_Enter Female Customer._
_Customer_—I want two candles, and a quart of soft soap, and a pint of
gin.
_Peter_—There’s the candles, and there’s the soap, and now I will get
the gin. (Measures it.) And there’s the gin.
_Customer_—Put it all down on the book.
_Peter_—I will only put it on the slate, as I want you to pay me by
Saturday evening.
_Customer_—O, certainly. (She goes.)
_Enter Jim, a Darkey._
_Jim_—Mr. Cooper, I want a plug of tobacco, and a glass of rum, and I
will pay you on Saturday night, when I get my week’s wages.
_Peter_—I can’t trust any more to-day, as I have just let a woman have
some candles, soap, and gin on credit, and I shall ruin myself if I
trust so much as I have recently. My capital is very small, and my
credit is so bad that I have to pay cash for nearly all I buy, and if I
trust much, I shall have to fail again, and shut up my little shop for
ever. So, Jim, I can’t trust you any more.
_Jim_—Then I will trade elsewhere. I have been drinking your rum for a
long time, and I have always paid you for it, and I have got drunk many
a time on your rum, and now you won’t let me have a glass on credit. You
must have an iron heart.
_Peter_—Jim, you have drunk a large quantity of rum at my bar, and you
have always paid me for it, as you declare, but I am going to turn over
a new leaf, and trust no more. But if you will promise never to ask me
to trust you again, I will let you have as nice a glass of rum as you
ever drank.
_Jim_—Agreed.
_Peter_—(pours out some cheap and nasty rum, and squats down behind the
counter so that Jim can’t see him, and adulterates it about two-thirds
with old Manhattan water, that had been in the pitcher all day)—There’s
your rum, Jim, and now drink it, and enjoy yourself.
_Jim_—(drinks, and can hardly taste the nasty rum, and makes wry
faces,)—How much bilge water did you put in this mean rum, and how much
do you intend to put down on the slate against me for this disgusting
dose of rum and water?
_Peter_—That is nice rum, Jim, and I shall charge you my usual price of
three cents a glass.
_Jim_—Take that, and that, and that, you stingy old villain. (Throws
most of the rum and water into his face, and strikes him twice, and
knocks him down, and runs down the Bowery.)
_Peter_ (solus and nose bleeding profusely)—I fear the black rascal has
broken my nose and ribs, and blackened my eyes badly. I will close the
shop, and go and see a physician, and I suppose I shall have to run up
quite a Doctor’s bill before my wounds are entirely healed. (Shuts the
shop and goes to an Apothecary.)
_Peter_—Doctor, nigger Jim has just struck me several times with all his
might, and I fear he has mutilated me for life. Just examine my nose and
ribs, Doctor, and dress my nose and eyes as soon as possible, so that
they will soon heal.
_Doctor_—Why did Jim strike you?
_Peter_—Well, Doctor, he wanted some rum on credit, and because I
hesitated, and finally gave him some very poor rum (rather freely
adulterated), to get rid of him, he got angry, and threw the rum and
water in my face, and then most cruelly beat me.
_Doctor_—Mr. Cooper, why don’t you stop selling rum, and especially to
such low characters as nigger Jim?
_Peter_—O, I can’t stop selling rum, as I make more profit on that than
any thing else. In fact, it is nearly all profit, if properly and
judiciously adulterated.
_Doctor_—But don’t you impoverish and degrade and render vicious all to
whom you sell your poisonous alcohol, and expose their wives and
children to all the horrors of poverty, and the brutal ferocity and
insanity of a drunken father?
_Peter_—O, I don’t know any thing about all that. All I know, as a
business man, is, that I get a mighty large profit on my rum, and if my
customers get drunk, and abuse and starve their families, and commit
theft or murder, that is their fault, and I shall not be responsible for
it here, nor hereafter.
_Doctor_—I fear you view this matter altogether in the light of
selfishness.
_Peter_ (terribly cornered)—Doctor, no more of this. I have come to have
you examine and dress my wounds, and if you can’t do it, without a
tedious homily on temperance, I will go to the other Apothecary, down
the Bowery, who has long been your rival, and would like the job mighty
well. (This was a clincher, and smashed the Doctor’s impregnable
position.)
_Doctor_—That is all true, Mr. Cooper, and I will discharge my painful
duty. Here, Samuel, bring me some warm water. (Washes Peter’s bloody
nose and dark eyes, and dresses them. He then feels of his bruised ribs,
and finds them unbroken, though very sore and inflamed.)
_Peter_—Doctor, what is your charge?
_Doctor_—Twenty-five cents.
_Peter_—Business is very dull now, and your rival Apothecary, down the
Bowery, would not have charged more than twenty cents. Can’t you take
twenty, Doctor?
_Doctor_—Twenty will do, if you will promise to come again, when nigger
Jim beats you.
_Peter_ (very slightly blushes)—I will certainly come again, when I have
any more business in the Apothecary line. (Gives the Doctor an old
pistareen, and departs, with poultices and bandages over his eyes and
nose.)