My heart vos gone,
I vos all forlorn,
Such a pretty boy has von me,
Such a nobby boy,
De Deitcher’s joy----
_Hannis._ (_Outside._) Lena.
_Lena._ Vell, Hannis.
_Han._ May I stay oud?
_Lena._ Of course. Open de latch, spring de door, an’ coom in.
[_Enter_ Hannis.
_Han._ Lena, you vos lookin’ as nice as a rosebud mit the catarrh.
_Lena._ Oh, Hannis!
_Han._ Dat vos drue. Vos dat you singing, Lena?
_Lena._ It vos.
_Han._ Vhy, I thought dat it was somebody shoveling coal. [Lena _hits
him a slap in the face_. Hannis _makes a wry face_.
_Han._ There, you hab cracked the spine of my jaw.
_Lena._ Then vhy vill you dry to be funny? But come, sit down on
yourself, Hannis.
_Han._ What on--a moonpeam?
_Lena._ On a chair, stupid. [_Brings chair to front of stage and both
take seats._] Vot vos it you brought me?
_Han._ You like candy, Lena?
_Lena._ You know dot I do.
_Han._ Then what made you ask me? But it vosn’t candy. Candy vos
unhealdy. So I hab brought you a dog.
_Lena._ A dog! vot vill I do mit a dog?
_Han._ Shoot him; you see he vos a nice dog; he vos the image of you.
_Lena._ Oh, Hannis!
_Han._ Und I thought dot mebbe you might wear him in your locket, or
haf him stuffed into a pracelet or something like dot.
_Lena._ You vos joking.
_Han._ Shust you go und tell dot dog dot he vos a liar. You vill see
vedder I vos joking.
_Lena._ An’ is a dog all dat you haf bringed me?
_Han._ No, Lena, I have brought you somedings else.
_Lena._ Vell, vot?
_Han._ I don’t vant to tell you.
_Lena._ Why not?
_Han._ You wud make fun of me, tell me dot I vos too fresh, und had
petter go wash my mouth oud with salt.
_Lena._ No I von’t.
_Han._ Promise id.
_Lena._ Yes.
_Han._ Vell, dear, I vill gif mineself avay. Lena, you vos a nice
leetle Yarman girl.
_Lena._ Dot fact vos gray-headed.
_Han._ Und, Lena, I lofe you.
_Lena._ Oh, my, vasn’t you ashamed.
_Han._ Yes, I vos plushing beneath my bosom protector. But for all dot
I lofe you. Lena, nod----
[_Enter_ Byron Smith _L._ 2 _E. Stalks tragically forward. Halts and
points finger at_ Hannis _and_ Lena.
_Byron._ Ha--ha! what is this that looms before my vision!
’Tis love’s young dream!
’Tis Cupid’s victory won.
Two hearts with but a single thought,
Two souls that beat as one!
_Han._ Is this a lunatic asylum, Lena?
_Lena_. Oh, no, dot vas only the poet dot board mit the mistress. How
you vas dis evening, Mr. Smith?
_Byron._ Fair maiden, I stoop to kiss your snow-white hand.
_Han._ No, sir, not dis week. Dis vos my girl, I do all her kissing by
gontract. Shust you mind your pisness and I’ll mind yours.
_Byron._ My nut-brown sylph, tell me, I pray, who this uncouth
barbarian is?
_Han._ (_Jumping up._) Hold my coat, Lena.
_Lena._ Vot for?
_Han._ He has insulted you. I vill preak his fist wit mine head. He
called you a nut-brown maid. You vas a white Dutch girl. By Shumping
Shadrach I will pull out his teeth with mine boot.
_Lena._ Shust you sit on an ice-box, Hannis, he means no harm.
_Byron._ You are right, my starry-eyed gazelle.
_Han._ Vhy don’t you call her a plack-eyed camel, und be done wid id?
_Byron._ Presumptuous meddler, I am a poet.
Away with dross, with sordid gold,
I would not be a miser old;
But with my pen, my rapid pen,
I’m sure I’ll charm the hearts of men!
_Han._ Haf you been drinking vhisky, my friendt?
_Lena._ Don’t make fun of him, Hannis; dot vos peyewtiful poetry.
_Han._ I know von man dot would gif a thousand dollars to hear dot.
_Lena._ You do?
_Han._ Yes; he vos stone deaf in poth eyes. But I say, Mr. Poet.
_Byron._ Say on, Lucullus.
_Han._ My name vos Hannis, not Bluecollars. But as I vos saying--don’t
you think, Mr. Poet, dot three vos company, two vos a crowd?
_Byron._ What does the gifted bard of Avon say about that? Ah, now I
remember!
Two lovers alone in silent joy,
A blue-eyed maiden, a black-haired boy;
It might be better, it could be worse,
Another person would be a curse.
_Han._ Then vhy don’t you dake a tumbles and fly avay mit yourself?
_Byron._ I do not understand you.
_Lena._ Don’t mind him, Mr. Smith; I love your poetry.
_Byron._ Thanks; shall I give you another specimen?
_Han._ For heaven’s sake; hush!
_Lena._ Please do, Mr. Smith.
_Byron._ This is the seventeenth stanza of my lovely dirge, “Life.”
There are three thousand and two more verses:
Life is a mockery,
Life is a cheat----
_Han._ (_Interrupting._) Ven ve vos hungry,
There’s nothing to eat!
_Byron._ What mean you, sir, by basely changing my lines?
_Han._ Pring an almanac und find oud. There vos a nice dog outside, Mr.
Fresh.
_Byron._ A dog--a dog--a little dog,
A puppy small, but sharp,
Watching in all of puppyish glee,
His master’s Hebrew harp.
_Han._ No, sir; he vosn’t vatching any harp. Just yer go oud und feel
of his teeth to see how oldt he vos.
_Byron._ I am happy here.
_Han._ I vosn’t. Say, Mr. Poet, von day there vas a feller coom to see
his gal.
_Byron._ Come to ask her would she marry,
Begged her to no longer tarry,
Love had marked her for his quarry.
_Han._ Dot vos id. Vell, there vos anudder veller.
_Byron._ Ah, yes:
A sneaking rival, hump-backed, old.
With broad acres and heaps of gold.
_Han._ I could schwear to it. The sucker that I vas delling about,
looked as if he vosn’t rich enough to puy a pound of air. Vell, he kept
coming in und boddering dem lovers all the dime.
_Byron._ Base hell-hound.
_Han._ Dat might haf peen his name. But vot vould you haf done to dot
Canarsie cod-fish?
_Byron._ I would have clutched him by the neck.
And hauled him down--down--down!
And when they asked me where he was,
Like the tempest’s howlings I’d repeat,
“Down--down in hell! ’Twas there I sent him!”
_Han._ You vould do dot?
_Byron._ Assuredly.
_Han._ Mr. Gall, I vill take your vord at you! (_Jumps up and seizes_
Byron.) I pounced him up--up--up! Und vhen dey send me a postal card
asking vhere he vos, I repeaded like a dempest howl: “Send him a linen
duster, he need it.” [_Biz. of struggle._ Hannis _gets_ Byron _down,
and stands on him_. Lena _rushes forward, sinks on her knees by his
side_.]
_Lena._ Spare him, Hannis.
_Han._ Queen Elizabeth Tilton, interceding for the life of Owen Murphy.
[_Tableau._
[Illustration: THE END.]
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
The author for this book is listed in other sources as Aaron A. Warford.
Some advertising is likely missing from this transcription because the
source copy was missing its back cover.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.
The following changes were made:
The notation 1 2 for fractions was changed to 1/2.
p. 9: Sentence was moved to this page from p. 13 (_Hope_ is like
_love_, but subdued.)
p. 12: Table labled “‘BLACK SLAYER.’ _Scene Plot._ ACT FIRST.” was
moved to this page from p. 13.
p. 13: Table labled “‘BLACK SLAYER.’ PROPS.” and the paragraphs
immediately above and below the table were moved to this page from
pp. 10-11.
p. 45: _Pete._ changed to (_Pete._) ((_Pete._) My own Rebecca,)