DR. ACONITE. Black suit, white necktie, light side whiskers, and light
wig.
FRANK. Dark coat and vest, light pants, roundabout hat.
OLDBUCK. Gray wig, blue coat with brass buttons, double-breasted vest,
white neckerchief, foot swathed in bandages, cane.
SHARPSET. Gray suit, red cop wig, full red beard, Kossuth hat.
DENNIS. Red wig, blue overall suit, rusty white hat.
PLUMPFACE. Made up fat, very red face, dark, old-fashioned suit.
Eye-glasses attached to a string, which drop from his nose when he
coughs.
ANNIE. Neat morning dress.
LUCY. Tasty street dress and hat.
ABIGAIL. Close-fitting black dress, hair "a la Grecian," black lace
cape, broad straw hat, red nose.
MAGGIE. Neat dress of a kitchen girl, sleeves rolled up.
SCENE.--_DR. ACONITE'S office. Table, C., with a display of
vials, one or two books, writing materials, &c. Chair, L. of
table. Two chairs back. Small table, R., with chair beside
it._
_MAGGIE discovered dusting. Her left hand is wrapped in a
thick covering._
_Maggie._ 'Pon my sowl, it's the docthor's a jewel, that he is! Didn't
I burn me wid the hot fat, that made me howl wid the pain uv it? And
didn't the blissid docthor tind me loike his own sisther--wid the
cooling and haling salve for me fisht, and the wee sugar pills for the
faver that was burnin' me up intirely? And didn't the blissid
crayther, wid the bountiful heart in 'im, charge niver a cint for it,
or sthop it out uv the wages uv a poor girl, as many a hathen would
do, bad luck to 'em. To be sure he did; and, by that same token, it's
Maggie Mullen would run the wide worrld over for the sakes uv him.
Och, but it's little docthoring he has onyhow, and perhaps I did him a
sarvice giving him the practice loike. Will, if the sick folks only
knew how handy he is, there'd be little rist for the sole uv my fut
answering the bill.
_Enter FRISKEY, L._
_Friskey._ Hallo, Maggie! Where's the doctor?
_Maggie._ Sure it's at his brikfast he is. Can't you lit him have a
little pace for his sowl? What wid bein' up all night, and runnin' to
sick folks all day, it's little rist he finds onyhow.
_Friskey._ That's right, Maggie. Keep up a show of business if there
is none. But I'm in the secret.
_Maggie._ Sacret, is it? Sure there's none.
_Friskey._ Ah, we know, Maggie, that our friend the doctor has yet to
get his first patient.
_Maggie._ Indade you're wrong there, Masther Frank. Haven't I been
under his charge, and don't I know the skilful arts uv him? Indade I
do, and can give him the highest characther.
_Friskey._ O, I forgot that, Maggie. He's made a commencement. How's
your hand, Maggie?
_Maggie._ As comfortable as it can be wid the finest midical
attention.
_Friskey._ That's good. Well, I'll wait for him. (_Sits at table;
takes up newspaper._)
_Maggie._ That's right, sir. He'll be glad to say ye's. But mind,
don't interfare wid his business. Don't tak his mind off the purshuit
uv patients, for it's much they're wanted, ye's can belave.
[_Exit, R._
_Friskey._ I do _belave_ it. Now here's a man who has passed a
splendid examination, received his diploma, and settled down in his
native village to practise medicine, but so set are the good people
that they will never patronize him until age and experience have
fitted him to be their medical adviser. Stuff and nonsense! While he
is growing he must starve, unless some way is found to move their
stubborn will. Not a patient--no, I'm wrong--there's his free patient,
Maggie, "The Duchess of Dublin," as _Lucy_ and I facetiously call her.
A free patient! If we could only contrive to get one of the high and
mighty snobs of the village into his clutches, we'd physic him until
the whole population flocked to his office. (_Knock, L._) Come in.
(_Enter LUCY LINDEN, L._) Ah, Lucy, come in. How d'ye do? (_Shake
hands._)
_Lucy._ Where's Adam?
_Friskey._ The first of men is at his breakfast, replenishing his
exhausted system before renewing the toil of practice.
_Lucy._ You're too bad, Frank. The dear fellow must not be laughed at.
You know he has no practice.
_Friskey._ O, there you're wrong. The first patient has been found.
_Lucy._ You don't mean it? Who is it--Squire Prim, or Aunt Lucy Spear,
Mr. Plumpface, or Mr. Oldbuck? Do tell me. I'm dying to know!
_Friskey._ A person of greater importance. One with a high-sounding
title.
_Lucy._ Title--Judge Higgins? General Proof? You mysterious fellow,
why don't you tell me.
_Friskey._ It's "The Duchess of Dublin."
_Lucy._ O, pshaw! Maggie Mullen. Frank Friskey, you're a torment. I
really thought 'twas some distinguished character.
_Friskey._ Well, the duchess had a fine _characther_ from her last
place. By Jove! an idea.
_Lucy._ Get rid of it, Frank; it's dangerous.
_Friskey._ Hush! This is really a magnificent idea. Our doctor must
have patients, for several reasons: First, he is engaged to a
beautiful young lady, whom he will not marry until his practice will
allow him to support her as he desires--
_Lucy._ Just as if I cared. I'm sure I'd rather help him up hill, than
to wait for the elegant mansion he hopes to rear on the summit.
_Friskey._ There _you_ are interested. In the second place, his sister
is engaged to a fascinating young gentleman, ahem! and him she will
not marry until her brother can afford to let her leave his house, of
which she is the toiling mistress.
_Lucy._ And there _you_ are interested.
_Friskey._ Exactly. Therefore we are both interested in increasing the
doctor's practice as soon as possible.
_Lucy._ The sooner the better.
_Friskey._ Now listen to me. Suppose that a high-born lady, a titled
lady of Europe, should visit this country; should pass through this
village; should suddenly be taken sick. The aid of our good friend the
doctor is required. He is called in. The news spreads like wildfire
through the village. Patients flock to his office. His fortune is
made, and we are happy in our loves.
_Lucy._ Ah, but where can we find such a patient?
_Friskey._ She's here beneath this humble roof--"The Duchess of
Dublin," _incog._
_Lucy._ Why, Frank, what a desperate idea!
_Friskey._ Desperate cases require desperate means. What say you, will
you join me?
_Lucy._ In what way?
_Friskey._ We will leave this house at once, separate, you go to the
right, I to the left. Drop in here and there quite accidentally, and,
in confidence, disclose the interesting news that "The Duchess of
Dublin," _incog._, is in the skilful hands of Dr. Aconite. Magnify it
a little, and await the result. I am confident that before night Adam
will be as happy as a rush of complicated disorders can make an M. D.
_Lucy._ Capital! only if we are found out--
_Friskey._ We'll laugh it off as a capital joke. If, in the mean time,
Adam gets a good patient, he'll make his way to a good practice.
_Lucy._ It's an absurd idea to exalt our Maggie to so high a position.
Should anybody see her--
_Friskey._ Ah, but nobody must see her. The duchess is _incog._ You
must communicate in the strictest confidence, and have it distinctly
understood that not a word must be said to the doctor about his grand
patient.
_Lucy._ I understand, and you may depend upon me; only if the worst
comes I shall throw all the responsibility upon you.
_Friskey._ And I'll agree to take it all. Come, let's set out.
_Lucy._ Without seeing Adam?
_Friskey._ Yes, for I shan't trust you with him until you are fully
committed to this arch plot. Come.
_Lucy._ What, would you rob me of a sight of my Adam?
_Friskey._ Eve-n so. Am I not robbed of the sight of my Annie?
_Lucy._ Not even one embrace?
_Friskey._ As a substitute embrace me. (_Throws his arms around her._)
_Lucy_ (_screams_). You horrid wretch! (_Runs off, L., followed by
FRISKEY._)
_DR. ACONITE appears, R._
_Dr. A._ Am I awake? My friend, my bosom friend, with his arms about
my affianced bride! Pills and powders! pestle and mortar! am I awake?
Well, it's my usual luck. Day by day I've seen my stock of provisions
sensibly decrease. I have this morning devoured the last fishball that
could be manufactured from the slender stock of codfish and potatoes.
It has vanished, and so has my love, with the friend of my bosom.
There's nothing left for me now but to make a few slender meals of my
sugar-coated pills, fricassee the canary, and then slowly but surely
starve. (_Sinks into chair, L._)
_Enter ANNIE ACONITE, R._
_Annie._ Well, brother, what would you like for dinner?
_Dr. A._ Dinner? ha, ha! Dinner! Well, what say you to roast turkey
with cranberry sauce?
_Annie._ Brother!
_Dr. A._ Or roast goose, with guava jelly?
_Annie._ Brother!
_Dr. A._ Or roast buffalo, with venison steak, devilled kidneys, and
salmon, with oyster sauce on the half shell.
_Annie._ Adam, are you crazy?
_Dr. A._ Why not? Our dinner must be an imaginary one, so let's have
it as costly and luxurious as possible. There's nothing in the larder.
Let's be extravagant, and cook it all.
_Annie._ Why, how you rave! Is the money all gone?
_Dr. A._ Every cent.
_Annie._ But the butcher?
_Dr. A._ Would carve me with his meat-axe if I asked for credit.
_Annie._ Then I'll try him. He won't carve me. Now don't be
despondent. We have always had a dinner, and, depend upon it, you
shall to-day.
_Dr. A._
"O Woman, in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
But, when the dinner seems to lag,
You'll have it, if you boil the puddin'-bag."
Annie, why don't you marry Frank Friskey?
_Annie._ Adam, why don't you marry the little milliner?
_Dr. A._ Because I have no patients.
_Annie._ And I have patience to wait until you get them before I marry
Frank.
_Dr. A._ But I never shall have a patient. There's a dead set against
me. They're determined I shall not cure or kill anybody until I kill
myself with waiting.
_Annie._ Not so bad as that, Adam. Be patient, and wait.
_Dr. A._ O, humbug! My instruments are all getting rusty, my pills
old, my plasters cracking, and my drops drying up. Hang it, I'll go
and doctor myself for amusement. (_Knock, L._)
_Annie._ Hush! Perhaps there's a call.
_Dr. A._ The undertaker, perhaps, in search of a job. Come in.
_Enter DENNIS, L._
_Dennis._ The top uv the mornin' to ye's. Is the docther man in--I
donno?
_Dr. A._ Yes, I'm the doctor.
_Dennis._ Is that so? Yer rivirance, if ye plaze, Squire Croony wants
ye's quick. The ould missus's howlin' in the pangs uv insinsibility,
the young masther's took wid the jumpin' croup in his skull, and the
babby's got the janders--an' it's pisoned they all are intirely.
_Dr. A._ What, Squire Croony?
_Dennis._ The same, yer rivirance, onto the hill beyant.
_Dr. A._ O, you've made a mistake. He wants Dr. Allopath.
_Dennis._ Niver at all, at all. It's Dr. Ac--Ac--Acraoniting I was to
sind.
_Dr. A._ (_jumping up, and pulling off his dressing-gown_). My
coat--quick! quick! (_ANNIE runs off, R._) Maggie, Maggie, my hat and
cane! Here's luck. (_Enter ANNIE, with coat. He jumps into it._)
You're sure he sent for me?
_Dennis._ To be sure I am.
_Dr. A._ Glory! glory! Rich Squire Croony! I'm a fortunate man.
Where's my medicine case? (_Runs to table, R., and takes it._) My good
man, I'm terribly afraid you've made a mistake.
_Dennis._ Troth, I'm afraid they'll all git well afore you git there.
_Dr. A._ That would be fatal--ahem!--to me. I'm off. I'll return at
the earliest possible moment. Should anybody call, let them wait. Tell
them I am suddenly called to my rich patient, ahem! Squire Croony.
(_Going off, L._)
_Enter MAGGIE, R., with DR. ACONITE'S hat and cane._
_Maggie._ Sure, docther, you're not going widout yer hat?
_Dr. A_ (_returning_). That would be a mistake. (_Puts on hat._)
You're sure, my man--
_Dennis._ O, bother! Would ye lave them all to die suddenly wid a long
illness?
_Dr. A._ I'm off. Glory! glory! Luck! (_Dances to door, L., then
suddenly stops, straightens himself, and puts on a serious face_).
Professional dignity, ahem! (_Struts off, L._)
_Annie._ Maggie, remember, if anybody calls, "The doctor has been
called to Squire Croony." [_Exit, R._
_Maggie._ That I will--the dear docther! The luck's a-coomin'.
_Dennis._ Ah, ye's the fine gurl! Sure ye's remind me uv Donnybrook
fair, in the ould counthry, wid ye's rosy cheeks, and pearly teeth, as
white as--as--as--tombstones.
_Maggie._ Ah, will, will! It's the blarney-stone ye've kissed, sure,
in the ould counthry.
_Dennis._ To be sure I have, colleen. Ah, bliss the ould sod! Sorry's
the day I lift it, wid my own purty wife, Molly, who's been dead and
gone the year, an' me wid the childers wid their bills open for food
loike the little birds--
_Maggie._ 'Tis a widerer ye's are?
_Dennis._ A lone widerer, wid a tear in one eye and the other wide
open tight for a purty girl to fill the sitivation made vacant by the
absince of my Molly.
_Maggie._ Is it lonesome ye are?
_Dennis._ Lonesome is it? Begorra! ye may will say that. Sure there's
not blankets enough to kape the chill out uv me heart, whin I wake in
the night and miss the music uv Molly's snore--for she had a powerful
organ, and could pipe "St. Pathrick's Day" through her nose widout
missing a note. Could ye's riccommend me?
_Maggie._ Troth, I don't know what ye mane.
_Dennis._ To a nice, respectable gurl that wouldn't mind incumbrances
in the shape of nine as purty childers as iver built stone huts or
made dirt pies, the darlints.
_Maggie._ Troth, I think ye've give nine good raisins why no smart
gurl would loike to take the head uv yer establishment. She'd be loike
the ould woman that lived in a shoe.
_Dennis._ An' ye couldn't be prevailed upon yeself to share my
fortunes?
_Maggie._ What's that, ye loonytic? Away wid ye's. I'll have none uv
yer Molly's childers distractin' my shlumbers. So ye can take yer hat,
misther, and yer lave to onct.
_Dennis._ O, now, pity the sorrows of a poor lone, afflicted widower.
_Maggie._ Git out er that, or I'll break yer skull. Away wid ye's.
(_DENNIS runs off, L. Runs into OLDBUCK, who enters._)
_Oldbuck._ O, murder! my foot! you villain! you scoundrel!
_Dennis._ I ax yer pardon. Sind me the bill. [_Exit, L._
_Oldbuck._ Confound you for a blundering fool! Girl, give me a chair.
(_MAGGIE sets chair, R. C. OLDBUCK, groaning, hobbles to it, and
sits._) Now, then, where's the doctor?
_Maggie._ Sure he's at Squire Croony's.
_Oldbuck._ Squire Croony's--O, that foot! Why, he must have a pretty
good practice.
_Maggie._ Ye may will say that. He hasn't ate a morsel for three days,
nor slipt for a wake.
_Oldbuck._ Now that's a lie--O, my foot! Bring me a footstool--do you
hear? Quick!
_Maggie._ What's that?
_Oldbuck._ A footstool, quick, or I'll break this cane--
_Maggie_ (_snatching cane from him_). Ye'll be civil, so yer will, or
out uv this house ye go.
_Oldbuck._ Give me that cane--O, my foot! You torment.
_Maggie._ Be aisy now, misther, and till yer business.
_Oldbuck._ I want the doctor.
_Maggie._ He's away wid dacint sick folks, that don't howl and break
canes, and the loike, ye ould hathen!
_Oldbuck._ Do you know who I am?
_Maggie._ I niver set my two eyes on ye's before the day, and I niver
want to again.
_Oldbuck._ You're a saucy jade--O, my foot!
_Maggie_ (_poking his foot with the cane_). Does it burn.
_Oldbuck._ O! O! murder! Do you want to kill me?
_Maggie._ Kape a civil tongue in yer head, and I'll do ye's no harm.
_Oldbuck._ When will the doctor return?
_Maggie._ Soon as he's kilt or cured the sick folks at Squire
Croony's.
_Oldbuck._ Has he any patients in the house?
_Maggie._ Yis, one. (_Aside._) Sure, I'm his patient; that's no lie.
_Oldbuck._ Ah! Male or female?
_Maggie._ Well, from my sowl, ye's a mighty inquisitive ould chap.
It's a famale.
_Oldbuck_ (_aside_). Ah, it's true then. Sh! Come here, my good girl.
(_MAGGIE approaches him, and hits his foot._) O, my foot! You clumsy--
_Maggie_ (_poking his foot with the cane_). Does it burn?
_Oldbuck._ O! O! O! Will you be quiet?
_Maggie._ If ye'll kape a civil tongue.
_Oldbuck._ I'm dumb. But tell me--this patient--who is she? I'll be
secret.
_Maggie._ Sure, ye's mighty mysterious. It's myself.
_Oldbuck._ You? (_Aside._) They said she was _incog._ This must be
her. And now I look at her, there's a certain grace about her, a
queenly air--O, it's the duchess. (_Aloud._) Your grace--
_Maggie._ What's that?
_Oldbuck._ Pardon me, your grace, I failed to recognize, in this mean
attire, the high-born lady, which your highness must be.
_Maggie._ The ould fellow's looney. (_Pokes his foot with the cane._)
_Oldbuck._ O! O! my foot!
_Maggie._ Will ye's kape a civil tongue?
_Oldbuck._ Ten thousand pardons. I forgot your disguise.
_Maggie._ Disguise is it? Troth, it's my belafe that it's yerself is
disguised intirely--in liquor.
_Plumpface_ (_outside, L., coughing violently_). Where's (_cough_) the
(_cough_) doctor? (_Enters, L._)
_Oldbuck._ Old Plumpface, confound him!
_Maggie._ The doctor, is it? Troth, he's away on a call. He'll soon
return. Take a cheer. (_Hands him chair, L. He sits._)
_Plumpface_ (_coughs_). O, this infernal cough! I'm in the last
(_cough_) stages of a decline. (_Coughs._)
_Maggie._ The docther'll cure ye's in a jiffy.
_Oldbuck._ Not that cough. Egad, he's kept it up for twenty years, and
grows fat on it. Hallo, Plumpface! I thought Allopath was your medical
adviser.
_Plumpface._ He's a swindle. (_Cough._) He does me no good. (_Cough._)
I'm going to try the new one. (_Cough._)
_Oldbuck._ Humbug! Keep your money. There's nothing the matter with
you. You've tried twenty doctors. They bleed your pocket, and add
power to that infernal cough.
_Plumpface._ Humbug yourself! (_cough_) hobbling round (_cough_) with
that (_cough_) foot wrapped up. (_Cough._) Stay at home and diet.
(_Cough._)
_Maggie._ Ye'll make a die of it some day, sure, wid that watchman's
rattle in ye's throat.
_Plumpface_ (_to MAGGIE_). Here (_cough_), I want to whisper to you.
(_Cough._)
_Maggie_ (_comes close to him._) D'ye call that a whisper?
_Plumpface._ Hush! (_Cough._) Don't let Oldbuck hear. (_Cough._) How
is she? (_Cough._)
_Maggie._ What she d'ye mane?
_Plumpface._ Hush! The doctor's (_cough_) patient here.
_Maggie._ Is it mysilf? Troth, I'm pickin' up lively.
_Plumpface_ (_aside_). Her? Can she be the duchess? It must be,
_incog._ Your grace. (_Cough._)
_Maggie_ (_aside_). Your what?
_Plumpface._ I'm delighted to (_cough_) meet your highness. (_Cough._)
When did you leave the old country? (_Cough._)
_Maggie._ The ould counthry, is it?
_Oldbuck._ Here, this way. (_Aside to MAGGIE._) Plumpface is an old
fool. Don't mind him, your grace.
_Maggie._ Will, 'pon my sowl, if here isn't a couple of the quarest
ould chaps I iver met. O, here's the docther. (_Gives OLDBUCK his
cane._)
_Enter DR. ACONITE, L. Exit MAGGIE, R._
_Dr. A._ The ice is broken. I've cured four individuals in ten
minutes. My fortune's made. (_Comes, C._)
_Plumpface_ (_jumping up_). O, doctor (_cough_), my cough!
_Oldbuck_ (_jumping up_). Dear doctor, my foot--O!
_Plumpface._ Please attend to me first. (_Cough._)
_Oldbuck._ No, I arrived first, and claim your attention first.
_Plumpface._ It's a lie. I sent an hour ago. (_Cough._)
_Oldbuck._ He's a humbug. That cough's hereditary.
_Plumpface._ You villain! (_Shakes fist at OLDBUCK._)
_Oldbuck._ You swindler! (_Shakes fist at PLUMPFACE._)
_Dr. A._ (_stepping between them_). Gentlemen, be calm. 'Tis the proud
boast of medical science that it can settle all difficulties, mental
as well as physical. You need my aid; but such are the claims upon my
time that I cannot, without doing injustice to my numerous patients,
attend to you at present. Give me your address, and I will call upon
you at the earliest possible moment.
_Oldbuck._ I am Squire Oldbuck.
_Dr. A._ (_aside_). The rich squire--good!
_Plumpface._ And I am Peter Plumpface. (_Cough._)
_Dr. A._ (_aside_). The great manufacturer--good!
_Oldbuck._ I can pay handsomely.
_Plumpface._ I can pay liberally.
_Dr. A._ Gentlemen, you shall receive my early attention. You will
pardon me, but I have a patient in the house who requires my immediate
attention.
_Oldbuck_ (_aside_). "The Duchess of Dublin."
_Plumpface_ (_aside_). The Dublin duchess. (_Cough. Aloud._) My dear
doctor, I have heard of your skill. May I depend upon you?
_Dr. A._ At the earliest possible moment.
_Oldbuck._ You will give me early attention?
_Dr. A._ Immediate.
_Oldbuck._ Then I'll hobble home at once. Good day, doctor.
(_Aside._) When old Plumpface is out of the way, I'll slip back again.
[_Exit, L._
_Plumpface_ (_coughs_). I know your skill, doctor (_cough_,) and shall
depend upon you. Good day. (_Cough. Aside._) I'll come back and
quicken his memory when Oldbuck is out of sight. [_Exit, L._
_Dr. A._ (_rubbing his hands_). Ha, ha! that's a capital joke. Dr.
Aconite, poor physician, turns two of the richest men out of his
office to wait his pleasure! But that's the right way. 'Twill never do
to be too anxious. Egad! they're rich acquisitions; for, though I have
never met them, that cough and that gouty foot have been the rounds of
the medical fraternity. Wonder how they happened to drop in upon me?
No matter; I can cure them both in time. Ah, Time, you are the
doctor's best friend, for you pay as you go. Luck's come at last, and
that imaginary dinner shall be a real, substantial feast, to mark the
day when Dr. Aconite took his first fee.
_Enter SHARPSET, L._
_Sharpset._ Heow d'ye dew. You're Dr. Aconite, I reckon?
_Dr. A._ I am.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Wall, I'm Silas Sharpset, E. s. q., 'he founder
and proprietor of the "Excelsior Perambulating Museum of Wonderful,
Whimsical, Extraordinary, and Eccentric Living Curiosities."
_Dr. A._ Indeed!
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. You'll find in my wonderful collection studies of
human nater in every variety. The remarkable and only original living
fat girl, seven years of age, who has attained the enormous weight of
seven hundred and seventy-seven pounds by a daily diet of molasses
candy and gum drops.
_Dr. A._ Remarkable, indeed!
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Also, the only real living skeleton, aged
thirty-nine, weight seventeen pounds and three ounces, who lives on
oatmeal gruel, eaten by the spoonful, once in forty-eight hours, who
kin crawl through a stove-pipe of six inches diameter, and dance the
Cachuca in a quart measure.
_Dr. A._ Ah, that's too thin.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Then there's the man born without either arms or
legs, who can lift a hogshead with his teeth, and write a remarkably
legible hand with his back hair, which he wears in a cue for that
purpose.
_Dr. A._ Cue-rious, indeed.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Then there's the bald-headed accountant, with his
head so full of figures that he can run up the longest account in no
time, and, by the force of his stupendous intellect, make the sum
total appear in round figures, visible to the naked eye, on the top of
his head.
_Dr. A._ A calculating baldhead.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. But the assortment is too numerous to mention. I
kin only say, that for variety, versatility, and invention, this
collection is unsurpassed, and kin be seen in all its beauty for
twenty-five cents a head.
_Dr. A._ Well, sir, what is your business with me? My time is
precious.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Wall, then, to come to the p'int. You've got a
nat'ral living curiosity, and I want it.
_Dr. A._ I've got a curiosity? So I have--a curiosity to know what you
mean.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Mighty secret, but it's no use, doctor; it's all
over town. You'll have to give in, so you might as well make the best
terms you kin with me, for I've greater facilities for exhibiting the
critter than any other live man. Jes' so--Silas Sharpset, E. s. q.,
can't be beat.
_Dr. A._ Exhibiting the critter, Mr. Sharpset? There's a wildness in
your eye that betokens insanity. You are laboring under a wild
hallucination. Go hence. Soak your feet, wrap a wet towel round your
head, and return to your couch at once.
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Keep it up, doctor. But it won't fool me. The
critter's here. Turn her over to me, bag and baggage, and I'll pay you
a thousand dollars down.
_Dr. A._ A thousand dollars--you'll pay me? Be calm, my friend, be
calm. You betray unmistakable symptoms of a disordered mind. Will you
oblige me with a little explanation?
_Sharpset._ Jes' so.
_Dr. A._ Who is the "critter" that you are in pursuit of?
_Sharpset._ The duchess, of course. Why, consarn it, it's all over
town.
_Dr. A._ The duchess? Ah, yes, poor man, lunacy always takes high
flights. Ah, who is the duchess?
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. Doctor, do you see anything of a verdant hue in
this optic? (_Finger on left eye._) It's no use. "The Duchess of
Dublin" is in this house; is under your charge. Now do the handsome
thing. I'll put her up as an extra attraction, charge double price,
and divide profits. There's an offer.
_Dr. A._ By doubling your price on "The Duchess of Dublin"? Now, you
must excuse the question, but who is "The Duchess of Dublin"? and what
have I to do with "The Duchess of Dublin"?
_Sharpset._ Consarn it, mister, are you a fool?
_Dr. A._ Now gently, friend. Be calm, be calm. (_Aside._) O, he's very
crazy!
_Sharpset._ Humbug! Will you, or will you not, accept my offer? Half
profits for the duchess. Sharp's the word! Quick, or you lose it!
_Dr. A._ My dear friend, it wouldn't hurt you to lose a little blood.
My lancet's handy.
_Sharpset._ Jehoshaphat! do you take me to be an idiot?
_Dr. A._ You'd better go home. Your wife and children are expecting
you. No doubt the little folks are chanting, with their childish
voices, "Dear father, dear father, come home."
_Sharpset._ Jes' so. You can't pull wool over my eyes, doctor. Silas
Sharpset is sharpset by name and sharpset by nater. You can't fool me.
You've got a prize, and want to keep it for yourself; but if I don't
set the populace howling round your door, and make you show up the
duchess, then you can shave my head, and lock me up for life. No
monopolies here in living curiosities while Sharpset's around--not if
he knows it: jes' so. [_Exit, L._
_Dr. A._ He's gone--home, I hope. He's very mad. Why don't his friends
take care of him. It's dangerous to let a man run round with such
horrid ideas as are rambling through his brain. The fat girl, the
living skeleton, the bald-headed accountant, and "The Duchess of
Dublin." 'Pon my word, the idea of my having under my charge a
duchess! O, it's absurd. The man's crazy; he must be looked after;
I'll follow him (_takes hat_), and see that he does no damage. (_Goes
to door, L._)
_Enters, suddenly, MISS ABIGAIL ALLLOVE, with a large book
under her arm. Seizes DR. ACONITE by arm, and drags him
down, C._
_Abigail_ (_mysteriously_). You are--are you?--or am I mistaken?
_Dr. A._ Eh? You may be right, you may be wrong, or you may be
mistaken.
_Abigail._ You do not answer me; and I, poor lone orphan that I am,
tremble in your presence.
_Dr. A._ Eh? Are you often alone? Miss, or madam, let's drop this
nonsense. Have, you any business with me? I am Dr. Aconite.
_Abigail._ You are the friend of the unfortunate; the guide of
suffering humanity to havens of rest; the healer of broken hearts; the
finger-post that points the way to the mansion of health. O, human
angel, list to my woes.
_Dr. A._ Madam, or miss, I shall be happy to aid you with my
professional skill.
_Abigail._ Professional skill? Away with it. I want it not. I want
sympathy, friendship, love.
_Dr. A._ Ah, indeed. Then I'm sorry I cannot help you. They are not in
my line.
_Abigail._ List to a tale of grief. At the age of four I lost my
mother, at the age of ten my father, at the age of fifteen my sister,
at twenty my only brother, at twenty-five my uncle, at thirty--
_Dr. A._ O, stop, stop, stop! Spare me. I didn't kill them. I haven't
been in practice a year. You must see I had no time for such
slaughter.
_Abigail._ I am alone in the world. No relatives, no friends, "no one
to love,"--only this. (_Shows book._)
_Dr. A._ And pray what is that?
_Abigail._ A treasure millions could not buy. A pearl of matchless
value--my life, my friend, my love--my autograph album.
_Dr. A._ O, indeed, is that all? And you want my autograph? With the
greatest pleasure. (_Attempts to take book._)
_Abigail._ Away! Do not profane it with your touch. None but the noble
stain its spotless pages.
_Dr. A._ Ah, indeed! Pardon my presumption.
_Abigail._ No, only the divine wielders of the pen, the classic movers
of the artistic brush, the noble toilers with the gracing chisel, the
seraphic sons and daughters of song, kings, emperors, queens, the
high-born and the great can dot their i's in Abigail Alllove's
autograph album.
_Dr. A._ Decidedly select.
_Abigail_ (_opening book_). Behold the autograph of the Emperor of
China.
_Dr. A._ (_reading_). "Will you come and take tea in the arbor. Te
he!" Ah, did you te-ease him for that?
_Abigail._ The name of the Emperor of the French.
_Dr. A._ (_reading_). "Put out the light, and then put--Napoleon."
Which he did. Very good.
_Abigail._ The Queen of Sheba.
_Dr. A._ (_reading_). "Anything on this board for ten cents. Saloma."
Attentive to business, very.
_Abigail._ Dr. Livingstone.
_Dr. A._ (_reading_).
"On, Stanley, on,
Were the last words from Livingstone."
Original, very.
_Abigail._ Joshua Billings.
_Dr. A._ (_reading_). "Duz time fli in fli time? Josh Billings."
That's a very bad spell.
_Abigail._ Alfred Tennyson.
_Dr. A._ (_reading_).
"When I can shoot my rifle clear
To pigeons in the skies,
I'll bid farewell to pork and beans,
And live on pigeon pies."