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THE NEW YORK DRAMA

TRAGEDIES,

A CHOICE COLLECTION

OF

COMEDIES,

WITH

FARCES, ETC..

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CASTS OF CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, RELATIVE POSITIONS, &c.,

ADAPTED TO

THE HOME CIRCLE, PRIVATE THEATRICALS, AND THE AMERICAN STAGE.

VOL. 2.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, by WHEAT & CORNETT, in the Office
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.

NO. 24.

Jacob. Laughing, sir? [Seriously.] There's nobody laughing here, sir.

TAMING A TIGER: Chut. Where then? [Loud laughing and sing

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ing heard at a short distance.] Do you hear that? Jacob. Oh, I see! Don't you know, sir?

Chut. Know what?

Jacob. Old Mr. Tomkins, your landlord, has sent a lot of men to whitewash the ceilings.

Chut. What?

Jacob. And new paper the rooms.
Chut. What?

Jacob. And repair the roof.
Chut. What?

Jacob. And paint the house.

Jacob. Hem! the fact is, sir, I only wanted to

SCENE.-An Apartment in the House of MR.) Chut. What! whitewash, paint, paper? I won't I didn't ask him to do it. It shan't be CHUTNEE, doors R. and L. 2 E., door c.; window have it. C. L., to open, overlooking a garden with gate c. done! I'll remain as I am. Tables R. and L.; on table R., a gun, shotJacob. But, sir, for all the nine years you have belt, powder-horn, etc., writing materials, check-been here it has never been touched, andbook, etc. The furniture good but old-fashioned. Chut. Hold your tongue. [Crosses to L.] The animal! to dare to whitewash, paper and paint JACOB discovered dusting, etc., humming an air. me! Suppose the rooms are a little brown, I like A loud laugh heard by workmen at back. 'em! Go to old Tomkins, tell him to take all his Jacob. Good gracious! I thought it was master! workmen away, instantly. I give him till ten though there's little danger of being troubled with o'clock; if they are not gone by that time, I'll him before nine o'clock, as he's fast asleep-with pitch the first one I meet into the fish-pond that one eye open-like all wild beasts. He certainly stands at the bottom of my garden! Well, why belongs to that class of animals, and no mistake. don't you go? He's a brute, a perfect tiger; but that's not very surprising, when we recollect that he was born, bred and brought up in Bengal ; . which country, I've heard say, produces the finest tigers in the world. What can make him so savage? His love of solitude, perhaps. I declare, it's horrid to see a person shunning all mankind in such a way; and when I reflect that I've been here for six months, in this animal's cage-although it certainly is a cage in which one gets some nice pickings still I'm tired of it. I am only allowed out once a Chut. Quit my service? Never! never! not fortnight, and all the rest of the time cooped up that I can possibly be worse off; for a more idle within four walls. It's horrible! I won't stand vagabond never existed, and I've a horror of you, it any longer-I'm resolved I'll give him warning! but still greater horror of fresh faces. I hate 'em I'll do it the very first time I catch him in a good as cordially as I hate fresh paint, fresh paper, humor; although he is a tiger on two legs, I'm fresh whitewash, so you will live and die in my

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Chut. If you prefer it I'll have a room prepared for you there?

Jacob. Oh, Lord! no, no, sir. [Goes up. Chut. Well, well, say no more about it. You are sorry for what you've said, so there let the matter end. Is my daughter awake?

Jacob. Yes, sir, Miss Arabella is in the drawing

room.

Chut. [aside, his whole manner changing to one of affection.] Bless her dear heart, I'll go and give her a kiss. [Gruffly.] Mind, I'm at home to nobody. [Going R. Jacob. I know, sir; I'll take care. Chut. What, whether I will or not! Paper, paint, whitewash me!

[Thrusting open R. door, exits grumbling. Jacob. As the garden gate is open, I'll lock this door to make all sure. [Locks door in flat.] There, that'll do. [A knock at the door c.] Eh? some one knocks. [Knock again.] Who can it be? [Knock again.] One of the workmen, perhaps. [Knock again. Approaching door.] Who's there?

Beeswing. [outside.] This is Mr. Chutnee's?
Jacob. He's not at home.

Bees. [outside.] I know it.

Jacob. He never is!

Bees. I know it; I wish to speak to his wife.
Jacob. He's a widower.

Bees. To his mother.
Jacob. She's dead, too!

Bees. To his housekeeper, then.

Jacob. His housekeeper! What the deuce can he want with a housekeeper?

Bees. Open the door; it is of great consequence.
Jacob. He seems a civil spoken person; I'll risk
it, for once.
[Opens door.

Enter BEESWING.
Bees. [gaily.] So here I am, in the Tiger's lair.
This is his den.

Jacob. [R.] Why, bless me, if it isn't
Beeswing.

Bees. Eh? what, Jacob?

Jacob The wine merchant's traveler!

Mr.

Bees. Our lively waiter of the Commercial at Cheltenham. [Aside.] This is lucky!

Jacob. Good gracious, Mr. Beeswing, what earth brings you here?

on

Bees. Business, Jacob! I have come to tickle
your master's liquid sensibilities! Do you take?
Jacob. Oh, yes! But do you know him?
Bees. By reputation only; a queer fish, they

say.

Jacob. Fish! He's a beast, Mr. Beeswing, a regular ferocious wild beast!

Bees. Never mind, I'll stir him up with a long pole.

Jacob. If you take my advice, you'll make your way out of his house as soon as possible!

Bees. Never! my honor's engaged in the affair!
Jacob. How?

Bees. Well, a party of sixteen of us, all good men and true, some of the choicest spirits on the road, were dining together yesterday, at the Lamb! I needn't tell you we were all well primed.

Jacob. No, you needn't tell me that.

Bees. And when Aurora with her rosy fingers was opening her shutters

Jacob. Aurora! Have they got a new bermaid, then-has Betty left?

Bees. Bless your unsophisticated innocence! you are not mythological, Jacob?

Jacob. No, sir, but you said Aurora-so I thought—

Bees. Of course you did. But Aurora, at this period of the year, means half-past three o'clock in the morning, Jacob.

Jacob. [trying to comprehend in vain.] Oh! Ah! Yes!

Bees. Well, about half-past three this morning, while we were mutually recounting our exploits and successes, some, while confessing their defeats, mentioned a certain Mr. Chili Chutnee, to whom no one has ever been able to make a sale, and from whom more than one has had some difficulty in escaping with a whole skin. [Imitating.] "And I'll bet a case of champagne," said old Jack Barker-you recollect old Jack, with his mulberry cheeks, and his raspberry nose, and his gooseberry eyes, his comedy face, and his tragedy voice?

Jacob. [laughing.] Oh, don't I!

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Bees. [continuing his imitation.] "I'll bet a case of champagne," said old Jack, "that even Charley Beeswing, clever as he is the flower of the vast flock of commercial travelers, as we all allow him to be--I'll bet a case of champagne that even he makes a failure with old Chutnee; and if anybody will bet me two cases to one, I'll take it, that he gets his bones broken into the bargain." "Done," said I, "on both events," and the wager was noted down amid hurrahs of enthusiasm-and here I am.

Jacob. I shouldn't like to be in your place. I tell you, he is a perfect wild beast.

Bees. I've traveled all over the world in my time, and cut wild beasts' claws of all sorts and sizes. I'll tame him.

Jacob. I don't think it.
Bees. We shall see.

After all, what do I risk? My corpus-my edifice. Well, it is mine! I don't hire it; I hold the fee simple of it; I have a right to dispose of it as I please. I have relations, it is true, scattered here and there about the world, like dandelions in a hayfield; but there isn't one of 'em, if my nose was bleeding, would lend me a key to put down my back to stop it. I have a rich old bachelor uncle in this very town, and yet the animal would never even give me an order for a dozen of port, although he drinks three bottles every day of his life; so if I choose to run a hazard, what is it to anybody?

Jacob. Oh, if you don't care about it.

Bees. You are wrong; I do care to a certain extent. But what I care for infinitely more, is to preserve my reputation as the first man-the cleverest fellow in my profession. Where is this Bengal Tiger?

Jacob. With his daughter, in the next room.

Bees. Oh, he has a daughter, has he? The Mohican! Well, I'll wait here till he comes. [Sits, R. table.] Jacob, you haven't got a long pole, have you?

Jacob. No, sir, but here's this morning's paper. Chutnec. [without.] Where's to-day's "Times," Jacob?

Jacob. Oh, mercy, there he is!

Bees. Bravo! the overture has struck up-the opera is about to begin. It opens with a duet cham-between the trombone and the first fiddle, so you may take your flute out of the orchestra, Jacob.

Jacob. I will.

[Exit JACOB, L. D. CHUTNEE enters, angrily, R. D. Chut. [R.] Don't you hear me, you lazy humbug? Where's my to-day's "Times?" Bees. [C., presenting it.] There it is. Chut. [astounded.] A stranger here? Bees. [calmly.] Some very interesting news this morning. [Introducing a line or two about whatever happens to be the news of the day. Chut. [always brusquely.] Where do you come from? Who do you want?

Bees. I want Mr. Chili Chutnee.

Chut. Well, my name is Chutnee—well?

my own house; you have thrust yourself in, unasked, and I have a perfect right to

Bees. Tell me to leave it; so you have, with politeness.

Chut. Politeness to a- But so be it. Sir, I have not the honor to know you; I have no wish to make your acquaintance. You come to offer to sell me bad champagne; I don't want any champagne. I hope that is polite? So now be kind enough to quit my premises.

Bees... Sir, I can refuse nothing to so well-bred a bull-dog-gentleman, I mean-and have the honor to wish you a very good morning.

Chut. [aside.] A good riddance. The impudent

Bees. I come to propose a matter of business to villain!

you.

Chut. I have left off business these ten years. Bees. [aside.] I'll smooth the animal down a little. [Aloud.] I am perfectly aware of that, sir; so brilliant a star as the house of Chutnee and Co. could not disappear from the commercial firmament without it's being remarked at the observatory.

Chut. [aside.] That's flattery! This fellow is a humbug.

Bees. [aside.] He don't bite-he looks as if he could.

Chut. I'm not easily deceived-I'm up to snuff, sir.

Bees. [producing snuff-box.] Try that; you'll find it good.

Chut. [pushing it away.] No, thank you; be so good as to let me know plainly what you want? Bees. [aside.] Don't like flattery, eh? [Aloud.] Well, then, I'll tell you plainly, I want to make a plant on you.

Chut. What?

Bees. You asked me to speak plainly I want to sell you six dozen of champagne, which a customer has returned on my hands, because he says it is manufactured from gooseberries.

Chut. What! another of the infernal traveling wine merchants. Hark ye, you're a new hand, I fancy, or you must have heard of the sort of treatment you gentry usually meet with from me. Bees. May I inquire its nature? Chut. I'll set my dogs at you!

Bees. [coolly.] Oh, indeed! Have you any good ones? I should like to see them. I have dealt in dogs; in fact, I have dealt in almost everything in my time. What breed are they?

Chut. Bull-dogs, sir!

Bees. [aside, as he goes.] If you think you have got rid of me, you old rhinoceros, you are vastly mistaken. [Aloud.] Good morning, Chutnee; pray don't trouble yourself to come to the door. You are a good-hearted fellow, I'm sure, Chili! only a little too warm, Chili. Ta, ta! Ta, ta!

[Exit BEESWING, D. in F.

Chut. That is certainly the most impudent fellow I ever met with. I could scarcely keep my self from strangling him; I hate such impudent puppies! I hate everybody-everybody except my daughter, my darling Arabella, and her I'll lock up; I'll never let her leave the house again. What a fool I was to be prevailed on to let her go on a visit to her old idiot of an aunt at Eastbourne -I knew something would happen I was sure of it, and so it did; she must go and bathe in the sea-all alone-and ventured out too far-she would have been drowned, if it had not been for a young man, who fished her out and brought her ashore; there's one comfort, she don't know the fellow who saved her, or else— [A knock at door c.] Eh? Who is that? One of those confounded workmen, I suppose. [Knock again, much louder. [Brusquely.] Coming, coming! [Opens the door, C.

BEESWING enters rapidly.

Bees. Ten thousand apologies for disturbing you! Chut. What! you again?

Bees. Don't get out of temper. I was wrong, I confess it. I own it, and I have come to make the amende honorable.

Chut. Make the devil!

Bees. It was an insult to offer you champagne, and more especially such champagne as that. You were very right to bave nothing to do with it. Chut. And I was very right to show you the

Bees. And I'm sure well-bred, with so well-bred door. a master.

Chut. Death and the devil!

Bees. The bull-dog is a most interesting animal; what a mouth he has what a jaw-what strength! I knew one, sir, who would have lifted you off the ground by the hair of your head, in this way. [Extends his arms as if to catch CHUTNEE by the hair; he retires to R. corner.

Chut. Hands off, if you expect to leave this room alive.

'Bees. Perfectly! Unquestionably!

Chut. Then why have you come back again?

Bees. Champagne for you! a woman's wine. No! The stuff to suit you, my dear Chutnee, is a very fine dry old Madeira, and as I have some magnificent

Chut. Sir! This time I shan't show you out at the door-I shall throw you out.

Bees. [coolly.] What! you, yourself?
Chut. Why not?

Bees. With those two little thin arms?
Chut. Yes, sir!

Bees. Well, you may be strong; I don't say you are not; you are wiry, perhaps; but I haven't fed lately with a pap-spoon. I'm firmly built-healthy biceps.

Bees. Leave this room alive! of course I do. Chut. You had better make haste, then. Bees. Why so? do you suppose I credit all the queer stories they tell about you? I don't believe you're a bit more ferocious than other people; they were afraid of you-I'm not; that's all the difference. Chut. Do you threaten me? Ten thousand Chut. In a word, sir, I believe I am master in devils! Will you get out?

Bees. Immediately, if you'll prove to me that you have in your wine-cellar any Madeira as good [Rings a bell.

as mine.

Chut. What are you doing there? Bees. Ringing for a bottle of yours. [Takes a small table and places it in centre of stage.] It is a tournament—a passage of arms between your cellar and my pocket. I open the list. [He takes a pint bottle of Madeira from his pocket, puts it on table, c.] And there's my champion!

Chut. [seizes the bottle, and is about to strike BEESWING on the head with it.] Villain!

Bees. [seizing and elevating the table, with which he menaces CHUTNEE.] Ah!

Enter JACOB, L.

Jacob. Did you ring, sir?

Chut. No!

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Jacob. Yes, sir, of a perplexity, in the middle

Jacob. Why, surely it is! This is the gentle- of the night last night. He had a very short

man.

Were you not at Eastbourne ?

Bees. I was--a month ago.

Jacob. And saved a young lady's life, by jumping into the water?

Bees. And what's rather strange, I got rather wet on the occasion.

Chut. What, was it this person who-Jacob. Saved your daughter's life? Yes, sir, it was; I'm sure of it.

Chut. Enough! [Going to BEESWING.] Sir! [BEESWING, seeing CHUTNEE approach, raises table as if to defend himself.] You have saved my daughter's life, it appears.

Bees. [aside.] The devil's in it, if I haven't got him safe now.

Chut, If I had been there such an accident would never have happened; but no matter for that.

Bees. Turn me out of the house now, do! Chut. Jacob, get out! [Exit JACOB, door in flat.] Pray, sir, what commission do you get on your sales?

Bees. Five per cent. net.

Chut. You will be so good as to send me in five and twenty pounds' worth of Madeira.

Bees. Certainly. Allow me to make a memorandum of the order.

Chut. That will be five and twenty shillings for yourself, which, I believe, is half a crown more than the cost of the Humane Society's gold medal. [Goes to R. table.

Bees. [astounded.] Eh?

once.

Chut. I'll give you my check for the amount at [Writes check. Bees. [aside.] What a queer old crocodile! I hardly expected that.

Chut. [comes down.] There, sir, is a check for the twenty-five pounds, and now we are quitsgood day, sir.

Bees. That's the way you pay one for saving your daughter's life, is it? Very well; now then mark my words: I'd lost all traces of your daughter, but now I've found her, I'll marry her; do you hear, old Tiger? I'll be your son-in-law; I've made up my mind. Thank you for your order, Chutnee. [Going.] The last time I said "Goodby, Chili," I thought you were confoundedly warm, but now I think you are unnaturally cold, Chili. Ta, ta! Ta, ta!

[Exit BEESWING, D. F.; CHUTNEE bolts it. Chut. [solus.] I was very right to get rid of him as I did! There always are crowds of young

neck, just like yours, sir!

ter-the point is, how to get rid of these workChut. I'll-[Restraining himself.] But no mat

men.

Jacob. You can't, sir! They mustn't go!
Chut. What?

Jacob. I've seen the lawyer, who has charge of everything; he says that the house is being put in order, because the last instructions he received

from Mr. Tomkins were that it was to be sold; and he can't stop the repairs without the permission of the heir-at-law.

sir.

Chut. Who is the heir-at-law?

Jacob. [giving a card.] That's his address,

Chut. [snatching it.] Give it to me, fool! Donkey, get out-leave me!

[Kicks him off; exit JACOB, R. BEESWING appears at window in flat, with a carpenter's rule in his hand, measuring. Bees. Three, six, seven feet nine.

[Takes long strides across the stage. Chut. [aghast.] Here again? Bees. Ah! excuse me, don't disturb yourself, merely taking some measures. [Coming down.] Have you lived in this house long?

Chut. [furious.] Sir! this

Bees. I'm rather afraid it's damp, eh?

Chut. [restraining himself.] Sir, you have saved my daughter's life, it is true, but that is no reason why

Bees. That I should come into your house through the window, I confess it! but I felt that you had most probably locked all the doors. Now tell me upon your honor: Is it damp? Chut. [bawling.] Is what damp? Bees. [bawling.] This house!

Chut. calling off] Jacob, go and fetch the police.

Bees. [calling.] Jacob! Your man seems to have got a fit of the sloes!

Chut. What do you mean by that? Bees. What! don't you know what the sloes are? Ah, you are no wine merchant. Chut. Jacob, Jacob!

[Calling. Bees. Why, what's the matter? When a house is for sale, I believe people have a right to look through it? I'm looking through this.

Chut. What?

Bees. [taking a printed bill out of his pocket.]

Here's the printed bill: "This House to be Sold," and I think I shall buy it.

Chut. I shall murder this man, I know I shall. [Calling.] Jacob!

Enter JACOB, R.

Bees. Bring coals and wood, Jacob! Jacob. [astonished.] Coals and wood! Bees. And light a fire; I want to see if the chimneys smoke.

Chut. [is furious; JACOB laughs; CHUTNEE pushes him off, R. D.] Get out-get out of my sight; I shall kill somebody shortly!

Bees. Oh! I forgot the doors! Are they in good order? how do they hang?

[Swinging c. door backwards and forwards. Chut. I should like to see you hang! Bees. Pretty well-pretty well! that will do. Now let's try this. [Crosses to R. door; CHUTNEE rushes up, seizes the gun from table.

Chut. The villain ! That's my daughter's

room!

Bees. [as he crosses.] It is as well to make certain.

Chut. [presenting gun.] One step further and you are a dead man.

Bees. [coolly.] Very well, fire away! Commit murder; but recollect, all I want to know from you is how they hang.

Chut. [sinks into chair, R.] This is some horrid dream, it cannot be reality; such prodigious audacity. [Jumps up.] That's my daughter's chamber, sir.

Bees. Is it, though? I have something to say to her. [Trying to pass him.

Chut. What about? Bees. A private matter; nothing that concerns you.

Chut. But, sir

Bees. Well, well, I've no particular objection to tell you. I'm in love with your daughter.

Chut. [aside, in despair.] I knew it-I was sure of it.

Bees. And I even flatter myself that she-
Chut. [interrupting.] She-

Bees. Ah, she will not be quite so unmindful of what is due to the man who saved her life as her father. And, as you are going to marry usChut. Marry you?

Bees. Why not? I'm poor, I confess, butChut. It makes no difference with me, if you were as rich as Croesus. Moreover, there is a singular, dare-devil coolness about you, which I can't help admiring. But I have made up my mind, that as long as I live my daughter shall remain single.

Bees. Then you must be killed.
Chut. What?

Bees. I shan't like the task, for to say the truth, there's a strange oddity about you which I cannot help liking. You're not an every-day fatherin-law; you are not a commonplace, tasteless, boiled-veal sort of a father-in-law. I should have liked you amazingly. But no matter, you must quit this world, Chili.

Chut. [ironically.] Must I, indeed? Bees. Yes, I have made up my mind; and when Charley Beeswing makes up his mind

Chut. [eagerly, interrupting.] What did you say, Charles Beeswing?

[Takes card from his pocket JACOB gave him.

Bees. Yes, that is my name.

Chut. Then you are the nephew of Mr. Peter Tomkins?

Bees. Inasmuch as he is my uncle, I believe I

am.

Chut. My landlord!

Bees. Eh?

Chut. I'm delighted. His agent has just referred me to you.

Bees. What about?

Chut. About the purchase of this house. I have lived in it nine years, sir, and I am so attached to the old place, that it would break my heart to part with it. The dearest wish I have on earth is to spend the rest of my days and die beneath this roof. It is folly, perhaps it is a mania, you will say, still

Bees. But why do you address yourself to me? Go to my uncle.

Chut. Your uncle is dead.

Bees. Dead!

Chut. Last night-did you not know it?
Bees. Not I.

Chut. And as you are his heir-at-law

Bees. [aside.] Oho! I'm your landlord, am I? Chut. What is your price for it, sir? I pay down on the nail.

Bees. [walking up and down, and echoing CHUTNEE'S former speech.] It makes no difference with me.

Chut. [following him.] A check for the whole amount before you leave the

Bees. [as before.] If you were as rich as Croesus

Chut. [as before.] I don't want to haggle about

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Bees. Sir, the dearest wish I have on earth is to spend the rest of my days and die beneath this roof. It is a folly, perhaps it is a mania, you will say; but manias are respectable things when indulged in by respectable people, so I give you notice to quit.

Chut. Notice to quit! to me, a tenant of nine years' standing? after I have made such improvements-rebuilt the stables, laid down fresh drains, made a beautiful new kitchen garden

Bees. [interrupting.] And I am so doatingly fond of vegetables. Thank you! [Shaking him warmly by the hand.] Thank you! I declare, I am very sorry to turn you out; but I have made up my mind, my determination is irrevocable, that as long as I live —

Chut. [enraged.] Then you shan't live long! Bees. We shall see. [Going.] I'm off to my lawyer, to tell him to give you notice.

Chut. [bawling.] I won't take notice; you shan't go! [Seizing BEESWING, who is close to the door.] I won't go.

Bees. Let go; this is a go.

Chut. Villain! I'll strangle you!

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