A merry-go-round; a comedy in four acts

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Class PSiwr:>,

RnnV 3 & M -t

Copyright }J". ' -' ^ " ..

Act I

SCENE — The home of Mr. and Mrs. Dunder, a fine manor in a large park. The mansion is to the right and back of a beautiful garden, and has a handsome front, with columns, large front doors, veranda and steps, and a small porch at the rear left corner projecting into the garden ; near the rear porch is a small gate entering the garden at rear from a shady park beyond. The garden at side and front of house is rich with paths and flowers and trees, and shrubbery easily concealing any one. The time is early morning, before breakfast.

Enters O'Grady.

O'Grady. 'Tis a fine morning entirely.

A bird sings in a tree.

O'Grady. Hark that! He must sing, or his little heart break. "What's in heart must out," as the folk say.

A bird flies from a tree and away.

O'Grady. Ay, there he goes. Good luck to ye, entirely.

Mrs. Dunder inside the house, in a very dreary tone:

Mrs. Dunder. O no, no, no, no, no, no.

O'Grady. Mrs. Dunder in the blues — bad 'cess to 'em!

ACT I

Mr. Dunder inside house, with a bright but vexed and loud voice :

Dick Dunder. Mehitabel, this is ridiculous. On such a morning, too. Come, come !

O'Grady. Hoh! has 'em as bad himself. When she's blue, he's gay; when she's gay, he's blue. That's the pickle of it — never o' the same mind at the same time. "Not every couple makes a pair," as the folk say, and "A bad Jack may have as bad a Jill."

Enter Mr and Mrs. Dunder from the house by the front door and steps. Mrs. D. speaks dismally.

Mrs. Dunder. Once more, Dick, I ask you not to call me Mehitabel.

Dick. What can I call you?

Mrs. Dunder. There's my old nick-name.

Dick. I detest nick-names.

Mrs. Dunder. Then call me Bel, or Abel, or what you please except Mehitabel — odious name ! — if I'm worth calling anything. Heigho!

Dick. O, come now! Nonsense! Ridiculous! Preposterous ! You were not like this yesterday. What's the matter with you?

Mrs. Dunder. Yesterday ? Heigho ! I think you were this way yesterday.

Dick. Well, if I had a little attack of the blue devils

Mrs. Dunder. Little!

ACT I 8

Dick. Big, then — I fought it off and got over it.

Mrs. Dunder. You didn't get over it till you did get over it. Oh-h-h ! Heigho! I think you don't know what it is to see yourself a worthless nobody, a mere encumbrance on the earth, useless to yourself and every one else. Oh-h-h-h ! Heigho !

Dick. Tut! Stuff! Twaddle! Babble! Fiddlede-dee! Don't you know you're everything to me?

Mrs. Dunder. That's just it ! 0-h-h-h! Heigho!

Dick. O, get some of this air and sunshine into

you!

Dick takes a long deep breath and then pounds his breast vigorously.

Dick. I must take a run around the park before

breakfast. (Sings:)

Hey derry down, a-derry derry down, A-down, a-down, a-derry!

Dick. Hey. derry down, a-derry derry down, A-down, a-down, a-derry!

Exit Dick through the garden and rear gate.

O'Grady. Now, Ma'am, comfort a little! Cheer up a bit, entirely. "If you sell bad wares, you must not complain at bad money," as the folk say.

Mrs. Dunder. I wish you were not so disagreeably pat with your proverbs, O'Grady.

9 ACT I

O'Grady. Pat, is it? I always can keep a-patter with 'em, they're so many ; and they fit like our skin, Ma'am. But come now, have some breakfast.

Mrs. Dunder. Heigho ! I can not eat anything.

O'Grady. O try a little, taste a little ! I'll serve it up fine, entirely. "Eat and live," as the folk say.

Mrs. Dunder. Well, a little something. Heigho!

Exit Mrs. Dunder into house. Enters Bob, left front.

O'Grady. Well, sir.

Bob. Well, ma'am.

O'Grady. What's your name? Who are (you? Where did you come from ? And what are you doing here ?

Bob. Bob Honest is my name, I'm my Master's man, I came from the city, and I'm doing what my master does.

O'Grady. Oh! Where's your master?

Bob. Outside, waiting.

O'Grady. Waiting for what ?

Bob. Forme. And now, what's your name? Who are you? Where did you come from? And what are you doing here?

O'Grady. O'Grady is my name, I'm my Mistress' woman, I came from the city, and I'm doing what my mistress does.

ACT I 10

Bob. Oh! (Aside) Fine old girl !

O'Grady. "As like as two peas in a pod," as the folk say. (Aside) Fine old boy!

Bob. This seems a very bird-songy, flowery, shrubbery kind of a place.

O'Grady. 'Tis so, entirely.

Bob. Just the place for such a comforty, cheery and buxomy kind of a body as you.

O'Grady. It's like to be no place at all for such a forwardy, brazeny, sauce-boxy chap as you.

Bob. I say, ma'am, at your service — no offense — I'm fifty.

O'Grady. Fifty what?

Bob. Fifty years old. How old are you?

O'Grady. Impudence! I'm "as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth," as the folk say.

John Warren outside impatiently calls Bob.

Bob. Halloo! What! It's my master. I forgot him. I say, isn't this the place of Mr. Richard Dunder ?

O'Grady. 'Tis indeed.

Bob. I'll be back soon. Hark 'e! Master's here! So am I ! Bow !

Bob utters the last word with explosive force, then exit. O'Grady starts and remains staring after Bob. Mrs. Dunder, inside :

Mrs. Dunder. O'Grady.

11 ACT I

O'Grady. Coming, ma'am.

Exit O'Grady into house. Enters Gaston, right front looks about warily, and secretes himself in the shrubbery. John Warren and Bob outside :

John. I say, yes.

Bob. Saving your presence, no, indeed, sir. Bow !

John. Bring along the trap.

Enter John Warren and Bob, Bob carrying a large traveling-bag. At same moment enters O'Grady from house and descends the steps.

John. I say you were long enough to build the place. (Seeing Bob's gaze fixed on O'Grady) Oh ! I understand, you sly rogue !

Bob. What, sir? Me, sir! No, sir! Bow!

John. Don't mind my man, good woman. He's harmless. So, this is my old friend, Dick Dunder's country home. Handsome, must say. I'm Mr. John Warren.

O'Grady. O, there, la! yes, sir! I've heard them say they expected you 'today — not quitje so early, sir.

John. No — found I could come — got out of the noise and dust the first chance. Well Bob, you can go back now.

Bob. What, sir? Go back, sir? Leave you, sir? I, sir? When did I? No, sir! Bow!

John. What's the matter with you? You said you'd go back — didn't want trees — wanted people.

ACT I 12

Bob. I've altered my mind, sir. Where you are is my place, sir. And (with a sly look at O'Grady) there are people here, sir.

John. O, well, stay then. I dare say you can find a place to stow in.

O'Grady. O, sure, sir, I'll stow him, entirely.

Enters Agnes from house and descends steps. Seeing Warren she busies herself with some shrubs and flowers in garden.

O'Grady. Miss Hawtrey, ma'am, here is Mr. Warren, come early.

Agnes advances cordially. O'Grady and Bob confer by themselves, looking at the others.

Agnes. Ah ! Let me do Mrs. Dunder's office for the moment and say you are welcome. You are early indeed, though expected today.

John. I fled the city as soon as I could. Miss Hawtrey.

Agnes. And you will find this worth while. Oh! this splendid air ! How fine it is to be up and out early ! Was ever such a morning ?

John. Never to me, because I never met you before.

Agnes. Oh ! Mr. Warren, is that the way you talk to women ? From what Mr. Dunder said of his old friend I thought better of you.

John. Miss Hawtrey!

Agnes. Yes, indeed; and you must cry a truce to flattery if you wish to talk with me.

13 ACT I

O'Grady. Troth, and she's right too, entirely. "Can't I be your friend, but I must be your fool too?" as the folk say.

Bob. Don't you be too fine, O'Grady. Master knows the right talk. Bow!

Agnes starts, and looks at Bob.

John. Ah ! Quite harmless. Miss Hawtrey. Faithful fellow ! My man. Bob Honest.

Agnes. O'Grady, show Honest where to put Mr. Warren's portmanteau.

Exeunt Bob and O'Grady into the house through the small rear porch. Bob carrying the baggage.

John. How do you wish me to treat you, Miss Hawtrey ?

Agnes. Just like a man, sir.

John. No better?

Agnes. Not unless you treat men ill.

John. But no more politely?

Agnes. Not unless you treat men rudely.

John. But — should not a man have sentiment, carefulness, chivalry for a woman?

Agnes. That is for the man to answer.

John. But then he will speak to her differently.

Agnes. But not tell her lies.

John. Lies?

ACT I 14

Agnes. Certainly. Flatteries are lies, the cheapest of lies.

John. You abash me. Pardon me, but I never met such a girl as you in all my life.

Agnes. Unfortunate for me; else you would have treated me better.

John. That's severe.

Agnes. I don't mean it so. There's my hand on it. Come, let us be pleasant company — we owe it to our friendly hosts.

John. Ah ! true. I am — I will be. Thank you.

Agnes. Mother and I arrived only yesterday — 'tis much too soon to begin to be unpleasant, you know.

John. Too soon? Oh! ah! yes, certainly. You are old friends of —

Agnes. Mrs. Dunder — here for a little visit.

John, Yes — just as I am Dick's old chum, and here for a visit. Please tell me of poor Dick.

Agnes. Poor Dick?

John. Yes, since his misfortune.

Agnes. Misfortune?

John. Yes, that affair a month ago — by-the-way, I didn't see you at the wedding.

Agnes. No, we were on the ocean at the time.

John, Ah ! happy escape.

15 ACT T

Agnes. Escape ?

John. Yes, there was the usual torn- foolery — in fact, rather more.

Agnes. Mr. Warren!

John. How is my old friend since he went to prison ?

Agnes. Prison ?

John. Yes, tied himself up in that leash.

Agnes. Leash ?

John. Yes, like a dog straining at his chain. Plainly, I mean his marriage.

Agnes. Why, Mr. Warren ! You forget that Mrs. Dunder is my dear old friend.

John. O, no I don't. It may be as bad for her as for him, for aught I know.

Agnes. Well, well !

John. O, I know you will look and act like all the girls as. soon as I tell the truth. But I might as well make a clean breast of it, Miss Hawtrey. I deem marriage about the foolishest and least dignified of all the stupid and ridiculous things a free man can do. It's downright imprisonment, it's duress, limbo, blockade, a stone wall, a hedge of thorns, a cage, a coop, a den, a pen, a dungeon, a lock-up, a watch-house, a pound, it's fetters, shackles, handcuffs, stocks, a muzzle, it's —

Agnes. Spare the dictionary, Mr. Warren.

ACT I 16

John. Well, haven't I an interest? Poor Dick!

Agnes. And how do the girls always look and act when you — you — well, display that vocabulary ?

John. They look first surprised and then grieved, and then they drop me, all of them.

Agnes. Well, I'm surprised, but not grieved, because — I agree with you; and so I'll not drop you.

John. You are not mocking?

Agnes. No, indeed.

John. It's a serious matter. When I see a fine fellow, a fine, manly, large-minded old friend, caught in that bird-lime, I fear I am a little wild for a time.

Agnes. I feel just so, only 'tis for the girl, some fine, womanly, large-minded friend of my girlhood.

John. That's right, of course. Miss Hawtrey, I ask you, — Is there any greater human dignity than to command one's time? Yet that's gone at marriage. A man must be at home on time, and stay there on time, and be at meals on time — O, dreadful!

Agnes. Yes.

John. And at thirty, or even at twenty-five, a man's a ninny or else he has convictions. Now, suppose he marries contrary convictions; then he must be flabby or fight. Horrible!

17 ACT I

Agnes. Yes.

John. And at thirty a man's a booby or else he has firm and fixed habits. These are locked up with opposed habits, and then one must yield, or there's war. Wretched!

Agnes. True.

John. And at thirty a man's a fribble or else he has some strong tastes. He ties up with equally strong adverse tastes, or else with a limpness of no taste at all; and then he must reduce himself or there's a clash. Intolerable!

Agnes. 'Tis so.

John. And are these views yours too?

Agnes. Wholly.

John. Well, I never met such a girl — 'tis glorious to find one.

Agnes. But I think there is one big, big, big thought which you overlook.

John. And that is —

Agnes. Ah ! I'll not tell you. You must work out your own salvation.

John. Is that quite fair? I have shown you all my hand.

Agnes. Hand? Are you playing a game?

John. Why, no.

Agnes. Neither am I; therefore I have no hand. But come, as no one else appears so early at

ACT I 18 morning, I must play hostess, though I arrived but yesterday myself. Would you not like to go to your room awhile? You may raid the breakfast room when you please, up to ten o'clock, and lunch when you please between twelve and two. This is liberty hall — no one entertains you or plans for you.

John. Admirable!

Agnes. But all the household meet at dinner, at six o'clock.

John. And the household are — ?

Agnes. Our hosts Mr. and Mrs. Dunder, Mrs. Dunder's Aunt Jane, a quaint and witty dame, who is to live here — O'Grady is her special maid, but obliging to everybody — Mr. Dunder's Uncle Job, expected today for a long visit —

John. I saw the Aunt Jane, sprightly lady, and Uncle Job, massive party, at the wedding.

Agnes. Ah! And then my mother and I, on a short visit, and yourself, on a visit, I know not how short or long.

Enters O'Grady from house.

O'Grady. All is placed rightly, ma'am, and Bob Honest is wandering in the park, entirely. "A wild goose never laid a tame egg," as the folk say, and "As good be an addled egg as an idle bird."

Agnes. And now, O'Grady, please show Mr. Warren to his room.

19 ACT I

Exeunt O'Grady and John Warren into the house. Agnes turns to look after them, and still stands so after they have entered the house. Meantime Gaston comes from his concealment, regards Agnes a few moments, and then, as she turns toward front, retreats again and emerges as if just from a walk under the trees.

Agnes. Mr. Gaston!

Gaston. Yes, even I, indeed, Miss Hawtrey.

Agnes. I — I — did not expect to see you here.

Gaston. Why not? You will see me wherever you are, if I can ride or walk or run or fly or creep.

Agnes. Mr. Gaston! You distress me terribly!

Gaston. I have followed you to plead my cause with you again, for my soul is all one fire and flame of true love for you.

Agnes. Why pain me needlessly? I have answered you twice before, and each answer was final.

Gaston. Don't say that ! Hear me a little ! Grant me a doubt, a suspense! I'll not ask "Yes" now, if only you will not say "No." Leave me a chance to wait, to hope, to dream, that I may win you with patience and constancy.

Agnes. No, no, no, no, no, never, never, never, never !

Gaston. You are cruel —

ACT I 20

Agnes. I don't wish to be, but you push me too far. Please understand me now. Any further pursuit will be annoyance, persecution, affront. You will excuse me.

Exit Agnes into the house by the front. At same time enters John Warren by the rear porch, Gaston looks after Agnes.

Gaston. Hold yourself high — don't you ? But I've not done with you yet, and I'll have you yet, you and your pretty plum, you little jade!

John saunters to front through garden, talking as he comes.

John. Too early for breakfast, and too fine outside to stay in. Out-doors is what I came here for. Dan Gaston!

Gaston. Mr. John Warren.

John. What are you doing here?

Gaston. Enjoying a morning walk in the country.

John. Stuff! You've a purpose. There's always something up with you. What are you doing here?

Gaston. Well — not answering questions just now.

John. Add that to your business, then; there are some to be answered.

Gaston. If Mr. Warren is not more careful, I shall get the better of him in manners.

John. Be hanged to your manners !

Gaston. Why not ''damn?" That's less boyish.

21 ACT I

John. Well, damn your manners, if you like that better. Oh, I know you can put on fine ways. But they don't go with me. I know you. I say, what are you doing here?

Gaston. Well, perhaps I'm doing just what you're doing.

John. Well, if you're making a visit to Dick Dunder, I'll go back to town till your visit is done and over. I didn't know you knew Dick.

Gaston. I don't. But he has a lovely guest.

John. Oh! I see! I see! Miss Hawtrey! At your old game.

Gaston. O, no, she's not old; she's young, and lovely — and has a plum. We both have looked at it all round, no doubt.

John. You base cur! I make no pretension to Miss Hawtrey, but I'll not let you sacrifice her as you did Marjorie Brown. You broke her heart, deserted her, and killed her.

Gaston. Disinterested, to be sure. As to the tricky Marjorie, yes, I left her, and so would you or any man. There are scriptural grounds and statutory grounds that —

John. Dan Gaston, if you end that sentence, I swear by the soul of me I'll choke you !

Gaston. O, I heard you once had some interest in Marjorie.

ACT I 22

John. No! I was just beginning to think of her; but I'll let no man cry wanton on a girl I've even begun to care for.

Gaston. Yes, I heard she jilted you — when your father — don't rage — fell on his ill luck. She was glad enough soon to marry me. You're afraid now of another mitten perhaps.

John. I've told you Miss Hawtrey is nothing to me, but I'll keep her from your foul claws.

Gaston. Dropping pretence, now, if we are to be rivals, why so common, loud and discourteous about it? Can't we be honest and fair rivals?

John. Dan Gaston, you're a base rascal. Leave this place.

Gaston. Really, Warren, if you're going to make such a bore of yourself, I shall have to cut your acquaintance.

John. I'll cut yours now. From this hour I don't know you. Away with you! Out of this place! In a quarter hour I'll hunt around for you, and if I find you, I'll tell Dick Dunder what kind of a hound you are, and then you'll walk I fancy!

Exit John into the house, front.

Gaston. Curse your scrub impudence! But the cool head wins. If you thought you could bait me to a knock-down, you're a damned innocent, John Warren. And curse your lies too! But you can't cheat me. You're after the girl.

23 ACT I

During this speech O'Grady enters from rear porch, goes to the gate and looks about, then comes to front, and surveys Gaston suspiciously.

Gaston. Ah! my good lass, here!

O^Grady. I'm not a lass, sir, because I'm too old, and I'm not good because I'm a sinner, as the Church says. You're out, entirely.

Gaston. You're a cute one.

O'Grady. Ay, too cute for a man here and there, entirely.

Gaston. Say, now, what's Mr. Warren doing here?

O'Grady. I'll tell you all I know.

Stands looking at him in silence.

Gaston. Well ?

O'Grady. I've done it.

Gaston. What ?

O'Grady. Told you all I know. I know nothing, and that's what I've told you, entirely.

Gaston. O, you're a shrewd one. Here's for you — (gives piece of money).

O'Grady. Sure, that's a good bit of money. Ye don't mean that for me?

Gaston. Of course not.

O'Grady. Ye mean to give me a present for my best friend.

Gaston. Of course.

ACT I 24

O'Grady. And I promise you it shall go straight to the use of the best friend I have in the world — (aside) and that's myself.

Gaston. Come now, what's Warren doing here?

O'Grady. Why, sir, he came because he came, he's doing what he's doing, he is where he is, and he will be where he goes.

Gaston. I don't learn much from you.

O'Grady. No, nor I don't know anything of you. Good luck to you !

Stands off and laughs good-humoredly and exit through the garden and the rear gate.

Gaston. It's plain enough. And what to do is plain. If I can get Mrs. Hawtrey's ear and poison her against Warren! That scrape of his father's will twist well enough. But to be unknown — . Well, I can look the laudable old gentleman, and good luck may get me talk with the old lady.

Exit Gaston, front. Enter O'Grady and Bob by rear gate, stealing cautiously in, and looking tip-toe over tops of the bushes.

O'Grady. Where is he? I left him here a minute

ago.

Enters Uncle Job, front, carrying a large valise.

Uncle Job. By Jove, good freak, my early start! Air's fresh and fine. This must be the place. Didn't know my good Dick had anything quite so grand.

25 ACT I

O'Grady. There he is ! He has put his hat on.

Bob. ril go out and tackle him. You spoke him just right, the imperence ! Watch me make at him now.

Bob comes out from the shrubbery and stands observing Uncle Job sidewise. Each talks to himself :

Bob. a cheeky old patch !

Uncle Job. Ah! a serving man, no doubt.

Bob. The smug scamp, asking Master's business! He has a precious rogue-look in his choppy old face.

Uncle Job. A good honest looking fellow.

Bob. I'll say the same O'Grady did. He'll learn little more.

Uncle Job. Hem! My good man —

Bob. O, you lummaxy old rascal ! Bow !

Uncle Job. Mercy pickle us! What — what — what — what are you saying? I'll have you taught better manners. Is this Mr. Richard Dunder's place?

Bob. None of your hanged business. And I'll tell you that Mr. John Warren came because he came, he's doing what he's doing, he is where he is, and he will be where he goes. Bow !

Uncle Job. Merciful heavens! My good boy—

ACT I 26

Bob. I'm not a boy because I'm too old, and I'm not good because I'm a sinner, as the Church says. Bow !

Uncle Job. Amazing! My good man, I'm a doctor, a great doctor. Please, let me feel your pulse.

Enters O'Grady, running forward.

O'Grady. O, Honest, that's not the man. I think, sir, you must be the Doctor Uncle Job, Mr. Dunder's Uncle.

Uncle Job. The same, good woman.

O'Grady. Yes, sir, they're expecting you some time to-day, sir, but hardly so early, entirely. Come with me, I'll show you your room, sir. Breakfast at any time, sir. Honest, bring his Honor's baggage.

Bob. Yes, sir; proud, sir, I'm sure. Sorry I mistook, sir ! Bow !

Exeunt into the house, Uncle Job looking suspiciously at Bob. Enters Dick Dunder through the rear gate. At same time Mrs. Dunder enters, on front porch.

Dick. Hey derry down, a derry derry down, A-down, a-down, Orderry!

What an air ! What a light ! What a morning! .What a park, if I do say it of my own! Hey ! but that walk — I might say trot — good gait — ^has given me a mighty humor for breakfast.

27 ACT I

Mrs. Dunder has come down the steps, and Dick, turning toward the house, meets her.

Dick. Ah ! nick of time ! Come, my pretty Mehit — I mean, pretty Abel, or dainty Bel, breakfast!

Mrs. Dunder. No, I've had all I want — a mouthful. Ah me! Heigho! Oh! Dick! Dick!

Dick. What the ! O, I forgot. Indigo still ?

Mrs. Dunder. That's unfeeling, Dick.

Dick. No it isn't.

Mrs. Dunder. Oh! if you could only know the anguish of this spiritual hopelessness. I'd rather be a worm outright than be a woman and feel like a worm. Heigho !

Dick. O, come, now, Mehit — Mehit — I mean Abel or Bel, — dee-deed if I shall ever get that! — come now, nonsense, ridiculous !

Mrs. Dunder. You don't seem to care at all how I feel or what I am.

Dick. Why, yes I do ! I don't want you like this.

Mrs. Dunder. I knew, I felt, you did not and could not want me, Dick, but I didn't think you'd tell me so.

Dick. Dee-dee it ! I didn't mean that.

Mrs. Dunder. It slipped out unguarded, of course. That's the way with the truth.

Dick. O, come now, Mrs. Dunder, come now ! ACT I 28

Enters O'Grady from house, descends steps and comes round to other side of Dick, speaking as she passes, and picking up Dick's hat, which has fallen on the ground, and handing it to him. Dick now looks from one to the other as each speaks :

O'Grady. Your Aunt is asking for you, Mrs. Dunder.

Mrs. Dunder. I'll go to her. Auntie at least wants me.

O'Grady. Yes, wants her, sir, entirely. "Blood is thicker than water," as the folk say.

Mrs. Dunder. I'll go. I'm sorry to be a blight to you, Dick.

O'Grady. Is that what you let her call herself, poor dear? "A man has no more goods than he gets good by," as the folk say, and no more wife than he wants her.

Mrs. Dunder. I don't see how I ever married you, Dick, ever dared give you such a wretched creature for a wife.

O'Grady. Ay, there it is, sir, entirely. "All women are good, good for something, or good for nothing," as the folk say. Are you saying that of her?

Mrs. Dunder. It would be better for me to die at once and leave you free, Dick.

O'Grady. Ay, again, sir, entirely. Tired of her poor life, "Nothing turns sourer than milk," as the folk say.

29 ACT I

Dick. Hold your tongue, you old gossip. Dee-dee your old saws. And you too, Mrs. Dunder. Dee-deed if I can stand any more of this dee-deed foolishness !

Here O'Grady passes behind Dick and helps Mrs. Dunder up the steps and into the house, while Dick, turned away from them, goes on speaking :

Dick. Here's the morning as fresh as cold water and bright as diamonds, the sun shining, the birds singing, the winds playing, the trees tossing, the grass greening, and every thing growing and glowing and gleaming, and you are crying Heigho ! and Alas ! and Woe is me ! and Lack a day ! wailing and mourning, murmuring, muttering, croaking, maundering, and piping your eye like a water main. It's dee-deed, dee-deed, dee-deed ! D'ye hear ? Dee-deed more than a man can bear! D'ye hear? Dee-deed if I want to look at your dee-deed dismals and brine! D'ye hear?

After a little Dick looks slowly around and finds himself alone.

Dick. Well, I'll be dee-deed!

CURTAIN.

ACT I 30