scar?

Clara (with terror). No! No!

Hunker (pleased with himself). O, we’re kindred spirits; we’ll soon be friends. I like your New England country. As Lady Franklin said to me, when we was taking supper together on the Oregon steamer. She was goin’ to hunt up John’s bones in Sitka, where I kept a hotel—“Beans is a benevolent institution, Mr. Hunker,” says she. “You’re right, Lady F.,” says I. Now speak up, if you’re talked to death, Miss Clara.

Clara. I have nothing to say.

Hunker. All right. I can talk right along,—keep it up forever. By George, it would be funny if you and I should conclude to keep it up forever—eh, Clara?

Clara. I don’t understand this man, papa.

Twitters. He is a rough diamond, dear.

Clara. Then he ought to be “cut.”

Hunker. Why, make a match of it.

Clara (aside). O dear. I shall be ill, really. I must send for Charles. (Aloud.) Papa, I don’t feel well.

Twitters (starting). Eh, my dear! What’s the matter?

Clara. I have a head-ache.—

Hunker. Have you been eating sugar?

Twitters (agonized). I fear so.

Hunker. Does your throat burn?

Clara (faintly). Yes, yes, I want to lie down (they lead her to sofa).

Hunker. My God! It’s the symptoms—see what you’ve done!

Twitters. I, you miserable man! Behold your work!

Hunker. No time for fooling, Twitters. I know the antidote. I’ll run to the nearest apothecary—it’s too bad, I vow! Here, give me sixty cents. (Exit.)

Twitters. There you are, my poor child! (Gets towel, which he wets with cologne and puts to her head.) Does that help you?

Clara. O papa. It doesn’t make me any better! Send for the doctor!

Twitters. Yes, yes. (Aside.) If the doctor should discover poisoning! If it should be traced to me!

Clara (faintly). Dr. Squillcox—the other one’s away.

Mother (without). Where is Twitters? I will see him. (Enter Mother.)

Mother. You are here—I entered the hushed chamber where all that was mortal of the sainted Elijah Paddy was lying—

Twitters. Don’t talk of death.

Mother. Overcome by emotion, I averted my head, and blindly removing the brown paper wrapping, I placed upon the heart of the departed what I thought to be a floral tribute—a lovely anchor, expressive of hope and christian resignation—

Twitters. Can’t you see that poor Clara is ill? Be still, woman.

Mother. Who insults me by calling me woman? I stood with averted face. A stir of excitement thrilled the hushed and weeping assembly as my offering was seen. Touched by this appreciation of my tribute, I turned to take a last view of all that was earthly of the departed—there, amid a heap of roses and camellias lay those odious boots. (Pulling them from under her cloak, holding them at arm’s length and throwing them down.) Without a word I fled. I am undone forever.

Twitters. Say no more of boots. Look at my suffering child and hold your peace.

Mother. I need no word from you to succor my departed Sarah’s child (walking towards the couch. She snatches at Twitters’ hand). Your allopathic doses are killing her (producing phial). These pellets will cure her (starts to give Clara pills).

Twitters. No sugar pills! For heaven’s sake, no sugar!

Mother (severely). These are rendered efficacious by an infinitesimal reduction of arsenic.

Twitters (in agony). Give them to me. (Struggling with her.)

Mother. Prejudiced monster. Like cures like. (They struggle for the phial. Twitters wrenches it away and flings it into the fire-place. Mother stands panting with rage.)

(Enter an Officer of the Law.)

Officer. Theophilus Twitters?

Twitters (excited). Yes, what is it?

Officer. I arrest you, in the name of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

Twitters (agonized). The blow is fallen!

Mother (between horror and joy). O that I should have lived to see this day! (Crossing to Clara.) My poor child, your mother’s mother will care for you, while your sinful parent expiates his crimes!

Clara (aside). Why doesn’t Charles come?

Twitters (imploring). Officer, a few moments with my suffering child.

Officer. Couldn’t think of it. Get your hat.

(Enter Hunker, hastily, followed by Charles).

Hunker (recognizing Officer, aside). Thunder. There’s a copp. (Aloud, with tremor.) What’s wanted?

Officer (sententiously). Twitters.

Charles (coming forward). And this man, too—

Hunker (imploring). Shut up! I’ll fix things!

Charles. A few weeks ago he came to me and offered me a large sum for twelve pounds of arsenic—to kill rats, he said, but—

Clara (who has risen in her excitement). But, what?

Twitters (trembling with excitement). But what, Charles?

Charles. But that he might not go elsewhere—for I saw that his end was crime—I sold him powdered sugar!

Twitters. Powdered sugar! A mountain has rolled off my breast! You’re an angel, Charles!

Hunker (enraged). You’re a damned mean apothecary!

Twitters. Officer, you don’t want me now?

Officer. I don’t see how all this makes any difference in the suit of Grimsby et al. v. Twitters,—criminal libel.

Twitters. Grimsby & Weeper!

Officer. Them’s the people. You called them rascally swindlers.

Mother. The makers of my tribute.

Twitters. They didn’t like my letter?

Officer. That’s so. But you’re a stampy old duffer. This gentleman (pointing to Charles) will go surety on your bond?

Hunker. Good day, gents and ladies (starts to go. To Clara). Now our match is off, you’ve got well putty quick. Good day.

Officer. See here (touching his