didn’t marry his widow; I couldn’t marry his wife; and yet I’m a married man.

Charles. But you love her, captain?

Bobstay. Ease off a bit. If Spanker mysteriously disappeared, there’s reason for Spanker’s disappearance. And as the aforesaid widow, when I married her, who didn’t prove to be a widow after I married her, boxed my ears twice afore the ceremony, the p’ints of my matrimonial compass don’t p’int that way much.

Charles. But where is she?

Bobstay. In chase of another craft, my boy. Close-reefed, to overhaul a young spark, with a view to engage him. Shall I destroy his happiness? That’s a p’int. Shall I appear like a spectre and forbid the banns? That’s another p’int. No, my boy. I’ll set ... down here; keep under water till she’s fairly hooked.

Charles. But suppose Spanker should turn up?

Bobstay. That’s a p’int we can’t argue. Mum’s the word. I’m a spirit. Bobstay’s gone up. Keep dark. Not a word to your wife now.

Charles. But Jenny don’t know you are here!

Bobstay. No? I’ll hide in the barn—in the pigsty—anywhere until the widow’s hooked.

(Enter Carlos, C. from L.)

Carlos. Say, Mr. Cleverly, here’s a woman wants to see you. [Exit C. to R.

Bobstay. A woman? Then I’ll get under hatches (runs to table R.C. and puts on wig and whiskers). That used to be my state-room. I’ll look it over. Mind, Charley, mum’s the word. I’m a spirit; mysteriously disappeared. You understand? [Exit door R.

Charles. But I say, captain!—He’s pitched into Nelly’s room. No matter. I’ll have him out as soon as I’ve finished with my visitor. Who can she be?

(Enter C., Miss Persis Grievous, tragically.)

Persis, C. You are Mr. Charles Cleverly?

Charles. At your service, madam.

Persis. Monster! Traitor! Arch conspirator!

Charles. Madam!

Persis. You are the friend of Dixon Dolby. My Dixie. You have enticed him from my loving presence; from me, the woman who adores him; for what?

Charles. A day’s sport, he says.

Persis. Sport! You are like the wicked boy, and I the innocent frog. What’s sport to you is death to me. Last night he told me of his proposed visit. This morning I found in his room beneath his pillow—for we both lodge beneath the same roof; and I, in his absence, enter his sanctum as a privileged guest of that dear and worthy Mrs. Sprygs, who lets rooms at five dollars per week, lights included—

Charles (aside). For particulars, see small bills.

Persis.—Beneath the pillow, which his ambrosial locks had pressed, I found this note, and this picture (shows photograph). Do you recognize it?

Charles (looks at photograph). Good heavens! My wife!

Persis. Your wife? Then you, like me, are a victim. I blush for my anger. Let us in each other’s arms mingle our tears (approaching Charles with arms extended).

Charles (backing to R.). Not just yet. Explain this, and at once.

Persis. Does it need explanation? Here is the picture, and here the note signed Rosa Bean. A clandestine correspondence. I see it all, at once. Under the pretext of a day’s sport, he comes here to make love to your wife.

Charles. The confounded scoundrel!

Persis. Speak gently of the erring. I love him. Yes, spite his faults, I love him still. I am here to save him—to save you. I am a succoring angel.

Charles. Give me that note