Part 3

[_Staggers back and falls in the cradle. Baby cries._ Ellen _runs over to cradle and takes up baby_.

_Ellen._ This dirty spalpeen came in here and insulted me.

_Ber._ [_Jumps up--goes to_ O’Grady.] Insulted you? insulted the wife of Bernard McFlynn, Engineer of the Morgue! [_Takes off coat._] Sit you down, Ellen. I will attend to this matter myself.

[_Fights with_ O’Grady; Ellen _joins in, and they throw him out of the window_; Bernard _comes down, sits at table, and_ Ellen _prepares supper_.

_Ber._ Now, Ellen, get me my supper, and get me the black bottle from under the piano. I’ll have to make a speech to-night, and I want my throat clear. [_Reads paper; baby cries._] Damn that baby!

_Ellen._ Oh, Bernard, sure and the baby can’t help it; don’t be so cross, and eat your supper, that’s a good man.

_Ber._ Supper, is it? And what have you got for supper?

_Ellen._ Well, I’ve got some nice pork, and----

_Ber._ (_Excitedly._) Ellen, do you think I’m a sausage machine, to be grinding up pork every day? No, Mrs. McFlynn, I’ll not do it!

_Ellen._ Well, what would you like? How would some canary bird eyes and pigeon milk suit you? Or would you rather have a bird of paradise on toast?

[_Sits at table._

_Ber._ Don’t be so kleptomaniac in your remarks. I’ll have that bottle a little more on my side of the table.

_Ellen._ Sure, and it’s my money that bought it, and I’ll keep it where it is.

_Ber._ Ho, ho! You’re standing on your high horse to-day. I suppose before long you’ll be wanting to celebrate your golden wedding, or silver wedding, and be bringing all your poor relations here to live on me.

_Ellen._ Sure, an’ not one of my relations ever asked a thing of you, and as to my celebrating my golden wedding, or silver wedding, or whatever you call it, I celebrated my wooden wedding when I married a _block head_, do you mind that now?

_Ber._ Ellen, if you cast any more of your conflections on me I’ll brain you with this pitcher.

_Ellen._ (_Jumps up._) Well, I guess not, says Timothy Conner; I’m boss of this house and I’ll do as I like. Sure it was my political influence that got your position, and I’ll have you dismissed with impunity.

_Ber._ Ellen, the dignity of my position will not allow me to quarrel with a woman; but if you say another word, I’ll knock you down with the stove.

_Ellen._ (_Crying._) That’s right; go on--cry out so Mrs. McGillan and the folks on the top flure can hear you. If my cousin Terrence was here he----

_Ber._ (_Jumps up, overturns table, etc._) Terrence, is it? the mean, dirty blackguard, I’d----

_Ellen._ (_Hits him with coffee pot._) Take that, and that. [_Clinch, struggle, fall over stove, baby cries._ Policeman _rushes in, they both turn on him, and push him into cradle. Biz ad lib._

[CURTAIN.]

ORIGINAL IRISH SKETCH.

BY HARRY AND JOHN KERNELL.

CHARACTERS.

JOHN MCSWEGAN ... HARRY KERNELL. BARNEY CROSSIN ... JOHN KERNELL.

_Street scene._

_Enter_ McSwegan.

_McSwegan._ Well, I have just come into town to meet an old friend of mine from the same place in Ireland as myself; but he has risen in the world, and keeps a lager beer brewery in Koekuk, Iowa. I don’t see him, so I will step down to McNally’s saloon. Probably he will come along while I am gone. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Crossin.

_Crossin._ I wonder where McSwegan is? He promised to meet me here. As I was coming around the corner a little girl looked at me in the face, and says: “There’s General Grant.” I looked around and says: “You lie, sis,” but I don’t think she seen the point. Another little fellow says: “Stag the Mick with the lantern jaw.”

_Enter_ McSwegan.

_McS._ Good-morning, Barney.

_Cros._ Good-afternoon.

_McS._ What kept you so quick?

_Cros._ I couldn’t come any later.

_McS._ Have you had any trouble lately at your home?

_Cros._ Yes, we had a railroad accident.

_McS._ I didn’t hear anything about it. What was it?

_Cros._ Mary Ann O’Brien hung herself with her back hair.

_McS._ How do you make that out a railroad accident?

_Cros._ Why, her death was caused by a misplaced switch.

_McS._ It’s a wonder they didn’t put you up for a headlight.

_Cros._ If I had your mouth we might have used it for a tunnel.

_McS._ Well, are you working now?

_Cros._ No; I have not worked for three months.

_McS._ I can get you a fine job.

_Cros._ What doing?

_McS._ Why, a friend of mine wants to put you in an envelope; he wants to send a valentine to a shoemaker.

_Cros._ Say, when you go home you want to eat all the salt you can get; you are the freshest rooster I ever saw.

_McS._ Well, if you don’t like that job, put molasses on your whiskers, and hire yourself out for fly paper.

_Cros._ Will you be doing anything to-morrow?

_McS._ No, I guess not. Why?

_Cros._ Well, I would like to have you come with me to a photograph gallery; I want your picture.

_McS._ What do you want with my picture?

_Cros._ I want to give it to the police. I lost my monkey.

_McS._ Well, if I thought there was a reward for you I would bring you home again.

_Cros._ Did you hear the news?

_McS._ No; what is it?

_Cros._ It’s all over town.

_McS._ What?

_Cros._ Mud.

_McS._ That’s a very good joke.

_Cros._ It is. Will you have a cigar?

_McS._ I will.

_Cros._ Then go buy one.

_McS._ You are not smoking now, are you?

_Cros._ No, not at present.

_McS._ I see the mud has covered them up.

_Cros._ See here, do you know any conundrums?

_McS._ I don’t know what you mean.

_Cros._ I mean do you know anything I ought to give up?

_McS._ You ought to give up them two dollars you owe me.

_Cros._ Well, ask me some conundrum.

_McS._ All right. Which is the best way to make fish-balls without the fish?

_Cros._ Why, send the potatoes home C. O. D. What looks most like the half moon?

_McS._ Why, the other half.

_Cros._ Why is the mosquito a good poker player?

_McS._ Because every time he draws he fills.

_Cros._ Well, what chance have I got? Ask me one.

_McS._ All right. Which is the best way to keep a dog from going mad in August?

_Cros._ Shoot him in July.

_McS._ Which is the best way to find a young lady out.

_Cros._ Why, go around to see her some day when she is not in.

_McS._ Well, now ask me a hard one.

_Cros._ All right. Why are your two feet like an Italian organ grinder?

_McS._ I will give it up. Why are your two feet like an Italian organ grinder? Because they carry a monkey around all day.

_Cros._ What makes a chicken go across the street? Because he wants to get on the other side. Why didn’t you answer that, you bum?

_McS._ You didn’t give me a chance.

_Cros._ How long can a jackass stand on one leg?

_McS._ You get up and try it. [_Both exit._

TEMPERANCE.

A Dutch Declamation.

BY GUS WILLIAMS.

I haf been unvited dis evening, fellow drunkards, to speak to you on de subject of demperance, by a large majority of demperance men who never drink--unless dey vos asked.

I didn’t used to be a demperance man myself vonce. I vos a hard case, and used to go into a beer saloon, rap against my umbrella mit de gounter, und holler oud: “Gif me a lemonade straight--mid no water.”

But I haf seen de error of my vays.

Von night ven I vas in a hodel, swigging down cider und vichy, and German seltzer, und all of dose thoroughbred drinks, und hafing lods of fun mit de gang, a gentleman come ub to me.

He vos aboud half full, und dere vos a tear as big as a balloon on de end of his nose as he caught me by de throat, und whispered:

“I vant to see you alone for aboud a veek.”

I said “all righd,” and he took me to one gorner of de room, and said:

“You vos a nice young man.”

I dold him he vos kerrect, dot vos vhat all de spielers said--dey said dot I vos too sweet to live.

“It vos a shame,” he continued, mit emotion und beer in his voice, “to see you ruining of yourself mit lemonade and such shadows of strong drinks.”

I said dot I guessed so too.

“Vell,” he remarked, und he squeezed de punions on my hands, “swear off!--drink only vhiskey and Old Tom gin.”

I schwore.

From dis day to dot I haf been a changed man; I never get sober ofer dree dimes a week--agate measure.

Oh, I give it to you straight, my hearers, demperance vos a great ding--for women and children.

I had a brudder vonce, a goot, nice, six for a penny leedle poy. He had hair like roasted cheese und a complexion like strawberries mit gream gakes. Ve all dought dat he vould grow ub to pe bresident of a pank, skib avay to Canada und end his days universally respected.

But he vos led astray.

He got in mit an alderman’s son und a minister’s daughter, und dot ruined him.

He vos goaxed to drink.

Fust vater mit orange peel, den soda vater, next veiss peer mit a glub in it, after dot, brandy.

Ve dried to stop him in his vild career, but it vos N. G.--no use.

He vould come home newsbaber drunk efery night, und addract a growd around the house mit his antics, und dere vosn’t a slate in the neighborhood dot didn’t pear his autograph.

Und where is he now?

I repeat it to blush.

He is a congressman, und dey dalk of running him for bresident.

Und his poor mother, she is going to die of a broken heart shust as soon as she can find dime.

It vos a noble poet who remarked; “Look de udder vay at de lager ven it vas vhite.”

He vos righd.

Alvays let de lager settle; too much white und not enough red always spoils a schooner.

I am glad to say dot my demperance lectures haf not been mitout dere effect.

In von town vere I lectured dere vos only von liquor seller.

Now dere is six!

It is such driumphs as dis vich haf made me vot I used to be; de greatest terrible example of dem all.

De udder night at a social party, I met a young man mit de bloom of youth--fifty cents a bottle--on his cheek.

He vos de drunkest man I efer saw; in fact, he vos so drunk dot he dook me for a gentleman, and asked me vould I haf someding.

I said “No!”--I vas full already.

Den I dook him around to a lamp-post on de next plock und gave him taffy like a step-father.

“My friend,” I said, “you haf a mother?”

He replied dot dere vos a tradition to dot effect.

“Vell,” I recommenced, “vot vould your mother gif to see you in this condition?”

“She vould gif six dousand dollars,” he sobbed.

“Vot, to see you staggering?”

“Yes, she vos blind from her birth.”

Dot settled it--dot is to say, it settled dot branch of de subject--but I vent for him on de demperance issue pald-headed.

He realized dot I vos not in fun, and he signed de pledge never to use liquor, except as a beverage, until he died--or got married.

He has kept his word--it is aboud all he has to keep now--und is now employed by the city as a plumber for de bird houses in de Central Bark.

But von thing I must speak on before I gonclude.

It vos about de ladies.

It is hard to resist de demptation to drink; not many haf de courage like I haf, nefer to refuse.

But it is specially hard for a young man to refuse, when a young and lovely lady presents a tomato-can full of Pilsener and sweetly says:

“Take a bath, George?”

But I must end.

My fire-insurance policy runs out to-night, und I wish to escape mit my life.

In conclusion let me say, never drink, young man, never drink--_alone_!

O’RIELLY’S DAUGHTER MARY.

An Irish Family Sketch.

BY MART W. HANLEY.

CHARACTERS.

BERNARD O’RIELLY. DENNY BURNS. BRIDGET O’RIELLY. MARY ANN REBECCA O’RIELLY.

SCENE.--_Ordinary tenement house room. Stove, R. Table, C. Chairs by table. Bureau, L., and cot. Curtain rises, disclosing_ Bridget _combing her hair at bureau_.

_Brid._ Arrah, siven o’clock. Shure, it is time for Mary to arrive. But she’s late to-night. Shure, since she’s been workin’ in the playin’ card factory it’s too high-toned she has become to ride up town on the horse-car. It is on the back balcony av a truck that she rowls along. Hark, I guess that that is her footstep now. [_Listens._

_Door opens, and_ Mary _enters, carrying lunch-box. Sets it on table._

_Mary._ Supper ready, mother?

_Brid._ Supper ready! It is not hungry yez are afther the ilegant lunch that I put up for yez?

_Mary._ Ah, what are you giving us? Call that a nice lunch! Ham and crackers! that’s a sweet tuck-out for a hard working girl, ain’t it?

_Brid._ That’ll do, miss. Perhaps yez would like charlotty ruse and banana fritters wid egg sauce. Any girl that don’t like ham and crackers is too fastidious to live.

_Mary._ Well, I don’t care; all the other girls have nice things to eat. It gives you away to the gang to see me with such a curbstone banquet.

_Brid._ It gives me away to the gang, does it, ye hussy! I’ll give yez to comprehend that divil a cint do I care for the gang. Mary Ann Rebecca O’Rielly, sit right down on that chair and give your tongue a rest, or I’ll lather ye over the head wid the ironin’ board.

_Mary._ (_Sitting down._) All right. But hurry up with supper, mother.

_Brid._ ’Pears to me you are in an awful hurry.

_Mary._ So I am. I want to go to the Hoolihan masquerade ball.

_Brid._ Yez want to go to the Hoolihan massacree ball? Divil a step do you stir there to-night. No daughter av mine shall go to a massacree ball and dance wid five-cent barbers. Do yez want to be set down as a spieler?

_Mary._ But I want to go awful bad. All the boys and girls are going to take it in.

_Brid._ Yis; an’ the police will take thim in. Where is the ball to be held, at the Academy of Sculpture?

_Mary._ No, ma’am, at Wulhalla Hall.

_Brid._ Wulhalla Hall? That’s a foine, noice, jinteel place for a young girl to go to. Who are ye goin’ to go wid?

_Mary._ Denny Burns.

_Brid._ Who?

_Mary._ Denny Burns.

_Brid._ Niver! Do ye suppose that I would allow me daughter to go to a ball wid such a pill as he? Dinny Burns is a foine young man----

_Mary._ Of course he is; he’s a masher.

_Brid._ I’ll mash his head if he comes foolin’ around here. A feller that wears a soup dish hat and a pickadilly collar, and wears a bunch of asparagus in his button-hole. Begorra, Mary Ann, next yez will be asking me to allow yez to go down to Coney Island wid an alderman’s son.

_Mary._ Denny’s a real nice boy.

_Brid._ Ye are giving me taffy.

_Mary._ And he says that you are the freshest old daisy on this block.

_Brid._ And ye stood by and heard him insulting of yer mother widout kicking him over?

_Mary._ Sure he meant it as a compliment.

_Brid._ Oh, he did, did he?

_Mary._ Yis, and he said that he couldn’t tell you from me widout a telescope. He said that it was wonderful how you concealed your good looks.

_Brid._ Well, there’s some good in the lad yet, and----

[_Enter_ Bernard O’Rielly _at door_.

_Ber._ Bridget?

_Brid._ Yis, Bernard.

_Ber._ Take off me ulster, and bring me me smokin’ jacket. [_Takes off ragged coat and dons linen duster much worn, which_ Bridget _brings him_.

_Brid._ Are yez hungry, ould man?

_Ber._ Hungry! Be Heaven, I could ate a plate ov mortar! What have yez for supper?

_Brid._ Corn beef and cabbage.

_Ber._ Corn beef and cabbage.

_Brid._ Yis.

_Ber._ Woman, you’ll drive me mad. Corn beef and cabbage is nice food for a hard working man. Why don’t yez have ice cream and pie?

_Brid._ Where’s the money to get it wid?

_Ber._ Buy a lottery ticket, me daisy. Bridget O’Rielly, if I come home to-morrow night and find corn beef and cabbage for supper I’ll slaughter yez.

_Mary._ Dad, why don’t you buy a new dicer?

_Ber._ Do what?

_Mary._ Strike a fresh kady.

_Ber._ Mary Ann, I wasn’t brought up in Frinch. Did that horse car conductor that sint yez the boquet av peetoonias larn ye the articulation? Yez’ll be settin’ up a Vienna Bakery next.

_Mary._ Oh, you can’t tumble for a cent. Why don’t you get a new hat?

_Ber._ A new hat! What’s the matter wid this? [_Takes off a battered stovepipe_.] I’ve only worn it seventeen years. Next yez will be axin me to purchase a pair av low-necked shoes, and some giddy socks.

_Mary._ That hat looks as if it was called in. Get a gun and shoot it.

_Ber._ I’ll get a cannon and stab you. Bridget, is the corn beef and cabbage ripe?

_Brid._ Shure it is. Come take your sates at the table.

[Bridget _puts eatables on the table, and all sit down_. Bernard _picks up a loaf of bread, bites it, and throws it at_ Bridget.

_Brid._ Bernard O’Rielly, are ye mad?

_Ber._ No, I’m insane. The next time ye buy bread, Bridget, see that it isn’t stuffed wid bricks. I’ve left three of me teeth in the loaf.

_Brid._ Shure, it’s good.

_Ber._ Good for pavin the streets. If the Czar of Rushia had had cannon balls as hard as that bread, he’d a licked the bloody Turks long ago.

_Brid._ Thin I’ll throw it away.

_Ber._ No, yez won’t. Save it, and I’ll kill a cat wid it. Pass me the butter.

_Mary._ The butter’s strong enough to walk to ye.

_Ber._ No criticisms, young leddy; if the butter’s good enough for yer ancistor, it is good enough for yez. What are ye all dressed up fur to-night?

_Mary._ I’m going to a ball.

_Ber._ What ball?

_Mary._ The Hoolihan’s masquerade ball.

_Ber._ Yez ain’t. Divil a one of the Hoolihan’s marquerade have got money enough to buy their own chewin’ tobacco.

_Brid._ Let the girl go.

_Ber._ Niver; she can go around to church, and see them bury Pat McGinness, if she wants relaxation. Who was she goin’ to the ball wid?

_Brid._ Denny Burns.

_Ber._ A young thafe that gets fifty cints a week playin’ policy. Mary Ann, if I catch that hypothecation around this chateau, I’ll break his neek, do you savvy?

_Mary._ Then I can’t go wid him?

_Ber._ No, me leddy. Stay at home and read yez hymn-book, so that yez will be able to sing, “Hould me Foat,” when the time comes for the torch-light picnics. Bridget, take off this overdress of mine, and bring me me spring overcoat.

_Brid._ Shure, we’re using your spring coat for a tablecloth.

_Ber._ I suppose so. And I’ve been carryin’ the tablecloth around all day for a chest-protector. But I must away.

_Brid._ Where are yez goin’?

_Ber._ I have siven cints, and I am goin’ down to Casey’s to buy a dhrink. If either of yez are out of the house whin I come back I’ll kill yez both. Do yez moind?

[_Exit_ Bernard. Mary _and_ Bridget _both get up from the table and advance front_. Mary _puts on her bonnet_.

_Brid._ What are yez puttin’ on your tra-la-la hat for?

_Mary._ To go to the ball with.

_Brid._ Didn’t yez hear your father tell yez to stay at home?

_Mary._ Oh, father’s an ould stick-in-the-mud. He can’t boss me.

_Brid._ He’ll paralyze every sinew in your body.

_Mary._ I ain’t afraid. If he tries any of his lugs on me Denny will put a head on him. Da--da, mother.

_Brid._ If yez get killed at the ball it ain’t my fault.

_Mary._ All right. Over the sewer, skip the gutter, cross the river, mother. [_Exit at door._

_Brid._ There she goes with her Latin conversation. Bedad, I guess I’ll take a nap.

[_Blows out candle on table. Stage darkens._

[_Enter_ Bernard _at door_.

_Ber._ Eleven o’clock, and Bridget is asleep. Be the Heavens, I will wake her up; too much repose is injurious to the system. Bridget--Bridget! wake up, or I’ll kick your eyes open.

_Brid._ (_Getting up from cot._) What’s the matter? Where’s the fire?

_Ber._ Ye are slothful, Bridget O’Rielly. Where is Mary?

_Brid._ Asleep. [_Aside._] May St. Peter pardhon me for the loie!

_Ber._ It is well. If she had gone a-spielin’ to the Hoolihan masquerade I would have got a divorce from her.

_Mary._ (_Outside._) I didn’t try to mash the Dutch cucumber-peddler, Denny.

_Ber._ Bridget, you have deceived me. That is Mary’s voice.

_Brid._ I didn’t mane to, Bernard, but----

_Ber._ No buts; be fastidious in your defense. Madam, on to-morrow I may be in the prisoner’s dock at the court-house.

_Den._ (_Outside._) Go ’way, Mary Ann, you know you was tryin’ to shake me all the while.

_Mary._ (_Outside._) Speak low, or you’ll wake up father.

_Den._ (_Outside._) What d’yer ’spose I care for that ould gas-house terrier?

_Ber._ Bridget, get me the carvin’ knife. I will go out and cut that villain’s liver out! Do you hear the epithet he’s fastenin’ on me?

_Brid._ Be aisy; listen.

_Den._ (_Outside._) Your old woman, hey? Who cares for her, the ould dish-wrastler? When we get married, Mary, I’m goin’ to shoot her if she ever comes around the house.

_Brid._ Shoot me! Blessed virgin, d’ye hear it? Bernard, where’s the ax? Give it to me till I chop the assassin up!

_Mary._ (_Outside._) Come into the room, Denny. The old folks have all gone to bed.

_Brid._ The spalpeen’s comin’ into the room, d’ye moind it?

_Ber._ Whist! hide, and we’ll give him ballyglory.

[Bridget _hides under table_, Bernard _behind bureau_.

_Enter_ Mary _and_ Denny _at door_.

_Mary._ We have had a good racket, ain’t we, Denny?

_Den._ Yez are givin’ it ter me straight. Did yer see me mash that son of cross-eyed McCarty for saying that yez had a foot like a giraffe?

_Mary._ Did you kill him?

_Den._ No; but I broke the sucker’s jaw. Where are the two old figger-heads?

_Mary._ What figger-heads?

_Den._ Those old flannel-mouths--yer father and mother.

_Ber._ (_Jumping out from bureau._) Oh, yez rapscallion! Bridget, hurl yerself out and we’ll salt this fresh herrin’.

_Brid._ (_Jumping out._) Othello, we have yez now. Slug him, Bernard.

_Den._ What’s this, anyhow?

_Ber._ Young man, yez have alluded disrespectfully to the great O’Rielly family. Be Heaven, yez must die!

_Den._ What are yez slinging me--tacks?

_Ber._ We’ll be afther slingin’ yez out av the window when the morgue comes along. Whoof! hit him, Bridget!

[Bridget _rushes at_ Denny. _He knocks her down._

_Ber._ Yez have raised yer fist against a daisy. Beware, I am coming. [_Biz of fight between_ Bernard _and_ Denny. Denny _finally knocks_ Bernard _under the table. Table falls on him._ Denny _seizes_ Mary _in his arms and menaces_ Bridget _with the teapot. Flats close in on tableau._

[THE END.]

LOVE IN THE CANEBRAKE.

A Plantation Comedy.

BY D. J. DELANEY.

CHARACTERS:

PETE, IKE, REBECCA, CLARA.

SCENE.--_Full stage. Cottage R. U. E. with window and door of paper same color as cottage._

_Enter_ Pete _and_ Ike _R. and L._ (_They shake hands._)

_Pete._ Why, Ichabod, I’se totally surprised for to see you. Whar you gwine at this lateness ob de hour?

_Ike._ (_Putting his thumbs in armholes of vest and assuming “bad” position._) Dat depends on sarcumstances. If I recognize dis locality aright, I hab reached de finale ob my predestination.

_Pete._ (_In astonishment._) Do tell!

_Ike._ Do you see dat brownstraw roofed mansion yonder? Dar’s whar I anchor.

_Pete._ What brings you ’round yere; business or pleasure?

_Ike._ Well, principally business. Do you know any one ’round yere by de name ob Clara?

_Pete._ No; but I’m acquainted wid a personage whose antecedent cognomen is Rebecca.

_Ike._ Well, it is more than presumable that our own prefatory incomprehensibility is based on its peculiar sanitary enfranchisement. Don’t you think so?

_Pete._ Yes, I guess you’re about right; we’re both on the same lay.

_Ike._ Dat’s English; and now to business.

[_Walks right and left about the stage, and advances and sings as follows_:

AIR:--_Big Fat Nance_.

Now, we’ve come out for a moonlight ramble, To meet de gals dat we adore; (_Pete._) My own Rebecca, (_Ike_) And my Clara; And both our hearts wif love are sore; In yonder cottage dey reside, Dey promised to meet us here to-night, Dese charming wenches are our pride; Two raspberry blondes, our heart’s delight.

_Chorus._

Den hearken to de music’s rapture, Wid love our hearts begin to ache, And since of us dey made a capture We’ll show you how to make a break.

(_Dance._)

_Ike._ Say, Pete, don’t you think it ’bout time dose festive shemales made deir appearance?

_Pete._ Ob course; but if dey didn’t hear us, what are we gwine to do?

_Ike._ I dunno. [_Scratches his head._] Suppose we get a brick and throw it at de house; dat’ll bring dem out, and we will gib dem de grand surprise.