SCENE I.--_A room at the Dolphin Inn. Evening.

_Enter_ WHETSTONE _with_ BLUEGRASS _in black dress as his shadow. Each with guitar and song-book._

BLUEGRASS.

A day and night,--and now another day hath waned for our recuperation; and our adventures have flown on lightning wings to Cornville. Now do we start on new emprise.

WHETSTONE.

Major Bluegrass, this serenade must be played on the hard-pan. Put me through to-night, and I’ll make you half-owner of the Cornville Eagle.

BLUEGRASS.

Trust me, I’ll be your musical secretary! With the Eagle and Ninon, I could soar through life like a bird.

WHETSTONE.

And I’ll soar with Violet. Why, hello! I’ve forgotten all about Susan. Where’ll I leave Susan?

BLUEGRASS.

Susan! Your housekeeper! Why, what takes you back to Cornville at such a sky-crisis as this? The great point in a flight of romance is never to approach earth. Susan! Why, Susan will tarry here below and superintend the cuisine, so that you and Violet may have a warm repast when you come down from your sky-parlor.

WHETSTONE.

I wonder what Susan will say when I bring home my bride.

BLUEGRASS.

As one good man should say to another, first bridle your bride.

WHETSTONE.

Why, Major, Susan and I were young together, and we loved, or thought we did. She wanted to marry, I wanted to wait; consequence, compromise. I engaged her as my housekeeper. There’s romance for you!

BLUEGRASS.

’Tis an ancient parallel.

WHETSTONE.

In our serenade, what shall I do?

BLUEGRASS.

The guitar you hold you cannot play; hence I’ll do the mechanical upon the strings, while you twit the circumambient air from the bridge musical of your instrument. And if you’d prove me with a double burden, I’ll bear both words and music; in which event you’ll give the color and visible gesture of description. Stand you beneath some close-leaved tree, where the night overlaps, and I’ll be concealed near you in the shrubbery. Later, I’ll emerge behind you, as your true shadow.

WHETSTONE.

All right, I’ll give the motions. Now, let’s see what we have in the song-book. [_Opening song-book._] Here’s the Midnight Serenade; and Beauteous Lady I Adore Thee. That’s business. Here’s a whole grist of meeting songs: [_reading_] Meet Me at the Lane; Meet Me by Moonlight; Meet Me, Darling, in the Dell; Meet Me down by the Sea; Meet Me in the Arbor; Meet Me in the Twilight. Where’ll this end? Meet Me ’neath the Slippery-Elm Tree. Meet Me in the Willow-Glen. Why, Major, the earth is covered with meeting-places. But wait! [_Examining book and pondering._] What book-carpenter did this work? Here’s Black-Eyed Susan--[_aside_] Susan has brown eyes--[_aloud_] sandwiched between Paddle your own Canoe and the Pirates’ Chorus.

BLUEGRASS.

He was a ship-carpenter who did his work ship-shape.

WHETSTONE [_reading_].

Comin’ thro’ the Rye, Comin’ thro’ the Rye,--that sounds homelike. Major, my boy, sing and play while I act it.

BLUEGRASS _sings and plays Comin’ thro’ the Rye, while_ WHETSTONE _accompanies with pantomime_.

BLUEGRASS.

Demosthenes the Athenian, being interrogated, replied that action makes the orator. I may add that it makes the singer.

WHETSTONE.

You’re right. [_Examining song-book._] Here’s a whole nest of love-songs: Love, Beautiful Love; Love in a Cottage; Love Launched a Ferry-boat.

BLUEGRASS.

’Tis not ferry-boat, but fairy boat.

WHETSTONE [_reading_].

Love is at the Helm.

BLUEGRASS.

That’s when love’s at sea.

WHETSTONE [_reading_].

Love is like the Morning Dew.

BLUEGRASS.

We’re approaching land again.

WHETSTONE [_reading_].

Love’s Perfect Cure.

BLUEGRASS.

We don’t need it.

WHETSTONE [_reading_].

Love’s the Greatest Plague.

BLUEGRASS.

Hold on! yes, we do.

WHETSTONE [_reading_].

Love Me Little, Love Me Long; Love, Love, oh, what is Love? Major, my boy, that settles it. We must find out. Hurrah! I feel like a new man! Let’s be going! If I fail, Northlake shall not have a dollar. Violet’s the only collateral he can put up. If I don’t get her, I’ll take the next train to Cornville and marry Susan on the spot. She’s been a good housekeeper to me these many years; and once when I was sick she bathed my feet in hot water and mustard, and put a hot flannel around--I think it was my throat; and her elder-blossom tea can’t be beaten.

BLUEGRASS.

Do you falter?

WHETSTONE.

No; I’ll have what I want. You remember the bay colt that cost me five thousand dollars? People thought I was a fool, but I wasn’t.

BLUEGRASS.

You were a horse diplomat.

WHETSTONE.

Exactly. I saw points, and now the colt has a great record. I see points about that girl Violet that no one else sees. She’s an extraordinary girl, a thoroughbred, and I’ll back my judgment with my money.

BLUEGRASS.

What if she don’t take kindly to you?

WHETSTONE.

Watch me closely, and you’ll see me win her to-night. What’s the use of money, if you can’t get--points, my boy, when you want them? And yet--

BLUEGRASS.

And yet what?

WHETSTONE.

And yet Susan has points too. She can roast a goose splendidly,--and that elder-blossom tea! But enough of this. Away to serenade.

[_Exeunt._