
came in whin ye wur betther imployed? Iregrit it mesilf—
} extram’ly! But, it’s never too late to mend; Ill take mesilf
3 off, at once. (Ztises to go.)
| B. anpD G. No, no, Cousin Harry!

B. You must not go! Papa would never forgive us. In-
deed, indeed, we are very glad to see you. We have often
talked about your coming over. But, you see—(aside)—Grace,
I like our cousin already, any I’ve half a mind to tell him the
whole story.

Sir H. Och, I hear it now, me own swate cousin. Till it
to me like a man, and if there’s anything Harry O’Mallory
can do for ye, he'll be as proud as aking. ‘Out wid it, me
purthy!

B. 1 want to, but I’m half askamed. (Coyly.)

Str H. Here! Put this handkerchief over your face.

Now, if ye’r’ abashed no one will be the wiser. “Out wid it
i, now, me cousin! Ah! ye want me to coax, do ye, ye little
i rascal? Faith, if I’d the iloquence o’ the famous Piper o’
Hamelin, I'd draw the wurrds along those rosy lips like he
drew the rats into the river. ]’m all attintion. Come, sp’ake
3s out, like the swate, modest little girl ye are! What is it, me
ii. darlint?

B. (Pulling handkerchief from face.) We like these two
young gee and they like us.

Sir H. Faith, wid half an eye anybody could see that.
} Poor taste they’d have if they didn’t!
ys B. But, papa is angry about it, and has forbidden them the
E — just because they are yet poor, and their fortunes all to
make,

Srr H. So they stay away in his absence, eh?

R. Ifa fellow loves a girl he doesn’t give her up so easily.
I'd come if I had to squeeze through the keyhole, or knock a
peliceman down if he guarded the door,

E. So would I. We won’t be thwarted. :

Sm H. Foine fellows, both av ye! I admire yer spirit.
Whoop! hurray! There’s a bit o’ pluck left in this bargain-
ing age, afther all. B’yes, ’m wid ye! Shake! (Zhe three
shake hands.)

G. Belle, tell our Cousin Harry all. I’m sure he will be
our best friend in our trouble!

B. Iwill. Cousin Harry, what do you think?

Str H. That you’re the pride av Ameriky, me honey.

B. What do you think papa said when he received your
fetter this morning? ¢

Sir H. That there was that rude, roistering, murthering
Trish cousin of his coming to. bore him wid bis onwelcome
visit! Och, that takes the consait outo’.mel
Be: g of the kind. He had informed

 

   
  
 
    
 
 
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
 
  

   
   
   

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MET AREA

nD

 

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a

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A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY.

had given orders to have our lovers kicked out of doors, and
so got us crying, and then your letter came, and says he:
‘‘Girls, here’s a chance worth trying for. Your Cousin Harry
has an income of twenty thousand pounds a year. One of
you must set your cap for him—the other for bis friend, Lord
Frederick.” TZhat’s why we said we wished you were in
Ballahack, Cousin Harry!

Str H. Listen to that, now! Me Cousin De Lany is a
man ov sinse, after ali! Me darlints, couldn’t I persuade one
of yees to do that very thing? Which of yees, now, will set
your cap fur mesilf that is? Botheration! I suppose if 1
said al] 1 feel, one of these gintlemen would be for fighting me
wid pistols at once. Js it too late2—

“ Of all sad words of tongue or pin,
The saddest are these—it moight ’ave bin!”

Well, well! Goon! I feel that I have had a great disap-
pointment befall me! But, Vll bear it like a man, rickless av
consequinces, What next?
G. That’s it, Cousin Harry! What next? :
R. Isuppose we're to go away and leave the field clear to
you and Sir Frederick. a
E. Yes, certainly! Oh, yes! we'll go!
B. Can’t you suggest something, Cousin Harry? If you
knew how unhappy we all are, you’d try, I’m sure, to help

us.

Str H. Thrue fer ye, honey lips! Hould sthill a bit! .
(Jumps up and walks about. Slaps his thigh.) Vve got it!
I’ve got it, me jewils! Thrust your cousin, Harry O’Mallory,
fur getthing the divil out of a hole—no, I m’ane puttin’ him
into one! Now, listen to me schame! It shames that of a
siven sthory sarial in the sinsation papers. (Zakeschair.) . All
draw up yer chairs in a circle, for they say that walls have
ears, especially when there’s a— ?

G. A Peggy and. a Podkins! (They draw close together,
and whisper afew minutes, during which the girls giggle and the
lovers laugh. Finally all rise.) :

EK. Capital! Sir Harry, you’re a trump!
of Splendid! O’Mallory you're the joker that rakes the
board.

 

 
    
 

 

       

  

me. But, purthies, I peek be afther going, fur if I were here
I t i

G. How could you think of it, cousin?

B. It will be awful fun!

Sm H. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, me lassies.
And, now, I begin to feel happy about me coming over.
Id remained in Ireland, during this crisis, as like as not me
Cousin De Lany would have compelled one of yees to marry

 

uldn’t be prisent at his first mating

the joke..
a

 

 

14 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

’B. Staytoluncheon. Papa will not return untilthe 5 Pp. Mm.

gir Peggy shall bring it in here. I'll ring and give the
order.

Smr H. Just as you say, me darlint. 1 never rebel against
aitin’, drinkin’, or a purty girl. Do you play, Gracie? Sit
down and give me something, will ye that'll be like grace
before aitin’,

G. Vil play your accompaniment. Sing usa real Irish
song, Cousin Harry, please! I know youcan. All Irishmen
sing.

Sr H. <A song isit? Bad ’cess to me if I don’t. Here ye
have it, me cronies! (Sings rollicking Irish song. PEacy
comes in with luncheon on tray ; places it on table and Pon-
KINS follows with bottle of champagne. All seat themselves at
table, and PopKIns uncorks champagne.)

Sir H. (Leaning back, toPracy.) Peggy, my girl, can you
tell me why Podkins, there, is like mesilf gazin’ at these two
swate young ladies, here?

Procay. Indeed, I can’t—unless it’s because he’s in love,
sir, and can’t make a pep without a corkscrew. (All laugh.)

Srr H. Because he’s the man of Cork, ye see, what shows
his regard for his friends by putting the divil in their heads.
Here’s to yer very good health, ladies and gintlemin, and to
the success of our schame! May the grass grow under the fut
ov the spalpeen who attimpts to circumvent us! (Zhey all clap
hands in applause and lift glasses as curtain falls.)

 

Scenn II.—TZhe same. Praay dusting the furniture. Pop-
xins standing by the door, watching her.

Pra. Go long about yer business, Podkins, Have you got
the silver all in order? Master ll be madder’n a grenadier if
things don’t go off stylish. ’Tain’t every day we have a sir
an’ a lord to dinner.

Pop. I’opes not. I've ’most trotted my legs off. Do you
know, Sir ’Arry he says to me, as he goes out this morning,
says he: ‘‘ Podkins, I’ll’ave to bring my servant along,”
says he. ‘‘ He’s my confidential body-servant, ’ says he, ‘‘an’
I can’t dispense with his services. So you must ’ave a shake.
down fur ‘im in the room forninst mine,” says he. "Them waa
his werry words. Gr’ate doings, Peggy! ’Ow I do detest
’aving a strange serwant in the ’ouse, a-putting on of airs and
a turning of heverythink topsy-turvy!

Pre. Perhaps you do, Poddy; but J don’t—not a man-
servant! Who knows but what we may take a fancy to each

     

- other an’ make a match? Who can tell what Sir Harry’ll not

do for me if I should ask him for his help?

 

 

 
   

A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY, 15

       
    
   
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
 
   
   
      

_ Pop. Peggy, you're the orfel‘est flirt that ever was. After
you’ve promised me to—

Pra. But | hadn’t any other chance then, you see.

Pop. You lead me a dog’s life, Peggy. I’m ’alf sick now,
an’ 1 expects nothink but Ill pour the hot soup over some-
buddy, with my mind in such a state of hexcitement an’
hanxiety. : 7

Pra. You'd better not. Clear out, Poddy! Here comes
all of em into the drawin’-room, to ‘‘’wait the arrival of their
guests,” as they say. Oh, the humbugs they be, to be sure!

(Enter Atnt PRUE and the two girls, in evening dress.)

Aunt P. Now, girls, for once 1 wish you would be less
giddy, and think seriously of your chances. If one of you
can secure Lord Frederick, and the other Sir Harry, my
fondest ambition for you will have been realized.

G. Why, Aunt Prue, you have not seen either of these
gentlemen yet! You may not fancy them at all—in fact, you
may dislike them.

Aunt P. Their titles and their rent-rolls are guarantee of
their gentlemanly qualities. Promise me, girls, that you will
do your best—display all your accomplishments—direct all
your efforts to secure these two eligible matches,

B. Well, Aunt Prue, I know bow much we owe to you,
and I promise you solemnly that if I can tear Eugene from
my heart and love, and can win my Lord Frederick Sprouls, I
will do it.

Aunt P. Belle, you have a good heart, after all. You
don’t know how happy this promise makes me.

And, auntie, 1 too agree that if Sir Harry can be won
to take such a fancy to me as to offer me his hand and purse,
I will accept the one and not reject the other.

Aunt P. My darlings! After all, my bringing up has not
been thrown away upon you. (Hnéter DE Lany.) Brother,
the girls have promised all that we desire.

DreL. You relieve my mind of a great weight, children.
Now I can receive these distinguished guests cheerfully. _
Proud of my daughters, I can see them display their graces om
before those who are fitted to appreciate them. (Knock.
Enter Popxins, with cards) Ah, here are our guests! Show

_ them in at once.

(Enter Str Harry, LorD FREDERICK, and servant, who stands
behind Str Harry. Presentations take place all around.

’ The girls receive Str Harry as if they had not met him
in the morning. Word FREDERICK 73 soon seated on a
sofa with BELLE.)

Sir H. You must excuse me servant, Cousin De Lany.
_ It’s an idiosyncrasy of mine, d’ye see, to always have him
about with me. He's yery useful and respectful, an’ very

taper ital

 

  
 
16 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

wise in the bargain, I assure you. Can’t get on without
him.

DeL. (Aside.) A queer custom, I mustsay! (Alowd.) Ah,
Harry, I suppose you are so accustomed to the constant atten-
tions of a valet, that you cannot dispense with him?

Str H. You’ve hit it, cousin. Miles is invaluable to me.
Miles, what did I do with those checks for our luggage?

Mines. (Behind his master’s chair.) In me purse, Sir
Harry. (Pokes him in the back, and says in a loud whisper}
Put a little more brogue on your tongue, man, or you'll
niver pass for an Irishman—bad ’cess to ye! (Winks at young
ladies.)

B. How do you like America, Lord Frederick? This is
your first adventure here, I presume?

Lorp FREDERICK. Fir t adventure. Yas-yas! I see!
America is a chawining place—chawming! At least what I
have seen of it, you know. Cawn’t wish for anything nicer,
you know.

B. I’m so glad my Cousin Harry brought you with him.
It was a happy thought.

Lorp F, Aw, now, you flattah me, Miss De Lany! It is
I who am glad, you know—dooced glad, ’pon honah!

Aunt P. (As¢de.) What under the sun 7s Grace gigging
about? Her face is as red as fire! A pretty way to behave
before the nobility!’ If I was over there I'd pinch her! So
inconsiderate! I’m astonished}

Srr H. (Going over by Grace, followed by Mruus.) Cousin
Grace, I’m delighted to see such a pretty relative—indade I
a Ye b’ate our Irish beauties altogether. Och, indade, ye

o!

M. (Punching him in the back. In aloud whisper.) Ye'r’
makin’ a failure of it, ye spalpeen! That ‘‘Och ” came out like
a Dutchman’s whistle. Ye sbould say:—‘‘ Ye b’ate the wurrld,
me jewil. Och / It’s I am blind intirely wid the light o’ them
two eyes ye borrowed out o’ the skies.’ Bedad can’t ye bet-
ther it, me boy?

Sir H. Miles, me boy, go out, and see after the lug-

gage.

M. NotifI know it, Sir Harry! L’ave your side 11] not
in this emergency, bedad)

DEL. (Aside to Aunt P.) A very queer servant, I must
say. If he were mine I would discharge him.

(Others converse in pantomime.)

Aunt P. (Aside.) I think so, too, brother. His impu-
dence is equal to his imbecility. I wonder that Sir Harry al-
lows it; but, we must forgive everything to twenty thousand
pounds a year. (Girls laugh.) What 7s the matter with those
girlst Dear. me, what a world of trouble this is—all selfish-
ness and time-serving, and indifference to best interests, and

 

   

 
 
    
  

 
   
 
 

  

 

A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY. 17

silly girls that laugh at everything. I hope Lord Frederick is
struck with Belle.

Sm H. Me dear cousin, what a foine family me Cousin
De Lany has! I didn’t dr’ame of it, be me sowl | didn’t.

M. (Astde.) That’s better, my man. If you go on im-
proving that fast, yell make love as well as mesilf could do
it. Throw a little more sphirit into it, my man. Sphake loud
and lively like a jolly irish ginthleman!

Srx H. Cousin Grace, I’m a bachelor, you know. I’d’a’
been married once—only—only—

M. (Aside.) Goon,my man. What! have youniver kissed
the Blarney-stone, that ye can’t turn an illigant compliment to
a purthy girl? What the divil d’ye till her of pasé love affairs,
instead of making her bel’ave she is the furst iver worth set-
ting eyes on? Go on, ye blunderin’ son of a gun, an’ say:
‘‘Only you wer’n’t in Ireland to have me.”

— H. But now, I am glad I did not commit that mis-
take.

M. (Nodding behind his back.) T’achable, isn’t he? He'll
improve in toime!

Lorp F. You must excuse Sir Harry, Miss De Lany, for
having that fellah with him. Sir Harry's so attached to him,
you knaw. Cawn’t do without him, ye see!

B. Oh, we'll forgive anything in our cousin! Papa, Lord
pence wants to know if there are aay buffalo around

ere.

DeL. Buffalo?

Lorp F. Yaas, aw—to hunt, you know. I think Ishould
like the spowrt immensely. One of my chums was over last
year, you knaw, and bagged twenty at one shot. Immense
fun, you knaw!

De L. Oh, I see! He went out to Buffalo and bagged
twenty woodcock at a shot. (Hnter Popxins and announces
dinner.) Dinner is onthe table, gentlemen. Will you walk
out? (Offers his arm to his sister, leaving Sir Harry to
bring Grace and LorRD FREDERICK to bring BELLE. They
pass out, arm-in-arm. Muiuns puts his hands on his master’s
shoulder, and whispers in his ear, until they reach the door,
and then falls back, and remains in the drawing-room.)

M. (Cutting a pigeon-wing.) Whoop! Hurray! The
schame is working like acharrum! I thought 1 would sphlit
me sides t6 see. the blazin’ welcome the poor b’yes got! Hal
there’s nothing takes in this holy wurrld but just pretince.
(Praay puts head in deor.) Is there, Peggy, my darlint?

Pre. Is there what? (Comes in.)

M. Anything loike the fun of being left in the drawin’-
room, to flirt wid you, me girl, the while our betters is’ateing
their dinners!

Pea. Well, I don’t know, I’m sure.

   

 
 
 

18 ‘THE DIME DIALOGUES.

M. We’re total strangers, Peggy.
Pra. La, it didn’t take you totell me that/ Tell me some-
_thin’ I don’t know, if ye please.
M. But, we nade not remain so, me jewel. Friendship’s
quick work, but true love is quicker.
Pra. It’s safe fur you that Podkins is kept in the dining-
i room,
i} M. Why, now, my pretty?
= Pra. He’s so foud of me.
Fi M. Belike! Who isn’t that sees you?
i Pre. He has a jealous disposition.
i _ M.. Oh, Peggy, then while I remiain in this house I'll tor.
ai mint him, bedad!
H Pra. I think I must be going, Mr. Miles. (Gotng.)
Ri M. Come back a minute, Peg! Dont thr’ate a stranger
like that. I’m lonesome widout anybody.
i Pra. (Returning.) Id be sorry to be uncivil. I
M. Of course you would! Barrin’ your swate self, who bs
‘| have I got to keep me company, an’ lin afurrin land? Peg,
i can you spell?
A Pree. What’sthatto you? —
M. If ye can spell ye car write, an’ when I go away, ye’ll
| be afther writing me a bit love-letter, to console me—won't
4 ye do that same, mavourneen? ;
a Pre. Well, of all the conceit of him! But my name isn’t
i Mavourneen—it’s jist Peggy.”

M. Avcoorse it is! An’a swate name, be gob! Can ye
sing, Fea

Pra. Yes, like a tree-toad,

M. A tree-toad? Phwat kind ava bird is that? A swate

~singer ll be bound. Sing for me, won’t ye, now? I’m lone-
some in a strange land, an’ nade incouragement.

Pra. Well, what shall I sing? Will this do? But I can’t
widout an accompany ;—I’m a fine lady now.

M. Be me powers ye arethat! I'll help ye. (Sits down at
piano.) Out widit, me girl, strong as an eagle's scraach. It’s %
mesilf will throw in a few straggling notes. Now! -(PEaay 12
‘sings ‘* Kathleen Mavourneen.”) There, now, that’s something
loike. I'd be pl’azed to see the foine ladies beat that. You be ;

} having a voice like a nightingale, Peggy dear. é

Pra. I know it. But, turn about is fair play. Give mea .
song, if ye can keep your tongue in order long enough to at-
tend to business.

M. Attend to businiss, is it? Be jabers I’ll do that same,
(Tries to kiss her, but she repels him)” Arrah! phwat a vixen
yeare. But, I’! complimint ye all the same.

. seas (Sings rollicking Irish song.)
_ Pe. Many thanks to you. Your voice reminds me of

tawumpus Creek, — stg pacha
M Wh it flows on #0

 

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19

   

A WILD 1RISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY.

   
       
      
 
    
  
    
  
    
   
  
 
   
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
  
 
    
         
   
   
   

Pre. Bekase, there’s a frog in it!—a half a dozen frogs!

M. Peg, you're a darlint! I dote on wit.

Pra. Bekase you know s0 little about it.

M. I am sorry for Podkins. I hav’n’t the heart to tormint

him now ;—he’ll lead a divil’s dance when he’s tied to you.

Pra. You say so, do you? Well, it’s myself I consider.

Better with Podkins in the frying-pan, than wid you in the

fire! There, take that, will you?

M. (Laughing.) Och, hone! ye ain’t angry wid me? (Ske
goes.) Come back now, an’ I’ll tell you a story—a rale, lona-

de, thrue story; I heard it mesilf. There, sit down; 1’ll tell
it till ye. (Zells story, Peaay laughs with her apron over her
ds face.) There, now, what d’ye think of that?

i Pra. It’s just hilarious. Oh, Lorcy, what fun it is, and
poor Podkins a-taking the plates an’ passing the wine, as
serious as a preacher at afuneral, But, I say, Miles, can you
dance a jig?

M. Thry me! You must help me out wid it, honey.
(They dance. Others, from dinner, enter room and look aston-
ished.) Whoop! That’s you, Peggy. Foot it now like a—
Oh, Lord, save us!

Pree! Oh! (Rushes out of room.)

Dr L, Must say, cousin, that valet of yours is a verita-
ble wild Irishman—a stunner.

Lorp F, Dwedful creatuah!

G. I don’t understand it. ;

Aunt P. Miles, go to the dining-room! Podkins will take a
you out to the servants’ dinner. a

M. Allright! I'll go directly. That Peggy of yours is a
very enthertaining girl. (Aside to Str Harry.) Master, hold
on till J return; you'll not get along widout me. (Kisses his
hand to Aunt Pron. who starts back in horror.) (Heat.)

Lorp F. That’s an abominable attendant of yours, Sir
Harry. Allow me to suggest that you ought to get rid of him.
He shocks the ladies, you know.

Sir H. Can’t get along without him, sor. He’s cnvalu-
able when I have the gout, an’ his honesty—

G. Gout! Oh, cousin, do you have the gout?!

M. (Zhrusting his head back in the door.) There! faix,
didn’t I say you’d lit the cat out o’ the bag? What’ll the
pretty girl say to that? (Vanishes.):

Miss P. (Astde.) Oh, even the gout is endurable with
twenty thousand pounds a year. (Aloud.) He deserves to be
treated to a good lecture for such assurance, Sir Harry.

$m H. Tr'ated, is it? Arrah, the scoundrel! he tr’ates
himsilf ivery time me back is turned. But, all the same, I

can't do widout him, ,

Dre lL, Now for the smoking-room, gentlemen, while the

z me ies discuss the relative merits of hat, bonnet and turban. —

aa

Pee

ee

  

 

 
  

   

20 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Scent III.—Zhe same. Present: Aunt PRupENCE, LorpD
FREDERICK SPROULS.

Lorp F. May lI sit here on the sofa with you, dear Miss
De Lany?

Aunt P. (Laughs.) He-he-he! If you think it’s proper,
Lord Frederick,

Lorp F. Pwoper? Why not? I’ve got to be very fond
of you, you knaw.

Aunt P. Of me? Oh, dear! How embarrassed Iam! I
never thought to—to be placed in such a position.

Lorp F. (Sidling nearer, and attempting to take her hand.
BELLE and GRACE appear at open door, and stand there,
where their aunt cannot see them.) 1 have long wished—that
is, for the last three days! (I have been heah but foah, you
knaw), to engage—

Aunt P. (Starting.) Engage? Lord Frederick!

Lorp F. To engage you in my cause. You have seemed
to favor me—to look, aw, with a kind eye, you knaw, upon
my attachment!

Aunt P. (Aside.) Good Lord! has it come to this at last?
That I amreally to have an offer, after waiting forty years in
vain? And froma genuinelord, too! (Aloud.) Wha—wha—
what was it you were about to say, my dear Frederick?
(Reaches out her hand and takes his.)

Lorp F. That I have dweamed that you favoh my suit.
Miss De Lany, tell me that I am not mistaken!

Aunt P. (Zenderly.) But, you are so young, dear Fred-
erick!

Lorp F. That isa fault that will mend. The only weal
objection is our short acquaintance!

Aunt P. Well, if you say so, Lord Frederick, it is not for
me to make objections. But really—te-he-he! I didn’t expect
—te-he-he! I didn’t—couldn’t expect—

Lorp F. (interrupting.) That I would be so wash? But,
when a man is in love, dear, kind Miss De Lany, he cannot
act on the cold advice of common sense. I have been ina
wild, sweet dream evah since I entered thi: house. 1 cannot
wait; I must have my answer at once, and so I came to
you—

Aunt P. Darling Frederick!

Lorp F. (Starting, and looking bewildered.) I came, you
know—’pon me soul I did—to you, to beg of you—to implore,
you knaw, to persuade you, Miss De Lany, to speak to her for
me—to plead my cause, and so hasten—

Aunt P. Speak to her / Speak to whom, sir?

Lorp F. To my adorable Belle, you knaw. You are her
aimt, you see--old enough and wise enough— Good heavens,
madam, what 7s the mattah? Have I offended you unwit-

 
A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY. 21

tingly? (Aunt P. glares at him and rises from sofa, Girls
dodge out of sight.) Aw, Miss De Lany, do not look at me so!
If you will not speak for me, pwease, pwease, send her heah,
that I may ask her personally if she can love me!

Aunt P. (Bitlerly.) Ob, yes; Vl send her! It will be
just like the bold little goose to jump at an offer made after
four days’ acquaintance! Girls have no GCiscretion nowadays;
not a particle, sir! If I had known of whom you were speak-
ing, I should not have listened. However, her father will be
delighted! You are alord, you know! Gotohim, (Sweeps
out of the door, Girls rush in at the other.)

B. and G. Ha! ha! ha! Ha! ha! hal

Lorp F. What amuses you, deah ladies?

B. Don’t you see?

Lorp F. She was highly offended, you knaw, because—

C. Because you were proposing for Belle. Aunt Prue
thought you were popping to her /

Lorp F. Weally? Weally?’ Oh, my! Oh! ha, ha, hal
Good Lawd!

B. Girls have no discretion nowadays! Oh, Aunt Prue!
Ha, ha! (#nter Mr. De Lany.) Here comes papa! Speak
to him now, Frederick!

DeL. That valet of Sir Harry’s is certainly a very ex-
traordinary person. How my cousin can put up with his im-
pudence passes my comprehension. He is making Harry’s
visit almost a bore tome. Why, the scoundrel has guzzled a
gallon of wine, I do believe!

Lorp F. Well, sir, our visit must soon draw toclose. We
have engaged passage on board the return steamah. And
now, sir, lam going to makea vewy extraordinary request,
you knaw. Nothing but my promise to my father that I
would he home in time for the hustings, you knaw, could give
me courage to speak.

De L. (Beaming encouragement.) Don’t be backward,
Lord Frederick. 1 like you very much, indeed. Any favor
you can ask of me will be granted.

Lorp F. Ten thousand thanks. The favah I cwave is the
hand of your daughter Belle.

De L. You do me an honor, sir, that Iam proud tu grant,
(Enter Str H., followed by Miuus.) Belle, I congratulate youl
(Places her hand in Lorp F.’s, who kisses tt.)

Srr H. -By St. Patrick, ’'m just in toime! Cousin, I too
have a favor to ask.

M. (Poking him in the back.) Sp’ake right out like a man,
master! Och, if J only were in your place! It takes an
Oirishman right out of the bogs to make tearin’ love to a purty
girl. Ochhone! If Z was in your boots, sir!

Srr H. Be quiet, you rascal! How dare you!

M. Quiet it is I am—quiet as a sleepin’ babe, be jabers!

 
 

   
 

   

a4

THE DIME DIALOGUES,

But you won’t object, master, to me lookin’ the way you ought
to fale? Miss Grace, me jewel, if I wur in love wid ye,
instead of my master, tizs is the way I would look at yees, be
me sowl, (Grins at GRACE.)

Srr H. Be quiet, I say, ye spalpcen!

M. Faix, who’s been sayin’ a worrd barrin’ yerself? Goon,
now! Let me see how you get along wid it.

Sir H. I must return by the next st’amer, Cousin De
Lany, but I feel as if my feet were—

M. Waxed, master, waxed to the ground!

Sir H. As if I were—

M. Tongue-tied, ye villain—tongue-tied!

Srr H. In short, I want to take me cousin—

M. Second cousin, yespalpeen. It makes allthe difference
in the worrld whin it comes to a legacy!

Str H. Me Cousin Grace back wid me, as my wife.

Lorp F. That is what I meant, too, Mr. De Lany. I want
to take Belle with me, you know.

Du L. This 2s sudden. Both my daughters at once? I
shall be a very lonely man without my sweet girls. (Aide.)
But, Belle Sir Harry’s wife, and therefore Lady Belle! ‘That
reconciles me. (Alowd.) { will think of it, gentlemen.

Lorp F. But the steamah goes day after to-morrow. You
will have to decide at once, you see—for, if we are to take
these dawling cweatures with us, the ceremony must take
place to-morrow.

DEL. How do you feel about it, girls? (Girls hang their
heads, and twist their handkerchiefs.)

B. Papa, I love Lord Frederick, but it is cruel to leave
you thus. ~

G. Papa, Sir Harry says that you shall come and spend
the winter with usyand then we will return and spend the
summer with you. And so we will arrange that you shall not
lose us, entirely.

De L. Under the circumstances I feel it my duty to—make
no objections,

B. Darling papa!

G. How good of you, papa!

Lorp F, 1 shall be eternally gwateful.

Smr H. One week ago I could not have dreamed of such
ete noe :

. Whoop, hurray! Vm extramely affected by the im-
pinding rasponsibilitees of me circumstances—be me grand-
mither’s bones I am, and at the sight of so much family j'ye.
Hurroo! If Peggy was here I’d pop the question at onc’t,

and she’d go back wid me, w’u’d she not?

(Enter Praeay, with flowers. -Mruus motions to her to come over
*  tohim, which she does.) ge
De L. How can we arrange a wedding so suddenly? _

‘

 

 
     
   
    
  
 
   
    
 
   
   
   
    
 
     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   

A WILD IRISHMAN’S DIPLOMACY. 23

B. Oh, papa, we'll just go to the church in our traveling
costumes, and be married there, you see!

Str H. Nothing easier. Where there’s a will, there’s a
way.

G. Peggy, you'll be awfully busy to-morrow. Belle and I
are going abroad on Saturday.

Pre. La, miss, is that so? I perdicted it. You'll need
me along to take care of you, I suppose.

So we will, Peggy. Are you willing to leave Podkins?

Pra. Podkins be—squelched!*beggin’ yer parding, miss.

M. I’ve arranged it wid Peggy, mesilf. There’ll be three
brithal couples aboard that sth’amer, begorra!

Dr L. Is this true, Peggy?

Pra. As thrue as the Bible, master. Not that I care for
Miles—he’s a sassy, imperdent feller as ever was, but | can’t
give up my young missuses.

M. Sassy am I, ye hussy? Imperthenint am I? (Lay,
himself down before her.) Put yer fut on me neck—put it
there and kape it there! I’m yer slave foriver, Peggy, me
jewel. You can walk over me at your pleasure. What!
won’t ye do it? (Gets up.) I know what’s the matther,
Peggy, dear. Your fut isso big you didn’t want to show it.

G. You're a liar!

M. You're another!

De L. Clear out, both of pase Here in my parlor! You
ought to be dismissed, both of you!

M. Come, Peg; it was all a raal Oirish joke, ye see.
You’ve the n’atest little fut that ever kicked the dust off the
mantel-piece. Come along, now, an’ be me sowl—

Fi (Hxeunt Miies and PEG.)
~ Lorp F, Then it is all awanged, darling Belle. Aw, Sir
Harry, what happy chappies we ah!

DEL. Yes; and now, girls, run and look after your trunks
and dresses and things, while I and the gentlemen arrange
matters to our mutual satisfaction.

(Cu tain.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scenz IV.—The same. Praey and Popxrins arranging table
- incenter of room. Flowers, fruit, cake, ete,

Pre. Hurry up. Poddy; it’s time they were back.
_ Pop. It’s too bad we couldn’t’a’’ad a regular supper,
instid o’ this ’ashed hup affair. I allers looked forrid to a
grand time when the young leddies got married.

Pra. Podkins, I’m skeered to death,

POD,-° Veit tures!) 2?

Pxe. Oh, about this marriage! I’m tremblin’ from head

’ breakin’ out in a cold sweat, — Z

 
 

 

 

 
   
 

   
     

foot) sai

+

  
 

   
 

 

24 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Pop. Laws, I don’t care! Let ’em hoe their hown row,
Hi says. We ain’t got our foot in it, Peg.

Pre, But, master’s got an awful temper when it’s up.
I'm ee he'll kill them young fellers! Oh, there’ll be a
row :
Pop. No, there won’t be a row, Peggy. But, I'm glad I
ain’t in their shoes—that’s all.

Pre. There they come, now! Oh, Pod, I feel as if I was
sinkin’ through the floor! (Runs into corner. Popxxns backs
tnto another.)

{inter Mr. Dm Lany, Aunt Prur, Str Harry, GRAcz,
Lorp Freperick, Beir. The girls in bonnets and lace
shawls, the gentlemen in evening dress. They stand around
the table.)

Dr L. Podkins, the champagne!

Pop, Yis, sor--immejitly, sor! (Uncorks bottle and places
at on the table with shaking hands.)

Sir H. What’s the matter, boy? Got the ague?

Pop. Ye—yes, sir. (Retires.)

Sir H. I wonder where Miles is?

De L. Do let that scoundrel remain away if he wants to.

T’m out of all patience with him. How he did cut upin |

church. (Mixes enters.) I wanted to throttle him, the wild
Trishman!

M. Oho! what a lucky dog Iam toeschape! I'll take off
me coat by and by, and we’ll have it out. (Sidles up to
Praay.) You be pale, my darlint! —

Prev. Hush! I’m that frightened! Go away!

De L. Here’s to the health of the bridal couples!

M. May they live long, live lively, increase and prosper
to the ind oy their days, and whin—

DeL. Hold your tongue, you idiot! Why, Grace, niy
child, what 7s the matter? (GRACE 7s sinking into a chair and
fainting.) _Over-excitement, Isuppose. Give her air. Here’s
a fan, Frederick. What! Belle, what are you sobbing so for,
my child? ,

B. Alas, papa, we have deceived you! .

De L. Deceived me? How? Why? Ah, Grace is reviv-
ing. Give her some wine!

G. (Starting from chair.) Papa, we have deceived you.

Pra. Oh, my! It’s coming. Oh, dear! (Whimpers.)

M. Whist, honey! (Popxrns backs up against wall. Precy
puts her hands to her ears, Lorp F. and Sir Harry look at
each other.) . i ;

DeL._ Again that assertion. What can it mean?

Aunt P, Brother, there certainly is something wrong
here. Look around upon these faces and you will be con-
vinced of it, =

  

   

 

Ha

se
ee

  

 

 
  

  
   
 
   

 
  
   
 

 

 
 

A WILD IRISHMAN'S DIPLOMACY.

De LL. But, what? My children, speak out!

G. Rudolph, confess!

B. Eugene, this must end! Iam wretched at having de-
ceived my dear father.

De L. Rudolph? Eugene? Are my daughters mad?

Lorp F. (Zearing off whiskers, and dropping his affected
voice.) Not rad, sir! I amplain, poor, Eugene Fitzgibbons,
clerk, and I have married your daughter.

Sm H. (Removing wig, and speaking in his natural voice.)
And Jam plain, poor, Rudolph St. Clair, an artist who dincs
upon turpentine and oil, who hasn’t a dollar to his name,
but who is honest, industrious, and deeply in love—with your
daughter, to whom he is married.

DeL. Impostors! Frauds! Villains!’ The ceremony
will not be legal! You are not the persons we supposed you
were! You are not married to my daughters! Out of my
house, this moment! (Raises an arm.)

Pre. (Clinging toMums.) Don’t—don’t—don’t, murder
’em, master!

Aunt P. (Aside.) What a mercy it is I refused Lord
Frederick yesterday, or J shouid have been the victim!

M. (Shakes off Praay, and takes hold of Dr Lany’s arm.)
Whisht, whisht, now, me boy! Ye’r’ not the man to hurt yer
own blood-relations, yer sons-in-law.

De L. (furious.) Fool! Mountebank! Let go of me!

M. Mountebank! He m’anes mount-a-chair, I reckon!
(Springs on chair, and takes off wig.) Me Cousin De Lany,
listen to me, now! Quiet down, man, quiet down! I’m not
mesilf at all, at all—I m’ane, that other man’s not me. No, I
don’t, I m’ane Miles is not mesilf—d’ye see?

Del. Il be hanged if Ido! What under heavens does it
all mean, anyhow?

M. Why, you see, Miles was your Cousin Sir Harry all the
time, and I’m Miles. Now do ye see?

De L. Idiot!

M. Now, no hard names, Cousin De Lany. I’m just me.
self again, that’s all. I’m your cousin, Sir Harry O’Mallory.
Shake hands wid me, cousin, and make up. (Stoops and
reaches down hand. De Lany turns away.) Did you ever see
the likes o’ that?—refuses the hand of a blood relation! Now,
cousin, hold ona minute! Ill explain everything. I came
across the says to see my two pretty cousins—and how do {
find them? Take that to yer conscience, Cousin De Lany!—
how dol findthem? Why,int’ares! In @aves/—their bright
eyes all blotted out wid waping! Why? Ther’ason of it was
apparent. There sat two illigant young gintlemin—foine,
handsome, spirited chaps as nade be—but, down in the mouth,
Why? Because a hard-hearted father had turned them away,
Take that to yer conscience, Cousin De Lany| I took them

  
 

test

 

26 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

into me confidence, and says I, ‘‘ What’s the matter?” Says
they, ‘‘We’re poor.” Says I, ‘‘But Ameriky is the poor
man’s Paradise.” Says they, ‘‘ Thryit.” Says, I, ‘‘ Whatcan
I do fur ye?” Says they, ‘‘Desave the old gintleman, an’
give us a chance with our girls.” Says I, ‘I will; there’s me
hand on it!” I plotted me plot; I wanted to take ye into it,
Cousin De Lany, but the girls said it wouldn’t do. SoI didn’t
come to your house at all. St. Clair comes as me, and I come
as me own body-servant. Wasn't that a judicious thrick? I
take credit for the idaye. M’anetime, me Lord Frederick
Sprouls is in New York. I piver let him know where I am
—and me young friend, here, Fitzgibbons—God bless hia! is
me lord, aud a greatcatch. Do you seethrough it? Of coorse
ye do! Now, me Cousin De Lany, asa gr’ate favor, I ask—
will ye forgive the young people, and expind yer wrath on
me shoulders? I’m wailing to take the whipping fur all ov
vem.

De L.. Harry O’Mallory, you’ve ruined me.

Str H. Hould on! It's mesilf is ruined intirely. First
place, I wantbed me Cousin Grace, but had tu l’ave her alone.
Secondly, I’ve taken ‘em home wid me to be my heirs forever
—them and their children’s children—don’t that ruin me, you
see? And, if I was to have a bit ov property lift, ’m givin’
ivery cint of it here to my Cousin Fitzgibbons—five thousand
pound, to start him in life for himself. Thin, P’ve bought all
the tickets fur the brithal tour. Oh, wurra! wurra! if iver a
man was completely ruined, it’s mesilf! But, what's a little
ruin, when the young folks are happy, Cousin De Lany?
Don’t be discouraged, me man; but toss me up a tumbler, and
a bottle, and I'll drink to their prosperity. (PopKINS rushes
forward, seizes bottle and glass, and hands them to him.)
Hare’s to your healths, me darlints! (Smack.) Hare’s to
your happiness! (Smack.) Hare’s to your posterity! (Smack.)
Hlare’s confusion to tyrannical parents! (Smack.) An’ hare’s
to mesilf, who brought it all about! An’ now, three cheers
for the happiness ov iverybody, savin’ mesilf!

(They cheer as curtain drops.)

 

 
 

 

 
   

AUNT DEBORAH IN THE CITY,

AUNT DEBORAH IN THE CITY.

Characters :—Aunt Desoran, a middle-aged spinster; NwwimE
BARNES, her married niece.

Scene I.—A bedroom in the third story, prettily furnished.
(Enter Aunt Desoran and NELLIE.)

Neue. There, auntie, this is to be your room, while you
are here. Don’t you think it is a pleasant one? The win-
dows look right on the street, so you can see everything that
is going on. I expect the unaccustomed noise will disturb
you, at first, but you will soon get used to it. I had your
trunk putin that closet there, so you could get at it convenient-
ly. I think there iseverything you wil need here, and as you
are unwilling to trust yourself with the gas, I have provided
alamp for you. (Points to one on the dressing-table.) And if
you should need anything in the night, just pull this cord
here by the bed. It connects with a bell in our room below,
and we can come to you at a minute’s notice. You don’t feel
timid about being left alone, do you? i

Aunt DesoraAn. La, no! not as far as burglars is con-
sarned. I hain’t lived in Pinetown all alone in my little
home, for twenty years and over, not to be rid of any fears
in that direction, or in the direction of tramps, either, for that
matter. Iam not afraid as regards them, but there is one
thing I am powerful scared of, and that is fire. Why, ac-
tually, Nellie, though you wouldnt believe it, it is only that
fear which has kept me from coming to see you long before
this. I’ve just been longing to see the city’s sights, as well
as your nice little home. But Icouldn’t seem to conquer that
dread of fire, and I only come now, by making a great effort.
It seems to me as if I never pick up a paper without seeing
an account of some horrible fire in these ’ere city houses. It
makes my hair stand on end to think of it. And, just see,
how would I ever get out if this house should get afire, way
ap here, miles from the ground. (Lcoks around and shud-

78.)

N. (Laughing.) Why, Aunt Deborah, I didn’t know you
felt that way. You are just as safe here as you are in your
own little bedroom at Pinetown. We have never had a fire
in this street since we lived here.

Aunt D. Yes, but that’s no sign you never will.

N. If there should be one, the firemen would reach here
80 quickly that they would doubtless extinguish it before any
damage was done. You do not know how quickly they re-

 

 

  

  

‘spond to an alarm, And, see here, (draws her aunt toward the

    
   

   

88 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

window, opens it, and points to fire-escaye,) if you should be
cut off from escaping anywhere else, all you have to do is to
open this little trap-door in the balcony floor and climb down
the ladder to our ba'cony below, and so to the street. It is
almost as easy as going down-stairs. I tried it two or three
times when 1 first came here, and felt nervous, as you do
now.

AuntD. (Holding up her hands in horror.) Good gracious,
Nellie Barnes! do you suppose that if the flames was sweep
ing toward me, or near me, and I knew I was about to be de
voured by them, that l’d have sense enough left to crawl out
that window and go through ali that performance? That
would be the last thing I would think of! Besides, chink
what a figger I’d cut to the gaping crowd below,with my false
hair off and minus my teeth. (ZVhey both laugh heartily.)

N. Well, I sincerely hope you will never have cause to
leave my house in such an undignified manner. But, do not
even think of it again, for, as I say, there is not the slightest
danger. We are very particular about fire, and John always
looks at the furnace himself, the last thing before he retires,
to make sure it is all right. Now, good-night, auntie dear.
(Kisses her.) Remember to pull the cord if you want me. I
hope you will have a good night’s rest. (Hait.)

Aunt D. Dearie me! I wish I wasn’t so terribly afeard
of fire; but. I am, and that’s all there is about it. I just know
I shan’t sleep a wink to-night, thinking about it. I guess that,
just for this one night, I will sleep in my wrapper on this sofy
here. Jt looks comfortable like, and I will be prepared then
for flight, if necessary. This isa right pretty room. (Looks
around her admiringly.) And Nellie makes a nice little house.
keeper. How happy she is to be here, and what a warm wel.
come she gave me! She, at any rate, isn’t ashamed of her
country relations. I shall have a mighty nice time here, if I
can only get rid of the fear I am going to be burned up.
What a silly old woman I am! ‘Well, I guess I'll get to bed.
(Takes pillows from bed and arranges them on the sofa.)

(Curtain falls.)

 

Scene II.—Same as before. AuNT DEBORAH, clad in a loose
wrapper, and witha night-cap on her head, Ves asleep on the
sofa. She is snoring peacefully when, all of a sudden, there
ts a great noise and clatter in the street below, and some
one is heard shouting: “ Fire! Fire!” Aunt Drsoran
springs up and takes one leap into the middle of the floor and
stands there, trembling, and wringing her hands, the picture
of despair.

Aunt DresoraH. I knew it would come; I knew it! Oh,
why did I ever leave my home, to be caught in this fiery

 
  

AUNT DEBORAH IN THE CITY, 29

 

   

furnace? My time has come. I ought to pray, but I can’t
think of a word. Oh, what shall 1 do! (Rushes to the door
and shakes it frantically ; but it is locked, and resists all her
efforts ; then she runs to the window and flings it open.) I
may as well die one way as another (begins to climb out):
but I know Ican never get out this way. (Gets back again )
Oh, my teeth! I hope they won’t bury me without them.
(Seizes them from. glass and flings them out the window, then
pushes to the closet and begins to drag her trunk out.) 1 won-
der if I can possibly throw this out. (Just then NELLIn’s
voice is heard outside in the hall.)

: N. Aunt Deborah, let me in. Don’t be frightened; it’s
nothing, Open the door so I can come to you. What are

you doing? Why don’t you Jet me in?

45 Aunt D. I can’t let you in; the door is locked. What on
__ earth do you stand there telking to me for, when the house is
burning down? Run fora ladder, quick! I can’t get down
on that little iron thing. It is probably red-hot already.

_ Hurry, for Heaven’s sake, before I am burned alive. (During
this conversation she rushes back and forth from door to win-

_ dow.)

N. (Una voice smothered with laughter.) Calm yourself for

te a moment, Aunt Deborah, and try and unlock the door so

- Tecan getto you. There is no fire. I want to tell you how it
was,
Aunt D. No five? Whatdo you mean? (ropes her way

to the door, and with trembling hands manages to unlock tt, and

NELLIE comes in.)

N. (laking Aunt Desoran’s hands, and leading her to the
sofa, sits down beside her.) Now, tisten to me, auntie! The

_ fire, if there is any, isn’t within a mile of us. The noise you
heard was only a lot of boys running after the engine, which
they saw start out. The engine-house is right around the cor-
ner. One of the young rascals shouted, ‘‘ Fire!” a thing he
had no business to do, and for which he ought to be locked
up. There may not be any fire at all; about half the alarms
sent out are false. Why did I not think to warn you of this
very thing? What a dreadful fright you have had, auntie,
dear! Iamsosorry, so sorry. (Pats her head.)

Aunt D. (Crying softly, but more composed.) Y will never
get over it aslong as[ live. It’s no use talking, Nellie, I can’t
spend another night in this house, much as I want to visit
you. Ishould be just as scared the next time they yelled
that way, for how am I to know whether it is this house or
one at the other end of the city? :

- N. fcaa’t let you go home yet, and I'll tell you what I
will do. I will fix you upa bed in the sitting-room down-
stairs, and you will then feel perfectly safe, for the door opens
b , in the back-yard, so you could get out at a minute's —

 
  
 

 

 

   
  
 
  
  
 

   
   
   

sh : es

    
  
 
  

 

a THE DIME DIALOGUES,

 

notice—that is, if you didn’t forget to unlock the door.( They
both laugh )

Aunt D. What a fool I was to be sure! I think I would
be all right if you would let me sleep down-stairs. (Suddenly
springs up.) Oh, Nellie, my teeth! my teeth! I threw them
out of the window, and now they will be lost or broken or
something! Those lovely teeth! I gave twenty dollars for
them only a couple of years ago! \ Z

N. Iwill send John right out to look for them as soon
as it is light enough. If they are gone, you shall have an-
other set. I hope, (laughing merrily,) they didn’t hit any one
in the mouth.

Aunt D. Inthe mouth? I should never wear ’em again
if they’d been in anybody else’s mouth,

N. And, now, come down-stairs and get into bed with me
for the rest of the night, and we will trust you will not be
disturbed again. No real or imaginary fire would disturb you
if—if—( Pauses, smiling.)

Aunt D. If what?

N. If there was a man sleeping in the next room.

Aunt D. Oh, land sakes! That would be wuss’n a fire it
fas

N. If what?

Aunt D. If he smoked, or chewed, or played keerds, or
kept a dog, or played a fiddle, or sung base, or did his own
washin’, or spouted Shokespeer or had other fellers come to
see him.

N. None of which would be the case if—if—

Aunt D. If what?

N. If he was your own dear husband.

Aunt D. My own dear husband? Land sakes, what a
ijee! Better a dozen fires than that! Come, let us go down-
stairs; I reckon it will be cheerfuller, an’ safer, seein’ as how—
(Pauses.)

N. Yes, certainly, seeing as how a good husband is the
best policy of insurance against fire or loss of teeth. Ha-ha-
ha!

a
5 Aunt D. Ha-ha-ha! Oh, my! A good husband! Ha hwy
al
(Hxeunt laughing as curtain falls.)

 

 

 
 

      

    

A CHINAMAN IN CAMP.
FOR THREE MALES,

‘

Scenn.—A campers shanty, rudely furnished with wooden
table, seats, etc. A large box in one corner, containing pro-
visions. If « fire-place can be counterfeited, the effect_will be
better. :

Nev. Well, George, here we are at last up in the Rockies,
ready for any game that may place itself in our way. Quite
comfortable quarters these for camping, eh?

Guorae. Yes; an improvement on tents. I never did
enjoy sleeping in a tent, a prey to mice, spiders, and bugs in
general, to suy nothing of snakes, lizards and larger game.

No guides to bother us, either, with their fads and airs.
Nothing is good enough for them, nowadays; and if your gun
isn’t the latest patent, or your outfit the best, you are eternall
reminded of the fact that he, the guide, don’t think you teach
of a sportsman.

G. For once we can be thoroughly independent—no show,
no fashion, no one to bother; only ourselves to please.

N. But, the China boy?

G. I quite forgot him for the moment. Well, he is harm-
less; at least he looks so.

N. Looks are deceptive. These heathens are sly rascals,
However, he is warranted ‘‘sound, kind, and true,” so I
imagine he will not do much damage. (Wile Nup 7s talking,
the Chinaman is seen poking his head in the door, grinning and
listening.) ‘Time for him to be getting supper. (Joan dodges
back.) 1 will have to show him a little, just at first, 1 expect.
(Raising his voice.) i, there, John!

(Enter JouNn.)

Joun. Mesavey! All lite!

N. You can get supper now.

J. Me getta supplee now, all lite!

N. Can you make flap-jacks, and fry some ham?

J. Me makka flappa-jlack; fly ham.

G No fly ham for me, if you please.

J. No fly ham?

N. Bother the fellow; he is a regular magpie!
J. Les, me makka pie; allee samee.

G. Bahl! pie indeed!

. Bow-wow pie? him top-side good!

N. Never mind pie to-night, John. Get out the things for
supper and I wills how you whattodo, (JoHN brings out aham
and laysiton the table. Np takes out a large knife, flourishes it
GeEorGE, then shows Joun.) You cut it right through the

Z

oy
82 (THE DIME DIALOGUES,

middle first, so. (Giving a cut with the knife.) Now doas 1
have showed you. (JoHN picks up knife, makes a lunge at
GEORGE, who dodges him, then proceeds to slice the ham.)

G. Confound your skin! What do you mean?

N. You rascal! What did you do that for?

J. No lascal! You tellee me do’um. Alllite; Ido um
allee samee!

N. Iknew the heathen Chinee was a machine, but I did
not suppose he would imitate everything.

J. Mecarry ’um to fiah. (Carries out ham.)
I foresee fun with that fellow.
Too much, perhaps.
Oh, no; he is harmless.

(Re-enter JouNn.)

Ham fly; now makka flappa-jlack.
Get some flour. ,
Floua. (Gets materials together.)
And—and— Oh, hang it! What else, George?
Hang it? On tlee? (GrorGE laughs.)
Oh, go along! and make them your own way.
Me make ’um! (Goes out )
, Heisa sharp, you just bet!

N. Heisastupid. (Joun zs seen looking in the door and
grimacing.) :

G. You will see.

SASAMAS | AeZ

2

(Re-enter JOHN )

J. Me setta tlable now. (Goes to work. Stumbles over
GEORGE'S feet.)
G. Confound you!
J. John found ’um—yah! (NED laughs.)
G. (Asdde.) Remarkably stupid. (Aloud.) I say, John,
how much English do you ee anyhow?
. Me sabey all; eberyt'ing.
What a wise heathen. Where did you learn so much?
Night-school. ’Melica gail.
Who taught you to cook?
’Melica gail. =
Did you cook in China?
No, in flyin’-pan. (NEp laughs.
One on you, George.
sue boy, a =
eppa smart. (Puiting pepper on tabie.) e
: G._ You had better go out and see that the ham isn* Sem.
: ing, Jobn. :
J. All lite. (Goes out.) !
G. Cali him stupid? Not much! — 3
N. It does not look like it, I must confess,
G. He is a sly dog. ‘ : gape

%

 

HABMONIAHOM

 
    
     
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
    
   
   
 
   
   
  
   
  
    
 
      
       
 
  

A OHINAMAN IN CAMP,

(Re-enter JOHN.)
J. You wanta coffee, tlea, milka, watta?
N. Coffee, to night.
J. Me get’um. (Stumbles over GroraE again.)
G. (Springing up.) You stupid jack!
J. Too much feet, *Melica man much big feet!
. G. I'll big feet you, if you do that again, you rascal. (Sits
a down. JOHN gets mill and begins to grind coffee.)
N. Here; take that music outside. (Hatt Joun with mill,

MO uge rs

> Just as he closes the door he says :)
i J. Mew—sic—skt—
ae G. Of all impudence! ;
+ N. I will have to get rid of him.
G. What will you do without him? ;
N. Cook myself, to be sure. I know how, “e q
(JoHN 71¢-enters as he speaks.)

ee J. Yah! Cook myself! Hi—hi! One big piece meat.
, Loast ’Melica man.

.N. Tl roast you, you impudent moakey. (Grabs at him,

but Joun dodges around the table.) :

J. Loast monkey? Him no good; bow-wow pie betta.

N. Get outof this! Pack up your duds andtravel. Don’t
> let me see you here again.
7 _J. All lite; me go ova to Lost Cleek Camp. Heap plenty
be fun; muchee game. Good guide. All litee. China boy
no stupid there. (Starts for the door and stumbles over
GeorRGE’s feet. They both make a rush at him, but he gets
through the door and closes it.)
é N. Well, of all impudence!
9 G. Stupid! indeed! (Joun pokes his head in the door.)
- J. Fly ham—Loast ’Melica man—muchee poor hunter!
(J hey rush at him, and several ‘‘ Ki-yi’s” are heard outside

as curtain falls, ,

fs. gman

 

Scenr II.—Same as first scene. GnoraEe and Nxep present.
Camp disordered and men disconsolate.)

Ss _N. I say, George, this is awfully stupid biz.
Se G. Just my sentiments. Haven't shot a thing but coyotes
since we came here. :

N. This ‘no guide” don’t work worth a cent, and this ‘‘ do
your own cooking” don’t pay. Hands burnt, eyes sore with
smoke, and everything I try to cook spoiled. We ought to
_ have kept the Chinaman. He was a good cook, at least. He
~ is over at the Lost Creek Camp, where they have a guide and
_ so plenty of game which John cooks splendidly. I move we

and call the good time a dead failure, (Hnter JoHN.)
fe ae ey

 

  

   
 

     

84 _ (THE DIME DIALOGUES.

  

If here ain’t the Chinaman again! You young heathen, what
brought you here?

J. (Grinning.) Legs.
N. What do you want?
. J. What ’Melica man gib for lettah?
QG. A letter? Tl give a dollar for one.
N. Here, too!
J. What gib for much shootee—plenty dleer, heap much

dlear, allee samee eberyt’ing?

G. Why, you heathen, what can you do about it?

N. But the letter, John. Here’s your dollar. (Gives the
money.)

J. (Handing the letter.) Dollah for lettah heap fun!

N. (Opening letter, reads aloud -)

‘‘Gents:—The heathen tells me you’ve nary guide or cook,
so I guesses you is out in the cold for fun. The heathen isa
bully cuss you kin sw'ar by every time. The heathen axes me
to ax you over to chip in wi’ us—which us is two chaps, and
me and John. The heathen as will take a ten-mile tramp over
the range, to tote you this invite, is white if he isa John. So
break camp and the heathen will help you lug your traps.
Sabe? Yours for a good time,

: “‘ BucksKIN Brun, Guide.”
John, you’re a brick!

John, you're a Celestial brick! .

J. John no blick. John lascal, John monkey, John
stupid allee samee, t0?

N. It is we who were stupid, that’s a fact. You’re a good
fellow—the guide is a good fellow, and we’ve learned this les-
son—not to think we can do everything ourselves, and dis-
parage those whose right it is to do the work for which they
are well qualified. ;

G. That’s gospel truth—each man in his sphere and all re-
specting his rights and worth asa man. ©

J. Good preachee, but ’Melican muchee forget w'en hab
money; den Chinaman an’ poor man dog? So?

- N. You see, George? ;

G. Yes, I see. The heathen’s head is level.

J. Allee samee Lost Cleek Camp tlen miles over range.
{f make tracks John show way. Mus’ hurry. If dlark
catchee, den Buckskin come. Buckskin bully boy! Heap
top side: Shoot bear like debbil. Skin catamount, an’ eat
flappa jack allee dlay. Whatsay? _

What say? Why, that we ask your pardon for past
offenses, and take the pledge to do so no more. (JOHN grins
broadly, but says nothing.) What are you grinning at?

J. ’Melican man’s pledge. Heap humbug! Buckskin no
make pledge, dlink whiskee ig, shoot Injun, say cuss-words
heap, but allee samee bully boy! se

 

     

     

os
 

    
 

 

 

   

PLAYING HOSTESS. 85

G. Isee. Got us again, John, with your sharp wits.
Pledges don’t make the man good, and the roughest of men
may be a bully boy at heart. We sabe, Jchn.

Allee liteet Now you hab heap good time, when see
man, not money—whenu no make workman slave—when
a re though hands dirty, you allee top side bully boy.

e
(All clasp hands and curtain drawn).

PLAYING HOSTESS:

or,

‘

THAT TERRIBLE CHILD.

Characters :—Mrs. Fry, Mrs. Chark, Datsy CLARK.

Scene.—Mrs. Cxiarn’s parlor, Mrs. Ciark and Datsy
present, Mrs. CharK looks out of window. Jumps to her
Jeet. Straightens room.

Mrs. CLARK. My conscience! Daisy, set the chairs back,
and pick up all of your traps. There comes that stuck-up
Mrs. Fry. Dear me! I wish she wouldn’t come where she isn’t
wanted! (Knock. Mrs. C. goes to the door and oyens it.)

Mrs. C. Oh! it’s you, dear! Im always so glad to see
you! Come right in and take a chair!

Mrs. Fry. I knew you were always glad to see me, so I
- just dropped in. How well you are looking!

Mrs. C. Oh, you mighty flatterer! Now, if you will
excuse me one minute, till I see about luncheon, what a nice
little visit we w7l/ have! 1’il leave Daisy here, to play hostess,
Daisy, dear, don’t say anything naughty. (Hvit.)

Daisy. Say, don’t you bet she hated to leave me here with

ou?

: Mrs. F. Why? What makes you think so, dear?

D. ’Cause I always say the wrong thing.

Mrs. F. Do you? What about?

D. Oh, everything! I’m glad she left me, though.

Mrs. F. Why? Do you like playing hostess?

D. I guess so. I don't know how; will you show me?

Mrs. F. Perhaps I coul1. (Smiling.)

D. Is it anything like follow your leader?

Mrs. F. Yes, | guess it 7s a good deal that way.

-D. Then you couldn't play!

Mrs, F, Why not! ;

 

 

  
36 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

      

D. ’Cause they have to run like sixty, and ma says you
dassent move when you get dressed up, for fear of splittin’
your dress open, it’s so tight.

Mrs. F. (Severely.) Your mamma is mistaken.

D. Isshe? I’m glad of it. The reason why I wanted to
be left in the room was because 1 wanted to ask you some
things.

Mrs. F. All right, dear; but maybe you'll find I do not
know much.

D. That’s what ma said. Why don’t you?

Mrs. F. Oh! I don’t know.

    
      
       
      
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
 
    
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
   
  
 

dy ee ¢
Mrs. F. Why? i
D. ’Cause you was too poor to go to school when you was q

young; ma said so. Say, do you eat bread and ’lasses?

Mrs. F. Mercy, no! Child, what do you mean?

D. I asked you if you eat bread and ’lasses a good deal,
’cause ma said you was so stuck up. That's what she tells
me, if I’ve been eatin’ ‘lasses.

Mrs. F. I should think your mamma would hate to leave
you. I wonder why she did so this time?

D. Iknow. To paint her face and put on some more hair,
and I guess she will put on her high shoes, too.

Mrs. F. (Laughing.) You funny young one; what makes.
you think she will change her shoes?

D: ’Cause her stockings are all full of holes, and they show
with her slippers.

Mrs. F. What if she changes her stockings?

D. She won't. ;

Mrs. F. Why not? :

D. ’Cause the others are holy, to. Pa said they were more =.
holy than righteous. Can I get scme things to the store 3

_ where you get yours? :
Mrs. F. Why, yes, I guess so; but, wouldent any other +
store do as well?
D. No! I want lots of things, and I ain’t got any e
money. Ma says she knows you don’t pay for what you :
et.
: Mrs. F. Your ma says a good deal, it seems to me. (An Be
grily.)
D. Yes; she takes after me, I guess, I talk a great deal. a
‘Why don’t you wear blue?
Mrs. F. I don’t know.
D. Ido.
Mrs. F. Why, then?
D. ’Cause ma says you are so black. Say, don’t you wish
{ was your little girl? A
- Mrs. F. Yes. (Aside.) Vd shake you dizzy. |
D. Then, why didn’t you marry my pa?

    
 
 

 

 
 
   
     
       
   
PLAYING HOSTESS. 37

Mrs. F. Your pa? Why, he is old enough to be my
grandfather.

D. Then you’d be my grandmother, wouldent you?

Mrs. F. CIndifferently.) I presume so.

D. Do you wish your little girl was good like me?

Mrs. F. No! deliver me from such a fate!

D. I know why your little girl is naughty.

Mrs. F. Why?

D. ’Cause you don’t spank her enough. I guess that’s
why lam so good. I get lots of spanking. I wish I was
your little girl instead of ma’s.

Mrs. F. Why do you wish that?

D. ’Cause ma says you are extravagant, and extravagant
folks has lots of cake.

Mrs. F. Doesent your ma have plenty of cake?

D. No! She says she can’t afford it, and cooks hash and
corn bread mostly. Pa is a Republican, but lately he’s a
kicker; which are you?

Mrs. F. Oh, dear me, child; I don’t know one candidate
from anvther.

D. Ido! They both come here to get pa to vote for ’em,
and the tall one he scowled at me and said I was a nuisance.
Whea I told him pa said he was going to be a kicker, he
asked me who pa was going to kick, and I told him I dident
know, but I guessed Aim. He looked as if he was going to hit
me, but pa came in just then.

Mrs. F. What did the other man do?

D. He just laughed right out and said that was right; he
wanted pa to be a kicker. J don’t want pa to be a kicker.
I'm afraid he'll kick me, or Jimmie. Jimmie’s my little bro-
ther, and he ain’t as good asI be. He can’t help it, though;
a got red hair, sohe can’t be good. Do you think it’s wicked
to lie?

Mrs. F. Why, yes, child, of course it is.

D. Then what makes you do it? i"

Mrs. F. What makes you think I do? !

D. Why, ma says you do, and I don’t think she'd lie
“cause she’s awful pious since pa got her the new silk dress
and prayer book. She made it awful lively for pa, though,
till he give her the money. Did you know she needed a new
dress?

Mrs. F. Why, no!

D._ She told pa that everybody but Am knew she needed a
new dress, and she said she’d never pray out of that old book
again ’cause the hinges was broke. I could use that, but she
won't let me. I pray too loud ; everybody laughed. I dident
care. I laughed, too, but ma was awful mad! She yanked
me. Oh, dear! (Sighs and yawns.) I wish ma would hurry.
I'm awful tired of entertaining. Don’t you get awful tic

When folks come to see you?

 

   

 

 
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
    
  
  
   
    
  
 
   
      
 
     
    
 

 

38 THE DIME DIALOGUBS. RS

Mrs. F. Why, no. If it’s any one I like.

D. Madoes; but then she don’t like anybody bu. me and f
Jimmie. She tells you she likes you but she don’t. I know >
her. She’s jest puttin’ on. She hates you like medicine,
When i get big I shall tell ail the folks that I don’t want to
come that I don’t like ’em, and that will save me lots of trou-
ble, and my little girl won’t have to stay in the parlor when
she wants to play horse with her little red-headed brother.

Mrs. F. I, too, wish your ma would come, for I must go.

D. Ain’t you going to stay to tea?

Mrs. F. Oh. no, I couldn’t.

D. Ma was afraid you would. Sometimes we don’t have
much to eat. Grandma always says we ought to be thankful.
What makes old folks thankful? They ain’t got much to eat
when they are old. I guess it’s ’cause their teeth is poor.
Are your teeth false?

Mrs. F. If they are, so are your ma’s.

D. That’sso! Butdo show me how to play ‘‘ Hostess.”

» I'd rather play ‘‘ Monkey, monkey, wouldent you?

Mrs. F. haven’t time to play anything now.

D. Well! If you are in an awful hurry I can tell ma you
have gone.

Mrs. F. I guess Ill have to go. I wonder why she stays
so long?

D. 1 just happened to think I had ma’s paint box to paint
Jimmie up for a clown, and 1 don’t know what I did with it.
And Jimmie tied ma’s hair switch into the suw-horse to make

a circus horse of it. I don’t see what she’ll do about it.

Mrs. F. Well, I really must go.

D. What’s the use of pinching your feet? (Looking at
Mrs. Fry’s shoes.)

Mrs. F. I don’t.

D. Ma says you do. Now you are going I can think of
lots I want to ask you. I couldent think of much be-
fore, ‘cause I was wondering when you’d go. Hark! Ma’s
comin’. (Steps hastily to window, and stands looking out.)

(Re-enter Mrs. Cuark, looking very much disturbed.)

Mrs. C. What wil you think of my staying solong? 1
was detained by my servant, she is such a trial. What! You
haven’t removed your wraps? Daisy, you are not a very
polite hostess,

D. (Without turning round.) She never showed me how.

Mrs. OC. Why, Daisy! Have you been a good girl?

D. Yes! Tve been good; but I’m awful tired now.

Mrs. C. Well, run out now, while I visit with dear Mrs.
- (Zzit Datsy, looking first at her mother and then at Mrs.

RY.)

Mrs. F. I can’t stay longer, now, as I only intended mak-
ing a short call. x aka j pees So heey ;

 

¢

      
 

  
  
 

 

“* SLIGHTLY HILARIOUS.” 39

Mrs. C, Dear me! why need you hurry? 1 really thought
you would stay to tea.

Mrs. F. (Smiling.) So Dai y said.

Mrs. ©. (Hastily.) That child! What did she say? Did
she entertain you?

Mrs. F. Oh, | have been highly entertained, I assure you;
but must bid you good-afternoon! (Bows stiffly and exits )

Mrs. C. I'd like to know what that child has said. Daisy!
(Calls, Datsy walks slowly into room, head down.) What have
you said to make Mrs. Fry so angry? (Darsy thinks amo-
ment.)

D. I dident say nothing only ask her if eatin’ lasses was
what made her so stuck up, as you said she was.

Mrs. C. Oh, you naughty, bad, provoking child! What
on earth possessed you to say that ?-

D. To entertain her, I guess; an’ I told her what you said
about her tight dress and small shoes, an’ that she didn’t pay
her store bills, an’—an’—/ots of things, an’ I guesses she won't
bother you no more. Ain’tIa good girl, mamma, to be so
entertainin’?

Mrs. C. Oh, dear, whatever shall I do, with 3uch a child
in the house? I shall go and have a good cry. (Hit.)

D. And I'll go find Jimmie, and ’l1 make mamma happy
again by making him promise never to tell anybody what
mamma says, (Heit.)

“SLIGHTLY HILARIOUS;”

OR,
TOO MUCH FOR RACKETTS

FOR FOUR MALIS,

Characters :—Mr. Quorns, editor of a country cena ie
Sam Racxkerts, foreman in printing office; Mr. EBEN
Hirtey, Buty Hiriey, his son (slightly hilarious.)

Interior of editor's office. Quorns discovered seuted at his desk.

Quorss. Somewhat provoking to have the office-boy ieave
just as he was becoming useful. I was wondering where or
how I should find another, when the foreman suggested that I
should advertise for one in myown paper. Strange that never
occurred to me, seeing that, for so many years, I have been
trying to show, through the medium of the Buzzer, the good
_ Tesults of advertising ;

  

 
   
 

  

 

  
 

   

   
 
   
   
   
   
 
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

40 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

(Enter HreiEy and his son, Bruix.)

Hirizy. My dear sir, I called to see if—why, sure.y this
cannot be my old schoolmate, Ned Quoins?

Q. It is all that’s left of me, after struggling to make a
decent living by publishing a country newspaper. And you
are Eben Hifley, who used to be the most mischievous boy in
all the school. (They shake hands.) How has the -vorld used

ou?

H. Fairly well. The man has got as many tumbles as the
boy, but I always manage to light on the soles of my feet, as I
did when a youngster. :

Q. You are married, eh?

H. Very much so, and this is my son and heir; a good boy,
rade I do say it, yet, at times he is apt to be slightly high-

arious.

Q. Like father, like son, eh?

H. There you are right. He means well enough, and does
well enough, although at times his spirits are a leetle too ex-
uberant. But, I like to see a boy have spirit, and not bea
molly-coddle. And that brings mie to the object of my visit.
I saw that you advertised for a boy, although 1 didn’t know
that you were my old friend and schoolmate, for I’ve but just
moved into the village, but I wanted a place for Billy. Could
you give him the place?

Q. For old acquaintance sake I will take him on trial.

Bruty. I’m in hopes I’m not a patent medicine,

How is that, my boy?

B. To be shaken before taken.

I wasn’t seeking a humorist for the Buzzer, but merely
an office boy.

B. Guess I shall prove to be a big thing off ice.

H. Excuse his smartness. Takes after me. I told you he
was slightly high-larious. Now, Billy, be a good boy, and
obey orders, while I go home and look after matters.

(Hvit.)

B. Say, mister, have you got more than one last name?

x No; all they could afford me was one. Why do you
ask?

B. Well, dad called you Quoins, and when he was going
away he told me to obey orders, and I thought your name
might be Quoins Orders.

Your respected parent was right; you are to obey
Quoins’s orders. /

B. And what do you want me to do for a first go off!

Q. Nothing just at present.

B. 1 can do that tip-top, and do it so well that I believe I’d
like the trade cf doing nothing. Say, when you and dad went
to school together, did he used to put bent pins and shoe-
makers’ wax in the teacher’s seat, and did he used to take mice

 
“SLIGHTLY HILARIOUS.” ot AT
in his pocket and let ’em out to run about on the floor,and scare
the girls into fits? And did he put sticks in the aisles, for the
teacher to stumble over, and look as if he wanted to say some
strong swear words?

Q. Your father, as a boy, was slightly hilarious.

B. ve overheard him telling ma about some of his school
scrapes, and he’d laugh over them fit to kill himself since
they seemed to be so awful funny; so I thought I'd try some
of then myself, but when I did so, the teacher gaye me one
walloping and and dad gave me another, and there was no
fun in that.

If I don't put the brakes on this boy’s chatter he’ll talk
me to death. Billy, go into the next room where you will
find the foreman and printers. Keep out of mischief and curb
your hilarity, or you'll get into trouble.

B. Lain't got any horse to curb, and if I had I wouldn’t
give him such an awful name as High Larryty. Paste that in
your hat, and when it you see remember me. (Heit.)

Q. That boy will never lack for information from bashful-
ness or backwardness in asking questions. Now, let me get
at my editorial for next week’s Buzzer.

(Enter RACKETTS.)

RacketTs. I say, Mr. Quoins, who is that chap you sent
to the composing-room just now?

Q. Oh, he’s the son of an old friend and schoolmate of
mine. Ihave hired the boy to make himself useful in and
about the premises. He is recommended as being willing and
obliging though slightly hilarious,

R. Slightly high-larious! I sbould think he was! He has
just pied one of the forms. i

(Re-enter BILLY.) He

B. Itain’t no such a thing. lain’t seen no form, and I
ain’t touched any pie. I thought this feiler wasn’t very polite
talking about his “ gally ¥ when so many young girls were
about, but 1 didn’t think he’d stoop so low as to tell lies about f
such an innocent kid as I am. ri

Don’t be too severe on the lad. Maybe he’ll turn up
trumps at last. ;

R. He ought to be turned over somebody’s knee to the
tune of the ‘‘ patter of the shingle.” Ihave no patience with

boys.

0. Well, then cultivate that good trait, and you will like
them better. Remember, you were a boy once yourself.

R. That was my misfortune and not my fault. If I could
have prevented it it would never have happened.

Q. Well, then, endeavor to make the best of matters.
Have youa proof of what you have been doing this morning?

R. Will have one, soon, for you. (Brit.) i

B. I don’t believe you can trust that feller very much if he ie
has to give you a ‘‘ proof” that he has beea at work.

 

 

 

 

 
  
 

 
   

  

42 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

Q. Cannot stop to explain matters just now. What is
your opinion of a printing office, Billy?

B. I'd rather work in a candy shop. Too much jawing
here to suit me.

Q. And in the candy shop you could do your share of the
jawing. Now, goin the other room and see if they cannot
find something for you to do to keep you from being jawed.

(Heit Bruy.)

Q. Don’t like to be too severe on the boy, for I may have
been just as intractable as he when I was at hisage. Iam
sure the boy’s father was. Let me continue with my editorial.
(Reads aloud as he writes :) ‘‘ What is more peaceful than a
warm summer’s day when all nature seems to drowse? Not
a leaf stirs. All, all seems as restful as the grave, and—”
(A loud crash heard outside Briuy rushes in, pursued by
RACKETTS. )

Q. What’s the matter now, Sam?

R. The boy has been slightly high-larious, and there'’]l be
a heavy bill to pay for window-panes.

B. It is a little thing to make such an awful big fuss about:
There was a great fat fly buzzing on the window-pane, and
as everybody seemed to be busy I thought I’d smash him
with my fist, but by some accident my fist went through the
pane.

Q. That was very bad, indeed, Billy.

B. Yes, ’twas awful bad to think I didn’t kill the fly, an’
I cut my hand besides.

R. Mr. Quoins, you must either. get a foreman with cast-
iron nerves or a boy with less high-larity in his composition.

(Hait.)

B. (Whimpering.) I want to go home. I don’t like here.

(Re-enter Mr. HiFiey.)

H. Well, Billy, my boy, what progress do you make?

B. Don't make any. I want to work in a candy shop
It’s jaw, jaw, jaw here all the time.

The fact is, my foreman is slightly nervous and your
boy is more than slightly hilarious, and as they cannot get
along well together I fear 1 cannot continue to keep your
boy. I believe he will be more useful in some other business.

H. I guess I'll keep him at school awhilelonger. Maybe
Tl fithim fora Congressman. (Heit with Bruiy. A loud noise
heard outside Quorns goes to door and exclaims :) ‘* What's

H. (Outside.) Nothing wp. Something down Billy tum-
bled down-stairs. He isn’t hurt. He was slightly high-lari-
ous—kicked up his heels too high—that’s all.

Q. Racketts? (Reenter Rackerts ) I’ve discharged the
boy. Now, alter that ‘‘ad.” so it will read: ‘‘No boys of a
hilarious disposition need apply.” (Hzit with RacKeTTs.)

   

   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
   
   

 
 

 

  

WHAT HAPPENED TO HANNAH.

WHAT HAPPENED TO HANNAH;
oR,
THE BOSTING CURE.
FOR TWO MALES AND ONE FEMALE.

Scenz I.—Harm-house kitchen. Mrs. Wurrson busy at table,
washing dishes, ete.

Mrs. Wurrson. Oh, dear! This everlastin’ work an’
drudgery! 1 git so ’lastin’ sick of it, seems as though I
couldn’t stand it another minute. Year in an’ year out, an’
nothin’ to show for itin the end. Josiah, good an’ kind as he
is, don’t seem to see one bit but why I should be as happy as
the most, jest because I hev clothes to my back an’ a roof to
cover me; he ain’t got no idea of higher aspirations, or that I
should have a thought above my pots and pans. Jest look at
the difference between my life an’ Sister Juliette’s. Here she
is rollin’ in wealth, a-livin’ in a fine city house, an’ not havin’
to lift a finger. Ef J was in her shoes fer jest one little while,
I'd think my fortune was made. (Heaves a deep sigh and goes
on with work.)

(Enter FARMER WHITSON, with letter in his hand.)

Farmer W. Hello, mother! Here’s a letter fer ye. It’s
marked ‘‘ Bosting” on the envelope, so it must be from Jule.
Hope she ain’t thinkin’ o’ payin’ us a visit, with her citified
airs an’ furbelows.

Mrs. W. ’Tain’t likely; she hes too good a time to her
own house to think o’ comin’ here, where there ain’t no ser-
vant but the hired men, an’ a old ingrain carpet in the best
room. (Opens letter and reads.) Land, no! The shoe’s on
Vother foot! She wants usto come to see her/ Think of it,
after all these years, an’ she’s never asked us before. Shesays
she’ll stand all the expenses, an’ she’s dyin’ for some one to
make over. I don’t quite see what she’s drivin’ at; but now,
doesn’t that seem jest in answer to my prayer? Of course
we'll go, now; won’t we, Josiah?

Farmer W. Gosh! go a-visitin’ where they eat their break-
fast in the middle o’ the day, wear their Sunday clothes all
week, an’ set up to ali the ungodly hours o’ the night? Wal,
I should smile not! “Lain’t ary place for human folks, I
wonder you could ask me such a fool question, Hannah!

Mrs. W. (Bursting mto tears.) might ’a’ known it!
You’d begrudge me the greatest pleasure 0’ my life, Josiah—
who has worked my fingers to the bone all these years, an’ no
thanks that I can see.

Farmer W. Why, Hannah! What hes come over ye? I

 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
   
   
   
 
 
 
    
    
  
  
 
  
    
  
   
   
 
   
 

    

 

 

    
 

44 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

never before see ye in sucha tantrum, I didn’tdream as how
yecared to go. If ye do, that’s a dog of anothercolor. Ye’ve
been a good wife these twenty years, an’ it’s sort o’ queer I
didn’t imagine ye’d like to visit your own sister. Of course
ye shall go!

Mrs. W. (Faltering.) An’ ye, too, Josiah?

FarMER W. Gosh, no/ I couldn’t stan’ it. But, see here,
mother: ye shall hev the money that air colt fetched; you nigh
on raised her, anyhow. You shall hev a new gown, an’ all the
trimmin’s, an’ll look as good as the best. We'll show Jewliet
thet we do know some things, even ef we hev been brought up
in the country.

Mrs. W. But, I can’t leave you, Josiah! Why, we’ve never
been a night apart sence we was tied, except them two I was
called over to Garnelsville during Cousin Maria’s sickness; an’
how’d you ever git along cookin’ your own vittals an sich?
No, I can’t go, for a fact!

Farmer W. But you jest will/ Come to think o’ it, I be-
lieve I’d like to be alone fer a month or so; it’d be a kind o' a
rest, ye know, an’ I can git Miss Brown to come in once a
week, an’ bake me up a pile o’ stuff. So now, mother, ye
can’t back out, nohow!

Mrs. W. Well, Josiah, if you insist, I s’pose I must; an’
I'll go right to work to bake up a batch o’ pies, an’ cake, an’
doughnuts to last while I’m gone. She says a month, but I
don’t believe but what you’ll need me to mend up your clothes
an’ set the house to rights before that. Do you think my best
black alpacy Il do to travel in? I’m right glad I got a geod
piece; it’s as shiny as silk. But, laws! I don’t expect it'll
amount to much in the city. Why, I’ve heard that even the
shop-girls an’ servants wear silks an satins!

FarRMER W. Darnation! Can’t be it’s so bad as thet,
though I’m willin’ to believe ‘most anything of the idjets.
But, you shell hev as good as the best—now, mind that,
mother! Thet co’t sold fer a good price, an’ I fully intended
ye should hey a silk dress out 0° her for a Christmas present,
so this'll only be a leetle forehanded. Ye must git it in Bos-
ting, an’ pick it out yerself; then we’ll see if ye can’t come up
to those city folks in style. Git a new bunnit, too, with some
gimcracks onto it—now don’t forgit!

Mrs. W. Yow’re too good to me, Josiah! I don’t deserve
it one bit, an’ me a-thinkin’ hard things o’ you only half an
hour ago! 1’m that ashamed T could cry; an’ the more I
think of it the more it seems as if I couldn’t leave you. Are
you sure you're all right? Ain’t that cold you spoke of yister-
day a-gittin’ a little tighter? I’m ’most ‘mortal certain I’d
ought to be here to look after it, an’ make you catnip tea, an’
soak yer feet in mustard-water. You might git congestion 0’
the lungs or something, an’ me away!

 

         

ee eet Le Te oe ee ee ee

 
  
    
    
WHAT HAPPENED TO HANNAH. 45

Farmer W. Sho! now; don’t go to imaginin’ sich redicu
lous things. My cold’s all gone to speak of; an’ if 1 want ye
T'li send a post-keerd; or mebbe—yes, mebbe, I’ll come myself
' to fetch ye home. :

Mrs. W. (Joyfully.) Now, will you, Josiah? It’s jest too
800d fer you to say that. An’ don’t make it too long, wili
you?

_Farmer W. Why, Hannah, ef I don’t believe ye’r’ home
Sick a’ready! 'Thet’s a joke o’ the first water, an’ ye so anxious
to git away! Well, U guess I’ll be about as ready to hev ye
Come home as ye are to come, an’ I’ll be darned ef I kin
Imagine what it’l. seem like without ye, especially o’ evenings.

ell, the time’ll pass somehow, an’ so long as you're enjoyin
Yerself I don’t keer. An’ now [ll write Jewlict a line thet
Yell be there day after to-morrow; so git me a piece o’ thet
8ild-edge paper, an’ the ink-horn, an we'll settle this business
Ix short order!

(Curtain falls.)

Scene Il.—Drawing-room in city house

(Enter Mrs. Wuitson with dashing silk dress on. Her com-
plexion is rouged and powdered, and she weurs w light-colored,
much-frizeed false front.)

Mrs. W. (Sinking into a chair.) For pity sake, kin this
be me? I feel like the little old woman who had her petti
Coats cut off all around about. Whatever would Josiah say if

€ could see me now? I dont believe he’d know me, fera fact!

thought there couldn’t be greater bliss than to live in a city
louse, an’ dress fine, an’ be waited on {ike a queen. Well,

. T've tried it, an’ a more miserabie woman you couldn’t git
this side o’ Five Corners. Jewliette says I’m doin’ splendid

{nll come out full fledged in less’n no time, but I don’t be-

leve one word o’it. I’m that oncomfortable in these skin

light clothes, I can’t breathe, an’ my hair keeps gittin’

Crooked, an’ I don’t even dare to wipe my face for fear my

“complexion ”’ as Jewliette caiis.it, 11 come off; an’ what with
the kittle-drums, an’ Sorosises an’ tea fights, an’ lectures.
4n’ charity, an’ missionary meetin’s, an’ the land knows what,
| Ny head’s in sech a whirl that when I do get to bed, 1 can’t

Sleep, an’ fer all ’m waited on hand an’ foot, the servants

Ook at me as ef I was a freak o’ some sort, an’ I’m dead sure

that Patrick poked Mary an’ whispered her to look at me at

Sinner last night when I didn’t know what one o’ them ever

'*88tin’ things with a French name was; an’ when I asked for

“spoon to eat my ice cream with, instid o’ that miserable

Mttle fork, he snickered right out. Id give a five-dollar bill

 
    

46 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

ciean out o’ my purse this blessed minnit, to be back in my
own kitchen with Josiah, eatin’ punkin pie an’ pork an’
beans that I’d cooked myse‘f, an’ no one lookin’ on an’ stuffin’
their handkerchiefs in their mouth to keep from laughin’ be-
cause I drank out o’ a finger bowl! How did I know it
wasn’t a new fangled tumbler? But, I dasen’t write Josiah
Il want to go home, I was that anxious to git away from it.
Oh, dear, I’m that -homesick I’d like to die, an’ I’ve only
been here a week yisterday. (Ring at deor-bell is heard.)

(Znter Parrick, trying to suppress a laugh.)

Parrickx. Here’s a—a—man, ma’am, as says he wants to
see yez, but he didn’t give me no card.

(Enter, hurriedly, FARMER Wuitson, wearing high old white
hat, old-fashioned clothes, etc., and carrying immense cotton
umbrella.)

FarMER W. Keerd? Wal, I rather guess not/ I don’t
play keerds, young man, an’ don’t ye forgit it. Ye be a little
too fresh. But, (evd¢ Patrick) where’s Hannah? I want
Hannah! (Brushes up against Mes. Wartson.) Beg pardon,
ma’am, but could you tell me where to find mother—that is,
my wife? Ye see, it got so ’tarnal lonesome out to hum with
out her, an’ everything seemed to go wrong somehow, so I
jest considered as how I’d run down to Bosting myself, an’
see how she was a zittin’ along, an’ I kinder thought that,
mebbe, ef she’d got her visit out, that she might be willin’
to go back wich me. Not thet I’d encourage her to, ef she
was hevin’ a tip top time; but ye see, we hain’t been separated
never before so long as this, an’ it comes kinder hard. Wal,
now, I shouldn’t oughter be pressin’ my affairs onto a stran-
ger, but, ye’ll understand how ’tis.

Mrs. W. Why, Josiah, don’t you know your own old
wife—your Hannah?

FarMerR W. (Backing away from her.) Maam? What
do ye mean? I guess ye've made a mistake. (Peering at her
through his spectacles.) Oh, good Lord! it 7s Hannah! an’
she looks like some o’ these ere circus women! (Sternly.)
Hannah, what does this mean’ Hey ye gone stark mad, or
hes Satan got ye in his clutches? This my wife? It can’t be
possible. (Drops his umbrella, and strides up and down the
room.)

Mrs. W. (Bursting into tears.) Oh, Josiah, don’t look at
me like thet! It’s all Jewliette’s fault. I’m only made over;
thet’s what they do to all city folks.

Farmer W. What: paint their faces, an’ stick false hair,
thet looks like a brush heap, onto their heads, an’ squeeze an’
pinch themselves up into arig {ike that? Then ye’d better git
down onto your knees an offer thanks that ye wasn’t born &

   

 
 

pe aS

o

SRS

ae ee ee a ee) kT ae ae rr. 22 Ut Oe ee

Ae ae

 

 

_WHAT HAPPENED TO HANNAR. 4¢

city folk Oh, Lord. s’posen Elder Watkins, or Deacon
Smith, or-Miss Camp couid see ye now? Ye’d be held up in
meetin’ quicker’n iightening, | bet a hay fork.

Mrs W_ (Sobbing) Oh, don't, Josiah: Its more’n I can
bear! I didn’t like it one bit—true an’ honest, I didn’t; only
Jewliette said *twas fashion, an’ I must; so I had to; but I
jest hated it every minute, an’ despised myself. Lve got
enough o’ city to last me the rest o’ my life. an’ Josiah, won’t
you say you forgive me, an’ take me home?

FARMER W. There, there, mother; dont fret. Of course
I will! This hes been a lesson, I guess, ye won t git over in a
hurry, an’ 1 won’t say another word. ba like to give yea
good smack, it hes seemed such an awful while sence I’ve hed
the chance: but I'd a ieetle ruther not till thet air paint’s hed
some soap an water mixed with it,

Mrs. W I’ll go an’ wash it off this minute, Josiah, an’ tel]
Sister Jule that you’ve come totake me home. I know she’ll
be dreadfus disappointed, but I can’t help it. 1’m that glad
you come for me that 1 couid cry for joy. But, oh! Josiah,
my black silk gown—1 didn’t git it, es Jewliette said this was
80 much more bong tong, ~ I’'d never dare to wear this to hum,
- they all knowed I was goin’ to get one. So whatever kin

do?

FarMER W Wai, never mind, Hannah, what's did’s
did, so there’s no use cryin’ over spilt milk. We'll send it to
Maria's gir\; she’s to be married come January, an it’l. make
her an elegant weddin’ frock, an’ we wanted to git her somv-
thing. The money the colt brought ain’t all gone yit, an’ you
shell hey the black silk all the same. Get yerself into yer old
alpaca, an we'll go an’ buy the black silk this minnit, then,
good by to Bosting. I guess we’ve both hed enough o it fer
one whiie. An’, mother, jest remember this leetle sayin’, that

* Fine feathers doesn’t make fine birds,” an’ don’t go to think
in’ that ye can make a purse out 0’ a sow’s car. .

Mrs. W. Don’t say another word, Siah! I’ve learnt my
fesson, an’ won’t forget it ia a hurry; an I’ve likewise learned
thet I've got the best an’ kindest man in the whole State, an’
the cosiest, comfortablest home

Farmer W. Sho, now, ye actually make me feel cheap,
but, I do calkilate thet this ere visit to Bosting has done some
good ail around, so we won’t be sorry fer it.

Mrs. W. That we won't! But, now I'll go and pack the
valise, an’ put on the oid a}paca, an’ be ready in ten minutes,
an’ say nothin’ to Jule fer 1 know she’ll take on so = iv

(Hait )

Farmer W. Cur’us, [’ll swow, how human critters in the
city kin make sich idyots of themselves! Why, good Lord,
Hannah looked like a new-fangled scarecrow. She did, by
gur! But, she’ never do it ag’in, an’ we'll git out of this

 

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48 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

   

afore anything wuss happens. (Zurns and discovers PATRICK —
standing tn door, grinning.) An’ what in blazes d’ye want?

P. ’Scuse me, yer Honor! Thought medbe as I might
sarve ye wid a glass of woine.

Farmer W. Git eout with yer-wine! I’m temp’rance, I
am, clean through. Is it the custom here in Bosting to give
folks as calls wine?

P. Yis, yer Honor; every gintleman an’ lady takes a glass ~
on callin’, an’-—an’—whin they goes out, they remimber the
sarvant, sor—always remimber the sarvent.

FarMER W. They do, eh? What on ’arth do they want
to remember the sarvent for, I'd like to know?

P. (Bowing.) Oh, wid a half-dollar, to be sure, for show-
in’ em to the dure. All gintlemin tips the sarvents, sor.

Farmer H. Exactly; an’ so will 1. (He deftly capsizes
Parrick.) There ye have it, Paddy! Explain to yer mis-
tress how ’Siah Whitson give ye a fu’st rate Yankee tip, an’
tell her me ‘n’ Hannah will be tew hum arter this every day
of the week at the Old Humstead. No tips axed from guests.

(Hrit.)
(PATRICK still sits on floor, staring at door in amazement.)
(Curtain falls.)

_ o 2 —______-
THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS,
A DRESS PIECE FOR A GIRLS’ SCHOOLS

ScENE —A grotto.

Characters :-—Motuer Nature, APRIL Foon, and a number
of FLoweErs, as Tune, Crocus, Lity, Ross, ete. The
grotto is easily arranged by the use of gray cambric. The
costume of the FLOWERS may be of paper, or more eapen-
sive material. Hach costume must be sufficiently imitative
to indicate tts name, and can be done with small trouble and
expense. There may be any number ; the more the prettier
the effect, but do not duplicate. Apri Foon is an old lady,
dressed as Founy. Jack Frost and his train must be
draped and frosted; as they do not speak, girls can fill their
parts. Should it be desired to use this for a mixed school,
APRIL Foon can be a boy, attired as a clown, and some of
the characters may be taken by boys. Ourtain rises, dis-
closing FLOWERS disposed in graceful groups, asleep upon
the vocks. If colored lights could te burned as the curtain
718es, Mok just before it falls, the effect would be greatly in-
creased.

 

(Enter MornEeR NATURE.)
Morner NATURE.
What! sleeping still?
And March already growing oldt -
     

 

 

  

THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS.

’*T will never do! Awake,
Awake my maidens, one and all.
Arise to do my bidding!

(Waves her wand, while soft music is heard. FLowmrs slowly
woaken, yauning and stretching ; some rise, others remain
seated, in such a way as to form effective grouping. NATURE
moves among them, touching some of the slower ones with her
wand, speaking, ‘* Arise!” as she moves, and finally seating
herself on a rock somewhat higher than the rest, as music
ceases.)

Come, Crocus, come!

And Tulip, too. Bestir yourselves,
Full well you know to you belongs
The honor of appearing first

Of all the flowery train

Upon our Mother Earth.

Anemone, sweet child

Among so many children fair—
Come, sweet, come! °

Arouse that lazy Poppy!

Shake him well!

He'd sleep the whole year through
Did we permit such laziness,

But, Scarlet Coat must not be missed!
When summer spreads her splendors
He must be gay and glad. (Ascends rock.)

(Here may be introduced some pretty spring song, or flower song
with which the schoolis familiar. During its singing Crocus
and Tuurp slip away.)

MorHer Nature.

For five long months and more’
You’ve slumbered here in this warm nook,

VIOLET.

As long as that?
It scarce seems possible,

Rose.
And yet ’tis so,
For i remember well the autumn night
When Jack Frost came.
1 thought to have another month at least
Of joyous blooming,
When, following on a balmy day
In mid-September,
I felt upon the quiet air the chill of coming ev‘),
Ere I could satisfy myself

 
  
 

  
THE DIME DIALOGUES,

That it must be,

Jack came and touched me!

Uch! It makes me shiver even now
To think of that cold touch!

Moturr Nature

And for this very reason have I said

Ere the last sun of March shall set,

Jack shall be driven from the realm

In icy bondage held so long

By him and all his frosty crew,
‘And mortals be released from this cold grip.
So now te work! Tulip—

SEVERAL.
She has gone!
Morner NAturs.

Alreacy?
VIOLET.

‘Yes; and Crocus, too!

MoraErR NATURE.
Brave maidens,
Thus to face the outer world
Without our aid or escort.

; CHRYSANTHEMUM.
Pooh! What a fuss about Jack Frost.
Just look at me/ For weeks
I held my own against his rude embrace,
And here I am as good as new!

Morner Nature.
Boast not, lest arrogant pride
Should have a serious fall.
{ heard a rumor late last year,
That, ere another season passed
The Chrysanthemum from far Japan
Would supersede all others. So beware.

inter Ture and Crocus, shivering and shaking with cold.)

TULIr.
Oh, dear! Oh, dear!

Crocus.
Oh! Oh! Oh!

Mormen Nature.
How now? What's this?

 
THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS,

Tune. (With chattering teeth.)
That horrid, horrid Jack!

Crocvs. ‘
My hands! My nose! My cheekst

TULIP.

We tried to reach the earth

And nearly had done so when

Master Jack came ruthlessly ;—

He caught us both and held us fast,

He kissed me with his icy lips,

Until we wilted both, and both had died
But for dear Father Sol,

Who, seeing our sad plight,

Sent down his beaming smile.

That frightened Jack and weakened him
And he was glad to let us go.

Then we sped on our way;

But look at our discolored gowns

Made dark and limp by frost!

Morner NATURE.

The saucy wight! »

Tl have a settlement with him for that!

Now go at once and have your gowns re-dyed,
And, Tulip, did you orders give, ©

Before you went to sleep,

For some new color, something strange

To please the inconstant mortal eyes?

TULIP.

Idid. But, when I went awhile ago,
To see what had been done for me,

No great result awaited;

They had but made a cross

Of two last season’s shades,

Rose.

Dear mother ours, may I here make
A suggestion not inopportune?

Moruer NATURE.
Speak on, fair Rose!

 
THE DIME DIALOGUES

Rosz.

Why, here we have the new variety
In Tulip’s blackened gown

A flower of such a somber hue
Would surely be a novelty

Fen to inconstant mortals,

MoTHER NATURE.

A novelty indeed!
And, if in season not now too late
Why not the wonder greater yet—
A rose as dusk as ebon night?
Away, you both! See what can be done?
And Crocus too, too modest far,
Go dye your frock anew.
(Hxeunt Tutrp, Ros, and Crocus.)
How is it with the rest of you?
Are a}l in order for the fray?

SEVERAL.
We are!

VIOLET.

I’ve had my frock new dipped
In faintest perfume, and. re-touched
With colors from the lilac’s dye.

ANEMONE.

And I was bleached
Until I fairly dazzle with my whiteness.

Lity. |

T, too! See how entrancing fair
My every petal, and how bright
My leaves in their green sheen!

Porry. (Drowsily.)

I quite forgot ;

I was so sleepy ere I left the earth
I quite forgot the pertinency

To have my gown renewed

And made more ravishing.

*Tis now, I fear, too late.

And it is crinkled past all cur

 
THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS,

Moruer Nature.

Too tate, indeed, you lazy wight!

So you must go just as you are; and yet—

A crinkled poppy will be something new—hal! hal
To arrest dull inortals’ fickle taste!

BuTrTERCUP.

What would they do without our coming bright?
See how deep the hue and fresh my robe!

J love to think of my reception glad,

The breezy, sunny June never withholds,

Datsy.

They little think when they complain
Of winter’s cold and gloomy stay,

How we are busy plotting, in our sleep,
To give them, when the spring shall come,
New pleasures and surprises—

Fresh garniture and bewitching tints,
And new varieties indeed!

Did we not take that long, deep rest,
But, like our imprisoned kin,

Of hot-house fame and ceaseless growth,
Bloom on and work, remorselessly,

We, soon exhausted by the strain,

Must die and bloom no more,

And the insatiate world be reft

Of our beauty incomparable.

I am in finest mood, and think this year
I'll double all my blossoms for a change:
What think you, Mother Nature?

MorHer NATURE.

To have one here and there

A double blossom, it might be well;

But not for all, my dear, :
Lest they should dub you ‘“ Marguerite,”
And prison you fast within

Some greedy green-house walls.

Daltsy.

They could, I guess, scarce do that deed,
Since I am Legion, as you know,

So without fear the innovation I'll try,
And with a few, at least, test mortal pride,

 
      
     
 
   
    
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
     
      

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

PANSY.
J shall remain unchanged
Within my store-house is a great array
Of velvet loveliness,
Like music fashioned in weird form,
With royal dyes for utterance,
So I shall strive this year for nothing new:
Nor care to make the beautiful more fair

MotTuEer NATURE.
‘Tis well! Let what is perfect be
A law unto itself, and so unchanged.
Have they returned who went
To order changes?

BurteRcuP
I hear their voices.

(Enter Rosk, Tutte and Crocus, singing ; others join in, all
keeping time with graceful movement to the music, which is a
waltz, Thatfrom ‘7 he Little Tycoon” would be very pretty ;
or, if no set music is available, the following can be recited in
unison *) :

Away, away, in our bright array
To deck old earth again *
‘With blossoms new of every hue
For forest, field, or plain
We'll rout Jack Frost and all his host,
And none shall say us nay,
But welcome th’ hours that bring the flowers,
Bring the flowers, bring the flowers;
But welcome th’ hours that bring the flowers
To make earth gay.
(High, cracked voice from without, mimicking :)

Aprit Foot.

Welcome hours that bring the flowers,
To make earth gay. \
(Enters while singing.
Oh, yes! we'll make earth gay, —
At least J will, my fair upstarts,

Unless you do it quickly

Moruer Nature
Why, April Fool! Can that be you?

 

Aprit Foou.
It can, it may be—yea, it ist

op

   
 
 

7 ae

boM

 

_ ‘That I came not to tease and trick,

{THE AWAKENING OF THE FLOWERS,

Moruer NATURE.

What brings you here,
So near the time assigned
That you should be on earth?

Apriz Foor,

T'll tell you, mother, fast enough.

Jack Frost, marauder, impertinent, it was:
Because I dared to venture out

For one brief look upon the world

He dared to chastise me—me / E
Whom kings respect and whom the world
Delights to honor and applaud. ~

He froze my nose, my ears, my tues,

Then boisterously laughing, dared me show
Myself on earth on April first.

Morner Nature.

Impertinent wight! Maybe he’ll find
Himself the worse for wear -
On that time-honored occasion

SEVERAL,
He may, indeed.

AprRIL Foon.
Jt was for this I came to you,
To ask your potent aid.
Morner Nature.
And you shall have it, delightful Fooif

_ APRIL Foon.
He boasted that the first of May
Would find his powers still unshorn.
SEVERAL. (Scornfully.)
Ho! _ Ho!
_Aprit Foon

Should it be so 1 am undone,

For never can I venture forth again,

To court such fate The world would wait
And in dire wonder wonder

   
  
 
 
  
   
  
 
   
   
  
   
    
   
   
   
  
      
   
   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

And ope on April’s opening da:

My paradise for fools. fa
ith your good help my keenest trick

Shall on Sir Jack be played,

By forcing him to flee the world

Discrowned, dishonored and disbarred

MorHer NATURE.

Already had we so decreed,

4nd now are ready for the stroke

Here you see my flower host

Refreshed, renewed, reincarnate

To take their places in the joyous world.
Why—what is that? Look, look! (Pointing.)

Jack Frost and severat of his train sneak silently across the
back of the stage and disappear, while all stare in astonish-

MorHer Nature.

Dear Father So! has done the deed,

And Jack is vanquished utterly

For that rejoice, my host, rejoice!

Now, Flower Children, Fairies, real,

Be off to inspect your garnered stores.
To-morrow night we will invade

The expectant earth, nor disappoint
Harth’s waiting ones in the gifts we bring!

{Z hey leave stage to the music a7 some bright march. A fancy
stage march would make a fine ending, and could be acquired,
with a tittle driliung. Colored laghts during its progress would

have a fine effect.»

  

   
  

 

 

 
 
 

PLATO PENDEXTER’S ASHES,

  
   

  
  

PLATO PENDEXTER’S ASHES;

OR,
TESTING “STYLISH ” SINCERITY.

 
  
  
    
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
   
   
 
   
  
    
    

FOR FOUR FEMALES AND TWO MALES,

Characters :-—PLATO PENDEXTER, CLARENCE GAYVILLE, Mrs,
Rusuton, CLARIBEL Ruswron, Miss WALKER, Maaurm
MAHONEY. : -

Scenr.—A pleasant sitting-room. Mrs. Rusaron and Miss
WALKER discovered sewing, CLARIBEL making @ pretense at
reading to herself.

Mrs. Rusuron. Claribel, do you remember your great
uncle, Plato Pendexter? -

: CLARIBEL. Plato Pendexter? No; he does not seem to be
' impressed on the tablets of my memory. Had I ought to re-
member him, mamma?

Mrs. R. He was quite a poor man when he last visited
us, and then appeared to be unable to make much money or
_ to save the little he did make.

C. Well, my memory in this case appears to be un-
_ concernedly defective, but a person cannot always bear in
mind one’s impecunious relations.

_ Mrs. R. To better his condition yuur great uncle ‘‘ struck

out for himself,” as the saying runs, and, by investing in a

very fortunate invention, suddenly and most uaexpectedly
found himself provided with more than ample means,

C. Plato Pendexter? Oh, of course—of course I remem-
her him. What a dear, kind, affectionate soul he was to |
-besure. How fond he was of me! Oh, I do hope he will |
come and visit us and stay ever and ever so long! And now
that I am older I know L shall admire him—yes, really and
truly.

Mrs. R. For his money or for himself alone?

C How uncharitable the inference implied in that in-
quiry, mamma! Iam sure rich people ought to have care
and attention bestowed on them, seemig that they are so ac-
customed io it. |

Miss WALKER. It would seem to me that the case ought
to be the reverse, as poor people would appreciate kindness,
being so unused to if. But, then, Iam but a poor body, my
self, and may not be a disinterested judge in the matter.

C. And it seems to me you came here to sew and not to
Temark on what you deem proper or improper. People, de

SE TTT

 

   

ee re

    
       
   
      
 

     
 
 

  
 
   

¥

                
  

   

58 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

pendent on those richer than themselves for a living, had best
reserve their opinions until they are asked for them.

Mrs. R. No rudeness, Claribel! Rudeness never made a
lady yet. This is a free country, and the right of speech is
denied to none; rich and poor alike are free to express
opinion, and to demand a hearing. :

Miss W. Iam sorry if I appeared rude or presuming to
Miss Claribel; but I remember Mr. Pendexter very well, in-
deed, and know, if he did have but little money, he had a
most generous disposition. He gave his mites to the poor, as
I can bear witness, for he has aided me many and many a
time, and I always believed that he deprived himself of many
necessities in order to keep others from suffering. I am, in-
deed, glad that he has been so prosperous, for he certainly
deserves to be so.

C. Perhaps you think he will now be the more able, and
just us willing, to help you and others of the deserving poor,
as he formerly was.

Mrs. R. Claribel, stop such talk this instant! When you
cease to remember that you are a young lady, you may leave
the room, and not return until you can comport yourself like
one. But, we are somewhat straying from our subject. Not
content with what he had gained by the investment, it is
rumored that to gain more, he lost all he possessed in another
enterprise.

Miss W. How sincerely sorry I am.

C. This great-uncle of mine seems to have been very fool-
ish, A guardian should be appointed for him. Now, I sup-
pose, the upshot of all this is that he is seeking a home, and
we, as his nearest kin, are expected to give him one. A per-
son who understands the art of making and saving money, is
a far different individual from a speculating go-easy who holds
on to peng

Mrs. R. The same missive that brought news of his change
of fortune said that he had died recently.

Miss W. Dead! How sad! I am sincerely sorry to hear
it. But, so kind a soul must be sure of a home beyond the
grave not made with hands.

C. If he is dead he must be buried by this time, so I don’t
see why you should have been at all this trouble to tell me all
you have. As he was not my own uncle, but merely a great-
uncle, it will be unnecessary forme to go into mourning. Be-
sides, it would seem somewhat hypocritical; don’t you think
so, Mamma?

Mrs. R. I understand, from the missive received, that, al-
though Uncle Plato had died, he had not been buried, and the
request is made—it is his will, in fact—that when his remains
is here, we must give them house-room as long as we
VOe

 
PLATO PENDEXTER’S ASHES 59

C. What? House-room to a dead body: Was tne man
crazy? What does it all mean, mamma? Can you explain
the mystery or meaning of such a request?

Miss W. It does seem very singular, and I am as curious
as Miss Claribel is to have the solution to such a strange in-
junction,

Mrs. R. It Oe must appear odd to you; but the mys-
tery is no mystery at all. Uncle Plato always had such a fear
of being buried alive that it amounted to almost a mania with
him, and I have often heard him say that he desired to be
cremated. His desire must have been gratified, for Iam in-
formed that his ashes are to be put in our care.

C. Well, I am sure that neither his ashes nor any one else’s
ashes shall remain in this house as jong as I can have my say,
so now!

Miss W. Why, what earthly harm can the sacred ashes
do any one?

C. Why, it makes me creepy just at the very idea. Iam
awfully superstitious, and would be in constant fear lest those
ashes should materialize, and thus scare me out of my seven-
teen senses,

Mrs. R. There is an old saying which runs: ‘‘ Never
trouble trouble till trouble troubles you.” Bear that in mind;
and don’t let us think of what we would or would not do
with the poor man’s ashes, until they are ours to dispose of.

(Enter Macere.)

Macearr. If ye p)'aze, Miss Claribel, your feller is down
stairs, and he do be asking to see you most paragollically.

C. To see me paragollically! Whatever do you mean?

M. Sure and it’s meself as don’t know what he does be
meaning, at all at all. I only bees tellin’ ye phat he said.

C. He must have said ‘‘ particularly.” aggie, you are
very obtuse.

No, miss, I’m not. I’m Oirish to me backbone, as was
me father an’ mither, an’ all their thirteen childers, bedad, so
it isl
C. Well, ask Mr. Gayville to come up-stairs and be sure
= to make any blunders. Ido think Clarence is a perfect

aisy.

M. Faith and truth he can’t be that, Miss Claribel.

C. Why not, I should like to know?

M. For-the rayson that a daysie give a (s)cent and Mr.
Gayvillain never gave me as much as a farthing.

(Hait suddenly.)

Miss W. Maggie does not gives the gentleman a character
for generosity, does she?

. Inever care for the opinion of the ‘‘ lower orders.”
Just as though Clarence would condescend to notice a work

girl! Kah! ~

 
60 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

(Re-enter Mace, ushering in CLARENCE GAYVILLE.)

M. Walk your tratters right in, Mr. Gayvillain, and be
sure you don’t make any blunders.

C. Leave the room, immediately, Maggie! (Macerx exit.)
That girl is the stupidest creature in the world. My message
was for her not to make any blunders. As though you could
make a blunder. Oh, it’s too ridiculous to think of!

CLARENCE GAYVILLE. Glad 1o know that it was-an error.
Iam not wholly free from the little failings of humanity;
but I do pride myself on not committing social blunders. By
the way, Mrs. Rushton, haven’t I heard you say you had an
uncle named-Plato Pendexter?

Mrs. R. . Yes; he was my own uncle, my mother’s brother.
We have only recently heard of his death.

C.G. Quite a wealthy man, if one may judge from notices
of the late lamented. Had he many relatives?

Mrs. R. Claribel and I are his nearest and only kin.

C.G. (Astde.) Consequently they wiil be heiresses. Must
keep in with this family!

C. Of what are you thinking so earnestly?

C.G. That the decease of the late lamented must have been
a great blow to you.

C. Ofcourse. J have known so little about him I cannot
fcel the deep grief that might be expected, for he was only
my greatuncle. Still, he must have held a very high opinion
of us since he left all he has to leave, to mamma and myself.
We ure the custodians of all he leaves behind.

C. G. How delightful it must be to have money without
earning it. I mean, to have one’s relatives die; no, I mean
to have money bequeathed to one. Glad to know that you
and your respected mother are so highly favered by fortune.
I suppose you will not now notice such an humble individual
as Clarence Gayville.

C. So far as J am concerned that would not make the
slightest difference, and, for my part, I shall refuse to accept
any part of the bequest.

C.G. How very magnanimous and self-sacrificing, <A
resclve that does great credit to your mind and heart. Still,
don’t you think, so long as the money is rightfully yours, and
also, doubtless, that it is your great-uncle’s will that you shall
accept it, it is more of a duty 30 accept than decline it?

C. There does not scem to have been any money to leave
tc any one. ‘The late lamented speculated and lost all he had,
so ’tis said.

C. G. (Asitde.) If that is so, ’'m glad I didn’t commit my-
self too far. (Direct.) Might 1 ask what the late lamented
did leave you?

C. His ashes! ‘‘ Simply that and nothing more.”
C.G. His ashes! What can be your meaning?

   

  

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PLATO PENDEXTER’S ASHES. 61

C. His cremated remains—just ashes now!

C. G. What a blood-curdling idea!

C. Yes, 1 think he was most unwise to speculate, after
possessing a fortune by speculating. It was absolutely crimi
nal to lose money in that reckless manner. And, as to having
his ashes sent to us, that is a burning shame,

C. G. I’m very, very sorry for you, my dear OClaribel. I
thought there was quite a fortune in ttore for you (aside), and
for me, too! (Dérect.) But, really, 1 must be going back to
the office, or his Majesty, the Boss, may make some disagree-
able inquiry. When I heard that Mr. Pendexter was no more,
I thought I would just drop in and condole with you on the
loss of the late lamented. (Heit.)

Miss W. It seems to me that Mr Gayville made a sudden
departure when he discovered that your bequest-amounted to
nothing but ashes. :

_, Re-enter MAGGIE.)

M. There’s a queer-acting, strange sp’aking jintleman dc
axing for ye, Mrs. Rushing. He axed for the mistress, and
Td a good moind to tell him we didn’t have slaves nowadays
so there was no masters an’ mistresses; but I excused his
ignerance and let it pass, although I tell you honest it hurt me
failings, and why shouldn’t it, bedad!

Mrs. R. Show the gentleman in here at once. I don’t see
who it can possibly be.

M. Why don’t you ax himself, mum, and mebbe ye’ll soon
find out.

C. Noremarks, Maggie. Go and do as you are told and
do so at once. (Hvif Maaerr, who soon returns, ushering in
PuatTo PENDEXTER, and then exits once more.)

PLATO PENDEXTER. Pardon me, ladies, for intruding and
trespassing on your valuable time, but my business is very
urgent and important. (Zo Mrs. Ruston.) I believe 1 am
addressing Mrs, Rushton?

Mrs. RR Yes, sir, and this is my daughter, Olaribel.

P P. And this other lady? Is she a relative?

C. Oh, dear, no. She’s only Miss Walker, our hired seam
Stress.

P. P. Ibelieve, Mrs. Rushton, you had the honor to be
the niece of my friend, Mr. Plato Pendexter?

C. (Aside) A great honor, indeed!

P.P [have a commission to execute I have brought
you the ashes of Mr. Plato Pendexter. :

Which we most “respectfully decline” as the editors
Temark, although I cannot add ‘‘ with thanks.” To be plain,
We don’t want them and won't have thera We haven’t any
Toom for such precious possessions,

_ Mrs. R. Don’t be so bold spoken, Claribel. It would be
inconvenient for us to accept the bequest, as it would be

 
  

   

62 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

a source of much jarring between my daughter and my-
self.

C. Why don’t you speak out as bravely as I do, mamma,
and tell the plain truth that we will not have any such rubbish
around?

P. P. Perhaps, if it had been a money legacy you might
not have regarded it as ‘‘ rubbish.”

C. ‘Circumstances alter cases.” You may say he had a
right to use his money as he wished; but he was selfish be
cause he ought to have thought of others and saved enough
for those left when he was called to leave this mortal
sphere

P. P. That was his own business, most likely. But if you
won’t give these ashes house room I don’t know what I ought
to do with them.

©. Throw them in the ash barrel where they belong.

Mrs, W. No, no, now: Please not to do that. Let me
have them: My room is small, yet not too small for those
precious ashes. Mr. Pendexter was kind to me and mine
when he was alive, and I honor the memory of his good deeds
and kind heart too greatly to treat with ignominy and contempt
his poor but sacred ashes.

P. P. And you no kith or kin of his?

Miss W. What of that? He did not consider that when
he was good and kind to me.

P. P. Well, then, if you will give the ashes house-room,
here they are. (Hands Miss WALKER 2 small box and a note,
at the same time.)

Miss W. (Opens the note and reads.) ‘* Please to accept the
inclosed check for five thousand dollars, for giving my ashes
house-room. PLato PENDEXTER.”

C. That check must belong to us, as we are his nearest
kin; so, you will be kind enough to hand itover, Miss
Walker.

P. P. It is intended for the one who is willing to give
house-room to the ashes of Plato Pendexter. Miss Walker is
willing to receive the ashes; consequently, the money is right
fully hers

C. Well, mamma and I can go to law about it

Miss W. Rather than have any trouble concerning the
matter, I will willingly give it up I certainly do not want
pay for such a trust.

P P_ And I command you to do nothing of the kind.
anks And what right have you to command anything of the

in
_P P. The right of being the original owner, and I believe
i have the mght to give my money to whom I please, for J
am Plato Pendeater! (The ladves start back vn alarm )

Mrs R_ Unc. Piato’ Not deadt

 

   

;
'
;
;
;

   
 
 
  

    
 

 

  

PLATO PENDEXTER’S ASHES,

P P. Who said I was dead? I had it given out that I had
died, and so I did dye—my hair and whiskers.

Mrs. R. And the ashes?

P.P. Well, those are the remains of m cigars. Iv has all
been something of a practical joke. I took this means to test
the worth of my friends, and 1 have succeeded to my entire
satisfaction.

C. Of course we were only in jest when we refused to re-
ceive these mysterious ashes.

And was Miss Walker in jest when she was wil‘ing
to accept them?

Miss W. No, indeed} I should have received and pre-
served those ashes as sacredly as if they were those of a most
noble and life-long friend. But I have concluded my day’s
work, and must go home now and prepare my supper. I
thank you more than 1 can express in words for your most
generous, and to me pringery gift.

P.P. You deserve it all. Allow me to accompany you
to your door. It is delightful to meet a sincere, disinterested
friend; andI believe my room to be better than my company.

(H2it, with Miss Wisse)

C. I must confess I have madea fool of myself. Of course,
the end of the romance will be that Miss Walker will become
Mrs, Platc Pendexter, and all his money will be Jost to us.

Mrs. R. It will teach us to be more guarded in our speech,
and less mercenary in our feelings, After all, Claribel, we
— make the best of it, for ‘‘ there’s no use crying for spilled
mi

C May beso. But, no one ever lost such rich cream. I
could bite my fingers off in sheer vexation.
(Rait, petulantly.)
Mrs. R. Punished for my weakness in yielding to a selfish

and unfeeling child—a sin that only too many mothers com-
mit. \ (Zvit.)

 

  
  
 
   

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

THE SPIRIT OF DISCONTENT.

FOR NINE LITTLE BOYS,

First Boy. (Dressed in farmer style.)

I’m a country boy, yet much would £ give

To be a town boy, in a city to live.

The country 1s pokey,” the city is grand,

So among city lads I would take my stand,

I am tired of orchards, of mill streams, and tree;
There’s no fun in the country; the gay city for me!

Sreconp Boy. (Dressed in city style.)

And I am the born and bred city lad,

But to ive in the country indeed I'd be glad;

The city’s so crowded; in the green fields ’'d rove;
Change the noise of the streets for the country’s still grove,
And meadows and wild wocd my teachers would be;
The free country life is the life for me!

Tutrp Boy (Dressed as a sailor.)

A sailor Jad I, and I dwell on the sea;

To live on the Jand would much better suit me.

On the sea there is danger from storms and from wrecks;
There is peri aloft, and hard work on the decks,

And notbing around you but ocean and sky;

They laugh at ‘‘land lubbers,” but to be one would I}

Fourts Boy.

A steady land boy my lot seems to be,

Yet freely I’d roam o’er the great and wide sea;

The winds and the waves would my courage make strong
While aloft or alow I'd sing the Sea Song,

And in yawl, gig or long boat a brave oar I'd pull;

Yes, I’d be a sailor—this land life’s tco dull.

Firtn Boy. (Dressed as a cowboy.)

I’m a rather small cowboy, and was born in the West,
Yet a life in the East I think I'd like best,

For a life in great towns must be full of rare joys,

But the ranges and plains have no fun for boys

If ‘‘home’s where the heart is,” as my parents both ss,
Then from the Wild West I would speed quick away.

 
THE SPIRIT OF DISCONTENT.

Srxtu Boy. (Dressed as a schoolboy.)

A young student am I, but school I detest;

For teachers and books will give me no rest;
Tied to lessons each day is the hardest of work,
With never a chance this book-slaving to shirk;
To escape such bondage, and give life a new zest,
I’d become a true cowboy, and live in the West!

Seventy Boy. (Dressed richly.)

They say | am wealthy, and all folks agree
a everything fine is provided for me.
ood clothes and all else I have at my call,
But bet.er I’d feel if I worked for them all.
There must be“delight in earning your own;
I envy the lads who can go it alone!
To be pampered and fed by another's gains,
Is galling to pride—puts honor in chains.

Ereuru Boy. (Dressed poorly )

I’m a boy who is poor, and while other boys play
1 have no time for sport, for 1 work day by day;
Although I toil ceaselessly it is little I gain,

A hard-used toiler so must I remain.

If riches were mine how life would be fair!

How blessed the days that brought not a care!

I long for the ease that the rich lads enjoy,

Yet fear I shall ever remain a poor boy!

Nintu Boy.

I'm the boy who’s contented; whatever my place,
That station I {ill with all proper grace;
Time passed in vain wishing is always misspent;
The way to be happy is by_being content.
Do your best fn positions allotted to you;
You'll find it will pay to yourself to be true!
And that is well done which makes people say
* Whatcver is best you teach us the way!”

First Boy.
We think you are right in what you've just said,

Srconp Boy. —

 
    
  
 

THE DIME DIALOGUES,

 
 

TurrD Boy.
Worse off we might be. ‘‘ Avast, then!” I say,

   
 
   
   
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

Fourtn Boy.
Ay, ay. my brave lad: Belay that! Belay!

Firrs Boy.
You're a bully boy chief; let's ‘‘ shake” all around.
; _ (They all shake hands,)
Stxru Boy.
And hurrah for the boy who the right strike has found.

SrventH Boy.
May he live long to teach us the true and right way.

i Ereutu Boy.

And may we, like him, make every place pay!
(They bow in unison and retire.)

————_____ 2-4 —_____—__—.

THE GOOD STRIKERS. F

FOR SIx LITTLE GIRLS.

First Grru.

Men and women are striking in manner most free;
The boys, too, are striking, so why shouldn’t we?

I tell you I’d strike, with might and with main,

The bottles of liquor that cause so muca pain.

I would strike out the errors that cause much dislike,
As all the world’s striking, for what would you strike?

SEconD GIRL.

1 will strike out cross looks that give one no joy;
Strike out all harsh answers that others annoy;
Strike out the ill thoughts that have often distressed,
Strike out the envy of those better dressed.

Strike out the selfishness that money oft brings—
Strike out the slander and its poisonous stings,

THIRD GIRL.
Strike to be just in all of our ways—
Strike hard to win our teacher’s just praise—
Strike to be true in our play or in work;—
Strike, our hard lessons never to shirk—
Strike less for fortune than for good fame,
And strike to attain an honorable name,

   

 

     
 
 

     
    
 

  

THE GOOD STRIKERS,

FourtH Gir.

Strike, the careworn’s loads to lighten!
Strike, some cheerless lives to brighten!
Strike, to make sad eyes less tearful!
Strike to make dull hearts more cheerful!
Strike out wrongs that seem increasing!
Strike for justice without ceasing!

Firre Grr.

Strike out weeds of evil living—

Strike the more to be forgiving—

Strike out evils of the slothful— __,
Strike ont thorns of all things loathfule=
Strike for good forevermore—

Strike to win the heavenly shore,

Srxra Giri.

Strike to give poor children pleasure—
Strike to give them many a treasure
Strike to satisfy their needs—

paribe to do them noble deeds—

Strike by love to win regard:— ;
That's what I'd strike for, and strike hard?

First Grru.
We're all agreed to work alike,

Srconp Giri.
And show how little girls can strike;

: THIRD GIRL.

By acting thus we all must thrive,
Fourtn Grew.

Strike’s but another name for strives

Firra Gir.
Our strike is not confined to age,

SrxrH GIRL,
So will you in our strike engage?
nes p \ ‘ nee Peet

 

    
 
 

   
 

™HE DIME DIALOGUES,

THE MISSING ESSAY3

OR,

ENVY, HATRED AND ALL UNCHARITABLENESS,
UNMASKED.

FOR A NUMBER OF GIRLS.

Scene I.—T he general play-room of the school. Many, ANNIE,
GRACE, JENNIE, talking.

Mary. We simply stand no chance at all, The prize lies
between those two,

Grace. I would not care so much were the winner other
than that Nora Brown. But she to carry off the prize over all
the rest of us! It is too much.

JENNIE. I say 80, too.

ANNIE. It’s just too mean.

Mary. She has not carried it off yet; nor is it sure she
will, although she certainly outshines us all in composition.
I do not see why she should not bave it as well as any one, if
she wins it fairly

G. Oh, we all know you have taken her up, and swear by
her. Just take my advice and let her alone, or she may get
yuu into trouble. There is no telling what these low people
may co I do not see what madame is thinking of to have
her here at all. Isuppose it is because Mrs. Loiu sent her
here, and madame does not dare to refuse her High-mightiness,
even though the subject be a charity pupil.

J. Ishall tell mamma of it when J go home, and I should
not wonder if she took me away at the end of the term. She
is very particular about my associates

A. I feel very much as you do about her.

Mary. I think it is wicked for you to feel and talk so
about her. What harm has she ever done you? We do not
know that she is a charity scholar, as you choose to call her,
that is only a surmise on your part, because you happen to
know that she came here through Mrs. Lord’s influence. And
if she were, I do not see why she should not be one of us.

J. Because she is not as good as we are. Why, she is a
nobody! Who knows who she is, or where she comes from?

Mary. Is she nota lady in her manners?

G. Oh, she is polite enough, but her gowns would frighten
the natives, and are made of the cheapest stuff.

Mary. Then her crime lies in being poor?

J. Isn’t that enough? Besides, I think she is horridly dis-
agreeable. I hate sarca tic people.

 

   
 

 

   

 

eR te ip i Ee hee
Pi a Pee? ERP RE

 
   
THE MISSING ESSAY. 69

 

Mary. I have not found her so.

_ A. I suppose she has made herself extra sweet t “you, be-
_ cause you are the richest girlin school. (MAuDE bursts in.)

_ Maupe. Oh, girls! Have you seen my composition any-
_ where?
At, No—why?
 Maups. Itis gone! I laid it on my desk not half an hour
since. You know our themes must all be in by ten o’clock
} this morning. What shallI do? Where can it have gone?
_ ‘Mary. Have you looked thoroughly.

Maupg. Yes, everywhere. In my room; in the study-
room; every place I have been since breakfast. Anyhow, I
know I laid it on my desk.

A. And has no one been in the room since?

Mauve. Not that I know of, excepting Nora Brown. I
met her coming out as 1 went in, and she was white as death.
I tried to speak to her, but she seemed so anxious to get away
that I did not detain her. I am afraid she is taking this prize
contest too much to heart. I hope she will win, I am sure;
she deserves to.

J. (Sneeringly.) And doubtless will, now that your essay

is safely out of the way.

F Maupe. I hope it may be found; but if it is I still would

wish that Nora might have the prize. Come, Mary; come

_ and help me to make further search. The time grows short,
(They go out.)

 

G. It is as plain as the nose on my face.
A. I should think it was.
J. Nora took that theme and destroyed it, lest it should
win.
. And Maude never suspected her. s
_ @. Why, her very agitation betrayed her. It is a shame,
a burning shame!
| J. Madame ought to know it. Let us go and sce what is
being done. (They go out as Mary and MAuDE ‘re-enter from
the other side.)
| Mary. Iam very, very sorry for your loss, Maude, but I
| am sorrier still for Nora. ©
_ Maupr. Why?
Mary. Did you not see what the others thought?
Mauve. No; what? :
Mary. That Nora took your theme.
Maups. Mary! They surely could not beso cruel! Oh,
I hope she will not hear of it. :
_ . Mary. Be sure she will. They will be only too glad to
find something against her.
_ Mavupr. They have treated her shabbily, brt I hardly
| think they would be so cruel as to accuse her of theft.
Mary. I saw the suspicion in their faces the moment you

Ny

 

  

 

    
       
   
 
 
      
   
  

   

7 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

said you had met her coming from the school-room, and : nat
her face was white.

Mavpz. I wish I had not said that. Poor girl! What
shall we do? Icare nothing about the prize, now. I can
only think of her.

Mary. The best thing is to say nothing unless forced to,
by circumstances. I only wish you had not admitted seeing
her.

Mavupg. I wishso, too. Thereis the first bell. We must
go. It is too late now, to remedy my loss; I am out of the
contest, and can only hope that Nora may win. (Z'hey go out
as Nora enters by the other door.)

N. Oh,mother,mother! Noteven for youcan I endure this
longer! The slights, the sneers of these aristocratic girls fall
harmlessly upon me. Icare not for them, nor their con-
tempt—but this—¢h7s, is more than I can bear, even for your
dear sake! And yet, I cannot tell you of it, for it would
crush you to the earth. An anonymous letter; vile thing,
’tis cruel as the scorpion’s sting. I burned it up but every
word is seared into my brain with fiery letters, ‘*‘ The daugh-
ter of a jail-bird has no right among the young ladies of this
select establishment! Her absence is desired immediately, or
all the school shall know the truth.” Who knows my
wretched secret? How came she by the knowledge? Oh,
mother; this is no longer any place for me, yet how shall I
escape? I saw their strange looks, and heard their whispers
as I passed through the hall just now. I am branded—
branded! Yet, my only hope of an education is here, and 1
have promised to complete the course. Heaven help me!
What shall 1 do?

(Curtain falls.)

 

Scene II.—School-room. Girls seated at their desks. MADAME
Le Brun on the platform. Any number of girls may be in
this scene, according to stage accommodations.

MapamMre Le Brun, Young ladies, I had hoped to present to
you this morning the winner of the essay prize; instead, it is
with sincere sorrow that I come before you to say that among
our number is one to whom suspicion attaches. I trust she
may be able to clear herself. I feel sare some mistake has
been made that can be explained. Miss Moore, why was
your essay not among those offered for competition?

Maupe. It was mislaid.

Mapame. Mislaid? Then you have found it?

Maupe. No, madame.

Mapame. Where did you have it last?

 

 
       
     
    
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
    
 
    
  
   
 
   
   
       
   
       

ene

 

THE MISSING ESSAY.

Mavpg. [am not sure.

Mapame. Where do you think you had it last?

Maupr. Here on my desk.

Mapamg, When did you put it there?

Maupr. On Tuesday morning, just after breakfast.

MapameE. When did you miss it? ;

Mavupr. Half an bour later.

Mapame. Do you know if any one was in the room in the
mean time?

Maupr. There may have been several.

Mapvame. Do you know, positively, of any one being in
this room during that time? : ;

Maung. (Hesitatingly.) Ye-yes, madame.

Mapamg. Why did you not say so at first? And why was
your loss not reported to me at once? You act as if you were
trying to screen some one. W/o was the person you saw in
here?

Mavpgz. Oh, please don’t ask me! I know she never took
it, and it is cruel to accuse her. I cannot tell you her name—
I will not!

Mapame. Very well. I am glad you are so confident; it
speaks well for the accused. You may be seated. Nora

rown.

N. (Rising.) Yes, madame. :

MapameE. Where were you on Tuesday morning, between
the hours of eight and nine?

WN. In this room.

MapaMe. Was any oue with you?

No one, madame,

Mapame. What did you do when you left this room?

N. Went down to the kitchen to burn something up.
What, I cannot tell you.

Mapame. I insist on knowing,

~N. And I must decline to tell.

Mapame. Do you know what the result will be?

N. Perfectly. 1 have already beep made aware that I am
suspected of destroying Miss Moore’s essay. Ske knows
how false such a charge is. Since I entered this ‘‘ select es-
tablishment ” (d¢terly), she and Miss King alone, have be-
friended me in the face of sneers and gibes from the other
young ladies, and could I thus repay fer? A thousand times
no! Had 1 known of this vile suspicion on Tuesday, Ishould
have withdrawn my own essay— .

J. (Sarcastically.) Humph! likely!

A. A very probable story!

Mapame. Silence! Miss Brown, [I do not like your tone
ormanner. If you are innocent, as you assert, there is no
need for dramatics. You have only to tell me what it was
that you destroyed. a5

 

 
  

   

92 SHE DIME DIALOGUES.

N. feannot—indeed, I cannot!

Mapameg. Until you can you must be content to remain
under a cloud, and I must decline to present you with the
prize the committee have unanimously awarded you. I will
not believe this thing of you until it is actually proven against

ou. The circumstantial evidence is strong—

N. (Wildly.) Again those words! Great Heaven! (She
faints, and girls gather around her. Mary and MAUDE push
them back.)

Mary. Stand back! Every one of you! It is you who
have done this thing, and may retribution come upon each of
you!

MapaME. (Approaching.) Miss King, what are you say-
ing? What do you mean? Some one assist Miss Brown to
her room, and the rest come toorder. (Two girls assist Nora,
who partially recovers The rest return to their seats.) Now,
Miss King, I should like an explanation of your wild asser-
tions.

Mary. Believe me, madame, what I said is trwe. Nora
Brown has been skunned, despised, neglected, even openly
taunted, until I have marveled how she endures it. Yet never
have I heard her reply. Her only defense has been sarcasm,
which | do not blame her for using. This lost essay is, I be-
lieve, but a scheme to drive her from the school, for which she
is not sufficiently aristocratic /

Mapame. Take care! That is a grave charge for you to
bring against your school-mates.

Mavupr. I think Mary is perfectly justified in what she
says, madame. Wrong has been done, and Nora is not the
one to doit. It is true I met her coming from this room that
morning, and that she was agitated, but I am sure, could we
know what it was that she destroyed, it would prove not to
have been my essay.

Mapame. There certainly is something strange about all
this. I will sift this matter thoroughly. (Zaps bell. Enter
maid.) Send the cook to me. Miss King, are you ready to
prove your assertions?

Mary. I suppose I shall have to, now, but I had much
rather not mention any names, but leave you to find out for
yourself the truth of what I have said.

J. Oh, you may as well tell our names. Ido not mind
owning that 1 have snubbed Miss Brown—if that 7s her name.

MapaMe. Explain that Jast remark, Miss Lee.

A. (Aside.) Take care, Jennie!

J. (Zo ANNTE.) I am not a coward, if you are. (Zo
Mapamz.) I mean that girls with criminals for fathers are
very apt to change their names.

Srveran, Oh! Oh!

MapameE. I see youare acquainted with poor Nora’s secret.

 

 
 

 

   

THE MISSING BSSAY, é %8

I had hoped to keep it from the knowledge of any of you, that
she might finish her school career in peace. Now that so
much is known, I shall speak the truth, and trust to the honor
of all my girls to be doubly kind to their unfortunate mate.
It is true her father is in prison, but it has never been satis-
factorily proven that the crime was his. He is a gentleman of
great intelligence, and of excellent standing, and was con-
victed wholly on circumstantial evidence.

Mavupe. Oh, madame, that was what made Nora faint.
You used those very words to her.

Mapameg. Sol realized, too late. Now I want this affair
hushed up, and Nora kindly treated until we have just cause
to do otherwise.

J. My mother would never approve of such an associate
for me, | am sure.

Mapame. Then your mother is at liberty to remove you.
Let me hear no more such nonsense. (Anock.) Come in!
(Enter Coox.) Bridget, do you remember Miss Brown's burn-
ing something in the range, on Tuesday morning?

3RIDGET. Oi do that, mum!

Mapame. Did you sce what it was?

B. An’ why shuddent Oi, whin I put it in the foire mesilf.
Just a wee bit scrap 0’ paper, sich as the young lJeddies writes
their billy-doos on. The range were hot, an’ sez Oi, ‘‘ Ye’ll be
afther burnin’ yer apron; let me put it in fer yez,” and so she
gave it me, an’ Oi noticed she were all in a thrimble loike, an’
watched it twill every bit wuz gone. An’ the scint av it was
like the incense in the church; it made yez faint loike, it
were that swate an’ strong,

MapamE. Thank you, Bridget; you may go. (BRIDGET
bobs and goes.) You see now that the missing theme was not
burned on Tuesday morning.

(Enter a THACHER, with a manuscript tn her hand.)

TracuEeR. Following your instructions, madame, Miss
Smith and myself commenced a search for the missing essay
—a search that was very brief, and productive of rather
startling results. (ANNIE jumps up, but JENNIE pulls her
down, and orders her, in a sharp aside, to ‘* Be quiet !’”)

Mapamr. You have found it, then?

T. I found it in the bureau of the room shared by Miss
Lee and Annie White.

J. (Astde.) I told you to lock it in your trunk! (ANNIE
begins to cry.)

T. From the marks on the clothing I judged the drawer
to be Miss White’s. I also found in the scrap-basket some
torn pieces of note-paper, which had evidently been used to
practice an assuined handwriting on. Putting it together, I
found it to be this. (Spreads pieces on table before MADAME’
‘A. Oh, please dow? read it! Please don’t)

  
  

94 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

J. Be still, you littie fool!

MapaME. (fading slowly:) ‘‘The daughter of a jail-
bird has no right among the young ladies of this select es-
tablishment. Her absence is desired ¢mmediately (Ah, indeed!)
or ail the school shali know the truth.” Whose writing is
this?

T. Miss Lee’s, I should judge from the first few words.

J. Nevertheless I did not write it!

MapaMeE. Jennie Lee and Annie White come forward.
(Zhey come.) Now I want the whole truth of this cowardly,
wicked affair. Miss Lee, what have you to say?

J. That I did not write that letter, nor take the essay.

Mapame. Annie, what have you to offer in explanation
of this matter?

No—no—nothing!

Mapamg. ThenI will speak for you! You were Miss
Lee’s catspaw. In other words, you wrote this letter and took
the essay at her instigation. (Both girls start )

A. (Faintly.) Yes. (Cries of ‘‘ Oh, for shame ;” hisses, etc.)

J. (Angrily.) Imight have known better than to have
trusted anything to you, you little—

MapameE. Silence! (7o TracuEerR.) Go and see if Miss
Brown is able to come down. (Hzit' TEACHER.) When was
this letter presented to Nora?

A. I put it in her desk Monday night, after school hours.

Mapame. Then she must have found it on Tuesday morn-
ing when she opened her desk. I do not wonder at her agita-
tion.

Mary. Poor girl!

(Enter TEACHER and Nora.

MapamMeE Come here, Nora, (Zakes Nona’s hand.) Be-
fore you, stand convicted those who took the missing essay,
and who also concocted the anonymous letter you destroyed
on Tuesday morning. In it they desired your immediate ab-
sence. Instead of which their absence is now desired, and at
once!

A. Oh, madame! ,

MapameE. 1 have now the pleasure of presenting you with
your richly-earned reward, the Golden Medal for te best es.
aS (Fastens medal on Nora.) ’

. But Maude, madame? Is it fair to her?

Mavpe. Oh, Nora dear, I am only too glad that it is yours
—deeply, truly glad.

Mary. And so are we all, Nora!

Severs. Hurrah for Nora! Brave Nora!

Mapamg. You have had a severe trial, my dear; let it be
a lesson to you to hold your own. steadfastly, nor let others
overrun you in the battle of life. The right is yours to reach
the highest. Aim for it, as I am sure you will. Now, go

 
  

 

 

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ara mpm Oo

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A WELL-TAUGHT LESSON. - 75

‘among your comrades (Kisses her), where you will find warm
hearts and helping hands. As for these two culprits, night
Will find them far from here; they are not suspeaded, but dis-
missed in disgrace!

c Ob, madame, punish me in any way, but do not send
}me home in disgrace. It will kill me; I cannot bear it.

_N. Forgive Annie! do, I beg! She is so young I think she
&carcely realized what she was doing. I can and do forgive
her. Do let her stay!

_ Mapame. Nobly spoken, Nora! At your petition I will

“| think about it. Young ladies, you may have a holiday.

'_ Voices. Thank you! Thank you! (Nora clasps ANNIE’S
hand. All cluster around Nora as the curtain falls.)

!

a

A WELL-TAUGHT LESSON,

' FOR SEVERAL BOYs.

Scenzr I.—A group of boys discovered talking together. Jo,
CHARLIE, WILLIE, GILBERT, Howarp and Ernest—the
| latter being smaller than the others.

_ Jo. Isay, boys, let’s organize aclub. Just us six, to com-
Mence with. Afterward, if we are successful, we can admit
Other members if we like. How does the idea strike you?
 QGrBertT. We can tell you better when we know the ob-
ject of the club. :
“| J. The object is to provide both pleasure and profit for
Ourselves during this coming winter. We could meet around
at each other’s houses one night of every week. Friday even-
ing would be the best, as we have no studying todo then. We
could read aloud, an hour, from some entertaining book of
travels or history, and then talk about it. Afterward we
Could have music, games, or whatever struck our fancy.
_ CHARLIE. That would be first-rate, Jo. What a fellow
ou are for planning! I could bring my violin, and Howard
his banjo, and learn duets together.

Wiis. Oh, yes, and we must have a game of “‘ Halma.”
It is so interesting. é

Ernest. And a box of letters to form ‘‘ anagrams” with,
and to play at “‘ Word Making and Word Taking.”

«, Yes, we will have game contests and award prizes.

here is no end to the nice things we can do,

Howarp. And don’t you suppose we could have a counle

IPE ES BE

 
   

   

76 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

of entertainments during the winter—charades, dialogues,
speaking, and so forth?

Au. Of course we could! What jolly fun.

J. I know our parents will approve of the plan, for it cer-
tainly can do no harm, as i! will kecp us from seeking amuse.
ment at harmful places. We six always scem to get on pretty
well together, so -guess there will be no quarreling or any-
thing of that sort.

OrHERs. Of course not! No, indved! ete., ete.

3. As you all seem to be of one mind, we will consider
the question settled Now, the first thing to do is to elect a
president, to keep things in order. I think one officer will be
enough, as the business of the club will uot be very com-
plicated. I forone propose Erncst Forbes to fill that position.
He is the youngest of the lot, so there will not be any feelirg
about it among us older fellows. All you who are in favor of
Ernest Forbes for presidert, hold up your right hand. (Al
do sv with the exception of ERNEST, who looks pleased.) Good!
You are elected, Ernest, without one dissenting vote. Allow
me to congratulate you, President i"orbes. (Shakes hands )

EK. I fecl very much honored, J assure you, but I am afraid
I do not know much about the duties of such a weighty cffice.
However, I will do my best.

H. I guess you will do. But say. koys, we must have a
name for our club> What shall it be?

J. Willcan name it. He is a gocd chap at such things,
Something short and appropriate. Out with it, Will.

W. (Thinking a. moment.) How would ‘‘ The Jolly Six,”
do?.

Orners. Capital! Just the thing!

J. ‘‘The Jolly Six” we are then. One more matter to be
attended to is that of establishing a fund to draw upon for the
various uses of the club. How had we better arrange it?

GiLtzERT. I should think it would be best for each one to
pay an entrance fee, of half a dollar say. That would be
three dollars to commence with, and we can fine members
five cents apiece for non-attendance, cte. Then we can make
extra assessments if we need money for any especial purpose.

C. Yes, that would be the best way. Well, here’s my half.
1 suppose Ernest is treasurer, too. (Hands half a dollar to
Ernest, and the others, after searching their pockets, do like-
wise.)

E. Myi I shall have to get a safe to store all this treasure
in. J will add myshare when I get home and put it all safely
away.

z. All right. We'll have our first meeting Friday even-
ing at my house. What time shall we meet? Will half-past
seven suit the crowd?

OrneErs. Yes, that will do.

 
 

  

A WELL-TAUGHT LESSON. V7

J. Half-past seven then. Don’t forget, boys! Each of
you bring a book, and we will choose one of them to read,
and we will decide what game we want. (Bell rings.) There
goes the bell. Come on in or Professor Miles will mark us a
demerit. = (Hexeunt.)

(Curtain falls.)

Scene II.--Ernuest alone in the sitting-room of his home.
T akes box from table drawer, and pouring out a lot of change
on the table proceeds to count it.

E. (Aloud) There is two dollars and a half in here now,
and I do not think the club will need any more money right
away, as the boys said we must save up now toward our en-
tertainment. I believe I will take a dollar of this money. I
won’t ask father for any more, this month, and I do want
that base-ball bat at ‘‘ Smith & Conway's” so much! Itisa
daisy, and so reasonable, too! It certainly can do no harm to
borrow this. I will return it the very first money I get, and the
boys need not know anything about it. (Z'akes out a dollar,
and returns the vest to its proper place.) Vl go down to the
store right away, as there is just time before school com-
mences. (Puts on hat and goes out.)

(Curtain.)

 

Scene III.—Same as before. Ernest seated, with the box in
his lap.

E Oh, dear, how light this feels. And the club meets
here to-night, and I have to make the monthly report. (Glances
in the bor.) There is only a quarter of a dollar left out of all
that money. Is it possible that I have taken somuch? Every
time I took it 1 meant to pay it right back, and I hav’n’t
returned a cent of it. And now it’s too late, for I haven’t a
penny, and the boys will soon be here. And father is away,
‘so I cannot ask him to lend it. Oh, what shall I do, what
shall | do? (Buries his face in his hands.) I am a thief,
nothing more nor Jess. And to think that when the fellows
trusted me so implicitly that I should forfeit my honor in this
way! What zs the reason that I always have to buy every-
thing I see, whether I can afford it or not? As father said, it
would be a habit to bring trouble on me some day, and the
trouble. has come; this time, sure enough. Well (with a deep
- sigh), the only thing i can do now is to confess it ail to the
boys. They will probably want to kick me out, and I deserve

 

   
   
    
   
  
  
   
   
   
 
 
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
 
  

 
     
 
   

   

%8 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

it. But I will pay back every cent of it, and by the work of
my own hands, too. This disgrace has taught me a lesson,
never to touch what does not rightly belong to me. (A noise
18 heard outside, the door flies open, and the boys come flocking
in.)

J. Hello, there! What’s the matter with you, Ernest?
You look as if you had lost your last friend?

E. (With an attempt to smile.) I have lost something very
dear to me, and that is my honor.

‘eran What do you mean, Ernest? How funny you
talk!

E. Well, I feel very far from humorous. In fact, I have
a confession to make, and I feel sure you will never want to
look me in the face again after you have heard it. But, sit
down aud make yourselves comfortable. (They sit down in
various boyish attitudes around the room.)

J. Go ahead, Ernest. Don’t keep us in suspense any
longer. You needn’t be afraid of us, my boy. We think too
much of you to judge you too severely, for this fancied, as I
think it probably is, wrong you have dune. Why need you
tell us at all?

E. Oh, Jo, when you hear all you will not speak so kindly.
Here is our bank (places box on table), and there is just a quar-
ter of adollar in it. I borrowed all the rest, and have not a
cent to pay it back with. (Zhe boys look at each other wonder-
ingly.) You will think I am a thief, that I never meant to
pay it back, but I ask you not to make me out as bad as that.
I thoughtlessly took a dollar from it a couple of weeks ago, to
get a new bat I wanted, and several times since then, when I
have needed a little change, I have gone to this box for it, al-
ways thinking to return it in aday ortwo. But, I always
found some other use for my money, and I did not realize,
until to-night, when I saw the empty box, that I had taken so
much.

J. How much was there altogether, Ernest?

E. Two dollars and a half. I cannot pay it back, right
away, but if some of you will make up the amount, I promise
you that I will not rest until Ihave paid you. I will earn
the money in several little ways I can. Now of course you
will dismiss such an unworthy member from your club.
did not know I could be so weak and dishonorable. (Covers
his face with his hands.)

. Come, Ernest, look up! You make this thing out a
great deal worse than you need to. Weown that what you did
was wrong—very wrong, indeed; but that you meant to be
dishonorable we would not believe. 1 will advance the
money, and you can pay me when youlike! (Ernesr looks up
with a grateful look.) As for dismissing you from the club
T assure you we will not permit that; on the contrary, I hop

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 
   
r EPHRAIM BLACK’S POLITICS, / 19

- you will continue in the office of president until your term

expires. I know I am speaking for the rest of the boys.

(Looks around inquiringly.)

__H._ Yes—indeed, Ernest. Here's our hands on it. (All

_ clasp hands.) 3

_  E. And this, boys, is the saving lesson of my life. It

has saved me from my own conscience, which would have
made me a coward and I never again could have been one of

ou.
J. Well, that was just what I knew would be the case, so,
as father has taught me toalways think of the blessed Golden
_ Rule when I judge others, I at once said to myself—‘* Whatso-
ever ye would that others should do unto you even so do ye unto
_ them.” That, my friends, is not the law of the land, I know,
but it ought to be the law between man and man—the higher
law, that I hope will be our guide and rule of life.
E. The Golden Rule! Oh, write it in all our hearts, we
beseech thee, good Lord! (Reverently.)
Aut. Amen!
(Curtain.)

EPHRAIM BLACK’S POLITICS;

OR,
GETTING HIS NAME IN THE PAPERS.

Characters :—Mx. Buack, Mrs. Buack, Mr. Sty, Mr. TAxy,
and others.

ScEenE,.—Sitting-room. Mr. Buack preparing to go out.

Mr. Buacx. Wal, I guess I'll go down to the store.

Mrs. Buack. Good land, Ephrum, what ye goin’ tothe store -
ag’in for? Why, ye only jest come from there long enough to
eat yer supper.

Mr. B. Wal, I need some terbacker, and, I swan, I fergot
tew ask for it. They was a-talkin’ polyticks, and it kinder
druv ev’rything else out’n my head.

. Mrs. B. Yes, I should say so, It’s druv what little sense
_ ye did hev outen yer head, till ye are deef and dumb and
e blind tew evrything. Ef I send ye out after a pan tew take

up ashes in, ye stumble arround a spell, and fetch in one stick
of wood, and put it in the stove; or ef I tell ye to git a pail of
water, ten tew one ye’ll lugina pumpkin and cut it up for
the hogs, Seems as ef ye chaw four times as much terbacker

 
  

80 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

   

sense ye got tew talkin’ an’ readin’ pollyticks as ye ever did
afore.

Mr. B. Wal, 1 be apt tew take a chaw oftener when Im
a-settin’ still than when I’m a-workin’. Seein’ other men
chawin’ makes me want it wuss.

Mrs. B. Then I’d keep outen their company; but, ‘‘ Birds
of a feather wii flock together.” What airthly good is all the
arguin’, an’ whittlin’, an’ spittin’, an’ quarrelin’, an’ wranglin’
over somebody else gittin’ ‘lected tew offices? ’Tain’t goin’
tew do you no good, morally, physically, spiritually nor
financially, so what do ye do it for? Id stay tew hum and
cut wood, if I was you, and hey suthin’ tew show for it. The
men ye voted for last year didert git elected, so what good did
ye do’em?

Mr. B. Wal! I show’d my good will.

Mrs. B. ‘S’posen ye show a little of it here this year, and
stay tew hum, inste’d of spendin’ a hull day goin’ tew ’lec-
tion.

Mr. B. What! a man, the noblest creetur of creation, stay
tew hum from ’lection, and not support his party? I must
say women is a dreadful hinderance in the political world.

Mrs. B. Yes, 1 s’pose they be. But, they are kinder handy
and economical tew have around, when it comes tew cookin’,
an’ scrubbin’, makin’ and mendin’, and patchin’ the breeches
you are so fond of wearin’. If you are bound tew support yer
party, I might as well git a bill. Ye can’t support tew
families, and nowadays law goes ’way ahead of gospel claims

Mr. B. I don’t know as I am douwnd tew go, but I’m as
good as any man on ‘lection day, and every vote counts one,
ye know.

Mrs. B. I don’t pretend tew know nothin’ about yer poly-
ticks, nor the laws that govern ’em. But this much | dew
know—it will sp’ile the best man livin’ tew put him up for
office, and git him in the notion of drawin’ a salary instead of
workin’ tew earn his bread. It’s jist like that ‘ere cow of
our’n gittin’ a taste of the neighbors corn and buckwheat—

 

- don’t ketch her takin’ up with no common pasture after that.

   

Folks may call ’’em mean, sneakin’, pilferin’ critters—

Mr. B. What?

Mrs. B. It’s the cows I’m a-talkin’ about, They'll git that
consarned buckwheat in spite of all ye kin dew, or ef they
can’t they'll work steady tryin’ tew, till they are so fagged out
and haggard it’s a pity tew hev ’em arround. In fact, jist
like our old cow; she’s got one foot tied up tew her head, and
is blindfolded, and an’ old b’iler is over her head, and still she
persists in bein’ onruly. Nothin’ but killin’ em will stop ’em
when they git a-goin’.

Mr. B. I swan, Martha; I believe ye’r’ gettin’ crazy;
nothin’ won’t stop you, when ye get u-goin’; and ye don’t

 

 
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EPHRAIM BLACK’S POLITICS. 81

know what ye’r’ drivin’ at, neither. That’s jist about as much
sense as a wonaan hes,

Mrs. B. They know enough tew work at suthin’ that’s
goin’ tew be of some profit tew themselves instid of somebody
else. Your shoutin’, and cheerin’ and ‘Icctioneerin’ and bet-
tin’ for governers and all sich, is about as sensible as ef I was
runnin’ myself lame fattenin’ some other folks’s hogs, lettin’
them in our own pen starve, when J know’d for sure that them
aseat the pork wouldn’t know but what their hogs got fat
themselves, eatin’ beechnuts.

Mr. B. Wal! I guess some of yer work ye’r’ alers talkin’
about don’t amount tew a great sight; they hain’t much
money in it.

Mrs. B. Ephrum! ‘In al labor there’s profit, but the
talk of the lips tendeth tew penury.”

Mr. B. Wal! I’ma man and I erjoy polyticks. I dunno
as the gove’ner wants me tew ’lectioneer for him, but I like
tew do it. And l’d do it, even if he forbid me a-doin’ of it.
It makes me feel asef J had some voice in the’lectin’ of a man
tew suit myself instead of bein’ druy like dumb cattle.

Mrs. B. Oh, yes! I dew s’pose you'll hev about es much
voice in this ‘lection as any man livin’, (Mr. BuAck looks up
and smiles) for you’ve got a good strong base voice and I pre-
sume you'll use-it tew the last gasp shoutin’ for some feller
that’s settin’ high up on a spring wagon seat while you poor
voters is hitched into the shafts, and you watch him, and the
minute he cracks the whip, you start off intew a gallop as
peart as our old mare when she’s jist had a good feed of oats,
which she don’t git very often. If the gov’nor could onl
know of the sacrifice you’re u-makin’ of yer vocal seman
wouldn’t feel so bad about it, but it’s jist that much good
breath throw’d away for nothin’,

Mr. B. ‘The folks arround here will know I done my duty.

Mrs. B. (Snappishly.) Yes, they will! and they wow
know that 7 had tew cut all the wood for weeks, and weeks,
while you was a-dewin’ of it.

Mr. B. Martha! you are an awful contentions woman and
Scriptur’ condemns ye.

Mrs. B. Do git along tew the store and git yer terbacker.
I don’t keer how much polyticks ye talk. I s’pose it’s jist
what four-fifths of all the other men are a-dewin’, but I can’t
help sayin’ it seems awful onprofitable business, fer a honest
man tew give up to. (IKnock at the door.)

(Enter Mr. Stick a newspaper reporter.)

Mr. B. Good-evening, stranger! Set down, dew.

Mr. Suick. (Zakes proffered chair.) Thanks! I won’t de
tain you long as I see you are going out.

Mr. B, On, I was jest goin’ down tew the store, It hain’t

 
 
  
   
  
  
   
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
   
  
  
   
    
   
 
  
    
  
     
    
  
   
   

82 THE DIME DIALOGUES.

nap no kind of matter, ’'d as lief entertain with you. You are

from off around, I see.

ie Mr. Stick. Yes, from quite a distance away.

| Mr. B. How’s polyticks in your region?

: Mr. Stick. They are /ot, Ltell you. I’ve come to have a
little talk with you about this Tracy that’s up for Representa-
tive, Lives next neighbor to you, I’m told, so J thought you’d
be apt to know all about him. How is it? Kind of a mean
man if the truth was known froin all I hear?

Mr. B. Why, we alers thought he was a tip-top man
You hain’t heard nothin’ ag’in’ his character hev ye? (An
tously. )

Mr. Suick. Oh, nothing definite, only rumors. That's
what [ want to find out. I want to prove that he’s an honest
man if I can, but if he isn’t, of course we want to know it.

ra It’s best to have the truth about election time.

Mrs. B. Wal! you'll git it then, if ever—the truth, the
hull truth, and a good deal that hain’t the truth.. A man
mist be pretty well: reduced to allow his character tew be
turned upside down, and wrong side out, as it’s sure to be,
the minute he’s nomi’ated for office. What does a Repre-
sentative dew when he gits ’leceted, anyhow?

Mr. Suick. Why, he represents your interests and tho e
of the country at the seat of Government.

Mrs. B. Wal, it hain’t no fair representation, to send Colo-
nel Tracy. IVll make the folks think we are all like him.
They'll think we’re rich, and they'll clap on the laws and
taxes harder’n ever. Ef they’d send some on us, I guess
they'd think we needed some new clothes wuss’n we needed
any more laws. Talk about Adm representin’ ow? interests!
Why, de don’t know what we need. He's wu’th ten thousand
dollars, and not a chick nor a child in the world.

Mr. Surcx. So you think he is not a fit man for the
office?

Mr. B. Don’t you pay no ’tention tew Martha’s jargon.
She don’t know nothin’ about polyticks. She’s nothin’ but a
woman.

Mr. Sturck. So! Yow think he’s allright, eh? Never had
any trouble doing business with him?

Mr. B. No. Not as 1 recollect! I don’t doa great sight
of business, We raise the most of our livin’ on our own land,

: so I don't need tew buy—

st Mrs. B. And we never he¥ nothin’ tew sel/, that’s sure!

at Mr. Surck. How about line fences? They are generally
the cause of a good deal of contention between neighbors.

Mr. B. Why, yes. He did threaten me some about that

A west line fence, but he finally concluded tew build the hull

; on it. I heard he said ‘If he built it it would be cattle proof

and not be laid flat by the first wind that blow'd.” Said he'd

   
   

 

 

 

  
 

EPHRAIM BLACK’'S POLITICS. 88

ae build the fence than have any trouble with his neigh-
ors.

Mr. Stick. He was rather insinuating that your fences
were not what they ought to be.

Mr. B. Wal, they be down, pretty bad. I’m a-goin’ tew
fix ’em up after ’lection’s over.

Mrs. B. Oh, you be, eh?

Mr. Stick. So you don’t think of any way in which Col-
onel Tracy has ever injured you or your neighbors?

Mr. B. No—nol don’t, (Meditatively.)

Mrs. B. He’s bound ye shall teli him suthin’ lad, so you
might as well tell him about that brindle pup that used tew
suck eggs for us.

Mr. Suicx, (Hagerly.) Yes, how about it? He disturbed
your chickens, did he?

Mrs. B. I should think so! Yanked all the tail-feathers
out of about a dozen old hens,

Mr. Stick. You ean prove this, can you?

Mrs. B. Dunno as I could prove it in court, where a lie is
easier proved true than the truth; ‘but 1 could sear tew it.
The hens has got new tails, and the dog is dead, so I dunno as
1 could really prove it.

Mr. Srick. Then this Tracy is a pretty tough man, is he?

Mr. B. Tough as sole-leather; nothin’ can’t make him
sick. They say he rode thirty miles a hossback in the drench-
in’ rain, between dark and daylight, the night Jim Peters’s
hoss was stole. He fetched back the hoss, but nobody could
ever tell who stole him,

Mr. Stick. Probably Colonel Tracy knew more about it
than anybody else, if you had asked him.

Mr. B. Yas, I presume he know’d, but he never let on, for
fear of puttin’ the thief on his guard. . He said the man was
tall and large, but he couldn’t ketch him.

Mr. Suck. Tall, and about Mr. Tracy’s size, eh?

Mr. B. Jest about, from all I hear say.

Mr. Suick. How about his habits; dees he drink?

Mr. B. Nothin’ stronger than buttermilk; but I’ve heard
say he’d swaller a quart of that without winking.

iin. Suicx. Pretty hard drinking, I should call that.

Mr. B. Yes, so I should say.

Mr. Surcx. Now,I was sent here to inquire about this Tracy,
and I shall write up alittle article about it, and I shall expect
you to stick to what you have told me. It will look a little
different written up, but the meaning is thesame. Of course,
as you are a friend of Colonel Tracy, you won’t say anything
against him, but it’s your duty to tell the truth, you know.
How would you like to see your name in the piece, to give
you political prominence. And it always gives force toa
sketch to have a noted man’s pame in it, you know.

 
  

   

84 THE DIME DIALOGUES.
Mr. B. Why, I don’t know as I am so very noted.
Mr. Suick. You will be when this piece comes to be read.
You'll be the most called for man in this township.

Mr. B. Wal, you kin print my name ef ye want tew. My
hull name is Epherum Black.

Mr. Srick. You watch the papers, and whatever they say
to you, tell them you can prove all you said, and they will let
you alone till after election. Then I’Jl come around again,
and fix it up so the colonel won’t blame you. Well, I must
go. Are you going down-street? If you are I'll walk with
you as far as the store. (Preparing to leave, EPHRAIM puts en
vis hat. Mr. Suicx holds his in hand while making his
adieus.) Good-evening, madam, ‘You are young looking to
be Mr. Black’s wife. Second wife, perhaps’

Mrs. B. No, sir; I’m his fu'st and only wife, and I’m seven
year older than he is, and [ hain’t ashamed of it, neither.

Mr. Surcx. Is it p-o-s-s-i-b-l.e? Well, good evening.

(Hveunt Mr. Siick and Mr. Buack.)

Mrs. B. I don’t like the looks of that man, and he hain’t
here for no good, Ill be bound! I'd jist like tew know what
he’s got tew say tew Ephrum that can’: be said before me. It’s
to get him tew sign suthin’, like enough, that will snatch the
farm from under our very feet! I’ve seen a dreadful sight in the
papers lately, warning farmers not tew sign anything. Ill war
rant Ephrun, hain’t read a word on it; he’d swaller the polyticks
and skip all the rest. Oh, I wish I had holt of Ephrum a minute,
till I could warn him. Them city chaps hain’t satisfied with
half we earn guin’ tew taxes; they want the farm, tew. (Sits
in an attitude as ¢f to think.)

(Ourtain.)

Scene II.—Room same as before. Mr. Buack looking at news-
paper, occasionally glancing at Mrs. BuAcK, who is patching a
pair of very ragged pantaloons, which she displays for the amuse-
ment of audience. Knock is heard ; very loud. Mr. Back
rises hastily and opens door.)

(Enter half a dozen angry men.)

Mrs. B. (Rising.) Massy sakes a-pity! What’s the mat-
ter? What do you mean tew do?

Mr. TAL. e mean to make your husband take back
ev'ry word of this lie, or we’ll knock the stuffin’ out of his
old head.

Mr. SHort. Yes, sir-ee, Bob! You explain this ’ere, or
take the consequences, which will be soon and fast. What
do ye mean? I'd like to pound ye myself!

Par. Yis, bedad, an’so w’u’d I! Don’t ye try to git out of

     
   

 
   

   

EPHRAIM BLACK’S POLITICS, 85

   
  
   
   
    
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
   
 
   
   
    
   
    
  
  
 

   

it by lyin’ or ye’ll run ag’in’ this beautiful bit of a club. (Hv-
hibits club, Haclamations of great excitement and dissatisfac-
tion from men.)

: Mr. B. I can’t explain it, for I don’t noways understand
it myself, I was jist a-thinkin’ I’d go down tew the store and
; sce what you fellers thought about it,

Mr. T. You'll find out what we think if you don’t take
| it back, word for word. (Flourishes newspaper in the face of
z Mr. Buack.)

Mr. B. I tell ye I don’t know no more how this’ere
come to git circulated than you do. I was jist tryin’ to
think exactly what I did say to that chap as was here last
week, I dreaded to say anything to Martha, she’s so con-
tentious, and she never knows where to stop when she gits
a-talkin’, (Mrs. BLAck seizes paper from MR. BuAck’s hind.)

Mrs. B. Don’t you dare to hide anything from me! If it’s
unything that’s threat’nin’ the farm, it’s my business as well as

ourn,

3 Mr. T. Do you mean to say you didn’t authorize some
blamed scamp to use your name in this vile slander?

Mr. B. Why, I knew he was a-goin’ tew print my name
in some piece, but I swan! I never said nothin’ ag’in’ Colonel
Tracy. He said it would look different when it was printed,
but I— Well, he’s Wed, that’s all. I never said nothin’ that
sounded the least bit like that ere piece; that’s dead sure.

Mr. Sxort. Well, it’s got to be hurled back where it come
from and you've got to do it.

Mrs. B. He won’t do nothin’ without my knowledge. Jist
you read yer piece out to me if ye please.

“Mr. T. (Heads:) “ Finding ourselves one night last week
in the vicinity of Colonel Tracy’s residence we took pains to
inquire how he was looked upon by his friends and neigh-
bors. One Ephraim Black (his nearest neighbor) admits that
for pecuniary reasons he intends to support him, although he
considers him totally unfit for the office. Ke says Colonel
Tracy is looked upon as a tough case—that he was known to
be out all night on the occasion of a horse-theft, and that the
horse was found before daylight in Colonel Tracy’s stable,
and that he, Ephraim, had always been satisfied that Tracy
was the only one who knew just who did take the horse, and
that the thief was just the size of Colonel Tracy. Mr. Tracy
isa man of reputed wealth and this seems to hold him up
in the minds of the simple villagers. But, he was, a few

ears since, known as a disturber of his neighbors’ hen-roosts.,

e were also surprised to learn that he is a hard drinker.
These facts will hurt Colonel Tracy in the minds of all hon-
est voters. We should hate to be represented by a midnight
marauder, and that Colonel Tracy ¢s such Mr. Black says he

will take his oath in open court, if necessary.”

 
   
 

 

 
     
      
      
   
  

 
  
  

 

   

86 THE DIME DIALOGUES,

Mr. B. I wish I could remember jest what I said.

Mrs. B. This here’s a pretty mess ter be mixed up into!
I kin tell ye jist what ye said, for J said the most on it my-
self. I sadd that Colonel Tracy used tew hev a brindle pup
that sucked eggs. And so he did, but Colonei Tracy killed
him as soon as he found out about it. That ’ere snoop of a
newspaper man asked me ef he—the dog—diden’t disturb the
hens, and I told him I should think he did, for he pulled the
tail feathers out of about a dozen of ’em. He asked me if I
could prove it, and I told him I presumed I couldn't for the
hens had grow’d new tails and the pup was dead, but I could
swear tew it. We never said one word ag’in’ Colonel Tracy.
1 guess we'd have had hard times gittin’ along sometimes ef
he hadn’t ’a’ helped us.

Mr. T. How about that hoss business; didn’t you insinu-
ate that you suspected Tracy stole that hoss?

Mr. B. Jewhitikers! No/ Never thought of sich a thing!
I was only tellin’ how tough he was, ridin’ all night in the
rain and not gittin’ sick. I’d no idee—

Mr. T. Well, you'll have to say that it’s all a hatched-up
mess and sign your name to it, and I’ll take it to town to-
morrow, and if they don’t print it ll punch their heads into
a jelly.

ee B. Td no idee—

Mrs. B. Of course ye didn’t. You was so tickled tew
think ye, was gittin’ in tew polyticks, and intew the paper,
that you jumped at the chance. You'll git rid on a rail yit;
then maybe you will be satisfied, tew let polyticks alone.
Mr. Tall, if you kin write, you jist tell ‘em how it all hap-
pened—tell ’em that scamp knew it wasn’t true that Colonel
Tracy sucked our eggs, and I never said so. ’T was a brindle
pup; and if he comes around here tew make it right with
Ephrum as he said he would, I'll scald him or break his
head with the mop. Second wife, indecd! He can’t come
any of his soft sawder on me! You jist tell ’em so, will ye?
Tell em Ephrum and me said so.

Mr. T. Well, I’m glad you can disprove all this, for it
would be a bad job if Tracy took it up. I'll explain it to him
in the morning.

Mrs. B. All I hope is that Ephrum will let, polyticks alone
hereafter.

Mr. T. A body can’t be too careful what they say to these
confounded lawyers; they hey a trick of twistin’ things so
you wou'dn’t know yer own name if they tackled it. They
will let us yell ourselves hoarse shoutin’ their praises, so as to
get themselves elected to office; but jest ask ’em to talk for
you half an hour, and they’ll charge you twenty-five dollars
for it. 1 mind my own business myself pretty close, and let
them ’tend to theirs; bit that they won't always do, the

     
  
  
   
    
    
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
   
   
   
 
  

 
EPHRAIM BLACK'S POLITICS,

- rogues! Well, good-evening! I'll make this all right for you
in the morning. (Hveunt men.)

Mrs. B. Now, Ephrum, I hope this will teach ye a lesson
to let polytics alone. It’s wuss’n smull-pox, as ye see.

Mr. B. Wal, I guess I sha’n’t ‘lectioneer a great sight
more. But then, accordin’ tew yer own showin’, it wa’n’t
me; ‘twas you that told about the pup suckin’ the eggs.

Mrs. B. Oh, yes, old Adam! It was the woman.’ She
done it! She eat the apple! That’s all the thanks a eoman
ever gits for helpin’ a man along. I sha’n’t say no more if the
world turns boitom side up. So there!

Mr. B. Well, now don’t go on that way. I admit as I
was tuk in by that sneak o’ the press, who made nie say jist
what I didn’t say, an’so turned the compass right around
that north was south, an’ I don’t want no more o’ him.

Mrs. B. Of him? An’ what on ’arth do ye want ov any
on them, anyhow—say? Don’t they aU make a cat’s-paw on
ye? Don’t they jist use ye to boost them into orfice, an’ then,
when they git thar, don’t they jest grin at ye for a fool?
That they do! an’ ye know it; but, arter tiis lesson ye’r’ a
bigger fool than a brindle pup tew be any longer a-doin” dirty
service fer the politicians. Let ’em alone, Ephrum—let ’cm
alone! ’Tend to ver own affairs, which ye hay'n’t done all
these weeks of campaynin’, as ye call it, an’ my word fer it
everybody will think the more ov ye fer yer stayin’ away
from the tom-fool gatherin’s. k

Mr. B. Well, yer about as near right as wimmin ever
gets to be, 1 guess. Ye don’t know about sich things, of
course, fer how could ye—bein’ only a woman? But—

Mrs. B. An’ you, bein’ only a man, jist don’t know when
yer’ madé a fool of, an’ that’s jist the difference atwecn a man
an’a woman. Now, air ye goin’ to let the politicians wipe
their feet on ye any longer—say?

Mr. B. o, I ain’t—fer a fact, an’ here’s my band on it,
ole woman! (Gives her his hand.)

Mrs. P. Ah, Ephrum, now I’m reconciled. Jist stick
tew hum, an’ make it hum sweet hum, by lettin’ polytics, and
eaten oaeenate, an’ conventions alone, an’ ye’il be jist what

tuk ye to be—a right down sensible man, as minds his own
business an’ gets the good-will ov his neighbors a-doin’ it.

Mr. B. That Iwill. (They advance, holding hands.) Aw’ if
everybcdy had as good an adviser as I have, the cccupation
of the politician would be gone, an’ the country be *hus)”
saved, (They bow as curtain falls.)

 
    
   

   

THE DIME DIALOGUES.

JHE STRIKE THAT FAILED.

FOR THREE BOYS,

In two scenes.

Tom. Boys, I say it’s a shame.

Dick. What’s a shame, Tom?

T. That we have to be bossed around as we are. J don’t
think a boy’s parents have any right to order him around so
as to make his life a burden.

Harry. But, don’t you think we ought to obey our mo-
thers and fathers, Tom?

T. No; I can’t say that always I do. Of course we
shouldn’t be willfully disobedient, or wicked, or break laws,
and that sort of thing; but we ought to have some indepen-
dence. This always being at the beck and call of some one
else is a big nuisance.

D. LTagree with you; there’s no time for ball, or our club,
or anything else we may have on hand. The minute school
is outit’s ‘‘ Dick do this,” or ‘‘ Dick see to that,’ until life’s a
burden. LIhaveit! Let’s strike!

H. Strike, Dick? When and how? :

D. Why, justas the men do. Aren’t all the organizations
called Unions, all over the country, striking for less work,
and more wages, and shorter hours? They just refuse ta
work, and as the Jabor has to be done somehow, their em-
ployers soon have come to terms. So will our parents. Try
and see.

T. But, how would you go about it?

D. Easy enough. Begin this very day and afternoon.
When we are ordered or told to do anything, just ignore it en-
tirely, and if they persist, then take a stand and refuse out:
right. That’s the way; they can’t make us do what we von’-
do, and they'll be coming around and negotiating, in less than
no time.

T. Allright! I’m agreed! It can’t do any harm, and I
for one feel like enforcing niy independence. This is a tree
country, and for all we know one of us boys may one day be its
President. So why shouldn’t we begin now, to be our own
masters?

H. Ican’t help thinking you're wrong. We are not old
enough, nor wise enough, to be our own masters, and our
parents ought to know what is best for our interests. I’ve
always felt willing to submit to their judgment and wishes.

D. Fudge, Harry! You're an old grandmother! You'd
let yourself be stepped all over and never say your soul’s your
own! Just try our plan for once, and. see how it feels to
draw the free breath of independence!

 
 

 

THE 8TRIKE THAT FAILED, 89

T. .Yes, Harry; say you'll try the scheme once, anyhow:
ft can’t hurt you.

H. Well, if you insist, but I'd rather not. I don’t see
things your way but I won’t object to the experiment.

T. Then we'll meet here to-morrow at this same time, and
give each other the result of our strikes, I’m sure they’ll be
a grand success.

D. All right, boys; come along! Now for the Grand
Strike of Independevt young Americans! Success to them!

(Curtain falls.)

 

Scenz II.
(Enter Tom and Dick.)

D. Hello, Tom!

T, Hello, yourself! Why, you look rather down in the
mouth; strike a failure, eh?

D. Now, none of your chaff. I ain’t in the humor to
stand much of it.

T. So the wind blows from that quarter, hey?—a cold
northeaster, so to speak. I wonder where Harry is? Ah,
here he comes. (Hnter Harry.) Well, young man, and how
did it work?

Harry. Oh, boys, I never was so ashamed of myself in
my life. The first thing mother did when I got home was to
ask me to run to the drug-store and get some prescription
filled. 1 pretended not to hear; then, when she spoke again,
I said I’d rather not—I was busy at something else. If I live
a hundred years I'll never forget the pained look that came
into her face. She looked at me so sadly and reproachfully,
and only said, ‘‘ Very well, Harry,” and the next I knew she
was going down the street herself, and I knew that she was sick
with one of those neuralgic headaches which the damp air
would make a thousand times worse. Z’hat was the end of
my strike, boys. If I can't do cheerfully and willingly the
little that is required of me, then I don’t deserve my happy
home and loving mother; that’s all.

T. Harry, you are right. I too feel just about as mean as
they get them up. Father called me to his study, and I let
him call three times before I answered at all; then I went re-
luctantly, thinking to myself that I’d take a stand and stick to
it. He looked up as I entered, and said: ‘* My boy, I betieve
you're suddenly grown deaf; why didn’t you come before?”
and when I had mumbled out something for an excuse, he
told me to sit down—that he had something to say. Then he
said he and mother had been talking it over that very after-
_ noon, and had come to the conclusion that, as I'd shown such

 
THE DIME DIALOGUES,

a willing spirit when asked to do anything, aud was so cheer-
ful and obedient, hereafter they would give me an allowance
of two dollars a week, to spend just as 1 saw fit; and the first
two dollars is in my pocket now—the first money for that
bicycle I’ve been wishing for so long. Well, if you couldn’t
have knocked me down with a feather! I just up and told
father all about it, and how ashamed I was of the whole thing.
He never even reproached me, but said it would be a lesson
which would bear its own fruit, and which I would never for-
get, and, you bet, I never will! And now, Dick, your ex
perience.

D. (Ruefully.) Well, I struck, as we agreed. Dad struc?
too, and I guess that his strike proved more successful than
mine, for Tcame to terms first. (The other boys laugh.)

T. How about the free breath of independence?

D. Don’t hit a fellow when he’s down, Tom! I for one
have had enough of it, and have come to the conclusion that
we'd best leave well enough alone, and let those strike who
have something to strike for.

T. Correct!

H. And I vote aye/ Our strike has been a success after
all—not as we. intended, but in a better way; it has struck us
with the club of common sense a knock-out blow, for which
let us be thankful.

Tom AND Dick. So say we all of us. Shake! (They wi:
shake hands and exeunt.)
(Curtain fails.)

 
   
 

 
 

THE

Polite Letter Writer:

OR,

   
  
  
  
   
   
    
  
 
 
   
    

How to

 

CorRRESPOND

 

ON ALL

 

SUBJECTS

IN A

REFINED

AND

ELEGANT

STYLE.

 

YONTENTS:—A New, Plain, and Easy English Grainmar—Tur Po-
E LITE LerteR Writkr: Part 1, letters to and from different
Relations, Purt II, Letters on Business; Part II], Letters on
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Address M. J. LIVERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street, New York City,

  
 
   
   
     
  
    
   
   
 
   

THE

HOUSEWIFE’S
MANUAL;

—-OR—

How to Keep House and Order a Home,

HOW 10 OYE, ieee | HOW 10 cUT,

 
 
     

CLEANSE, FIT, AND
AND alia MAKE
RENOVATE. | GARMENTS.

~ How to Cultivate Plants and Flowers.
How to Care for Birds and Household Pets.
Diseases of Birds and their Treatment.

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a EAES

Book Or a

EMBRACING
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Beauty of the Head and Hair.
Beauty of the Upper Face.
Beauty of the Lower Face.
Beauty of the Complexion and Skin.
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atom M, J. IVERS & CO., Publishers,
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CONTAINING

RULES OF PROCEEDING |p
AND DEBATE «=

DELIBERATIVE
ASSEMBLIES.

A Complete Guide for Instruction and Reference in all
Matters pertaining to the Management of Public
Meetings according to Parliamentary Usage.

   
      

CUSHING Ma MANUAL
ae k ¥

 
 
 

BY LUTHER S. CUSHING,

noe

THIS VOLUME CONTAINS IN ADDITION

The Constitution of the United States

The Declaration of Independence,

208 Pages. Bound in Paper, 25 Cents.
Bound in Cloth, gilt back, 50 Cents.

 

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COMPRISING

LINES, RHYMES, F or li

AND

MOTTOES

FOR

LOVERS AND FRIENDS.
*
yes for Albums, Mottoes, and “Conplets,
Epitaphs and Mourning Verses,
Bridal and Marriage Verses,

Holiday and Birthday Verses,
Verses of Love and Affection,
Verses to Send with Flowers,
Verses on Births and Infancy,

St. Valentine Verses,
AND

ree LOVen es aoe eo.

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SELPLLLOPESSPND
EMBODYING WHAT IS
Most Economic,
Most Practical,
Most Excellent.

ae

 

CONTENTS:
Bread: Warious Kinds of Hot Bread and Cakes—
Meats: Beef,
Veal, Mutton, Pork, Venison—Poultry and
Game—Fish—A few nice Breakfast Dishes—
Soups, Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Pies, Pud-
dings, Cakes—'Tea, Coffee, and Chocolate—
Jellies, Preserves, Dried Fruits, ete. —Pickles,

Various other Breakfast Dishes

 

Ice Cream, Oysters, and other Shell Fish—The
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Address M. J. IVERS & CO., Publishers,
379 Pearl Street, New York City.
 

CONTENTS:

How to Write and How

Not to Write.
How to Punctuate, Cap-

italize, etc.
Letters of Childhood,
Letters of School Days,

= / Letters of Friendship.

‘Letters of Courtship and Love, Letters
of Society : Invitations, Introductions, etc.;
Letters of Sympathy, Letters of Business ;
Writing for the Press ; Rules for Spelling ;
Proverbs from Shakespeare; Poetic Quo-
tations; Words alike in Sound but differ-
ent in Meaning and Spelling; Explana-
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Words and Phrases.

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FORTUNE TELLER:

—OR—

PEEPS INTO FUTURITY.

BY LOUISE A. LAWFORD.

 

FortTuNE TELLING By CARDS:

Dealing the Cards by Threes.

Dealing the Cards by Sevens.

Dealing the Cards by Fifteens.

The Twenty-one Cards.

The Italian Method.

Present, Past, and Future.

Another Method of Consulting the
Cards.

To Know if You will Get Your
Wish.

The English Method of Consulting
the Cards.

 

 

 

How to Tell a Person’s Character by Means of
Cabalistic Calculations.

Palmistry ; or, Telling Fortunes by the Lines of

 

the Hand.
Fortune Telling by the Grounds in a Tea or Cof-
fee Cup.
How to Read Your Fortune by the White of an
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Dreams and their Interpretation.

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Erie

FAMILY PHYSICIAN;

race FR ore

THE HOME DOCTOR.

 

ee Hone Doctor. i

A MANUAL

FOR THE

SICK-ROOM

 

 

 

Family Diseases and their Treatment,

Children’s Complaints,
Hints on Nursing and Rearing Children,
Physiological Facts,
Rules of Ilealth,
Recipes for Preparing Well-known
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BASED UPON THE AUTHORITY OF

Drs. WARREN, PARKER, DONNA, AND OTHERS.

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GENTS

LETTER- WRITER,

A PERFECT GUIDE TO

 

All Kinds of Correspondence.

CONTENTS:
General Advice to Letter-
Writers; Letters of Business,
Letters of Love, Letters of
Pleasure and Friendship,
Letters of Duty, Trust, etc.;
Letters of Relationship ; Let-
ters for Various Occasions ;
Writing for the Press; Improprieties of Expres-
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ere

  

After re
: Naa :
cand »
Metatig
H. Anniversaries,

heey ;
Friendship, —
Courtship, |“
Marriage,

 
   
       
     
 

   
 

A Guide
for the
Introduction
to the Study
of Reading, —
Writing, and
| Conversation
of the German
Language
According ‘to
| the Methods
me of Tonssaint-

 

 

 

“To ‘aaa who Basie to bias a a piediint knowl aK) of the Ger-

an language, and have only 1 ed time to devote to its study, _
1d thorough | basi all thatis |

% purposes,