Poison

Twitters. I must yield.

Hunker. All right, Twitters. You’re more intelligent than you look.

Twitters. I have a good back room.

Hunker. I prefer a front one.

Twitters. The front one is mine.

Hunker. Sorry to inconvenience you, I’m sure, but I can’t put up with a back one.

Twitters (aside). Crimes do come home to roost with a vengeance! (Aloud.) Where is your trunk?

Hunker. Would you believe it, Twitters, I’ve shoved up every thundering rag that ain’t on my back. I’ll borrow of you.

Twitters. This passes patience.

Hunker. It’s hard to bear; but your clothes are good, if they aint handsome. I aint proud. But proud or not, I want a bath. If you’ll believe it, Twitters, I’ve not bathed since – but we won’t be unpleasant and vulgar, will we?

Twitters. The servant will show you to the bath-room.

Hunker. You’d better do it yourself, Twitters; I don’t like to lose sight of you – not that you’re so awful handsome to look at, but – you twig? Thanks, I’ll sample your strong waters (pouring brandy from decanter to goblet and drinking). Where’s the bath-room?

Twitters. This way.

Hunker. All right. Now you treat me fair, and I’ll treat you fair. (Smacking his lips.) I’m square. That’s prime tipple. (Exeunt.)

Charles (appearing at window). Nobody’s here. I must see Clara! (Door opens.) I wouldn’t be seen. Twitters is capable of setting dogs on me. (Dodges down. Enter Clara.)

Clara. Papa! Is that horrid man gone? Papa?

Charles (appearing again). Hush!

Clara (starting and turning). Oh! – It’s you, and crawling through the window. Dr. Squillcox.

Charles. “Dr. Squillcox.” O, Clara – come here.

Clara (approaching window). I hate you. If you had really loved me you would have shown more courage with papa.

Charles. It was insane of me to ask a man for his daughter’s hand before he had eaten his breakfast. (Takes her hand.) But it’s all serene, little girl. I’ll make it well. (Kisses her.)

Clara. It doesn’t make it well at all.

Charles. I have such an immense plan. You must be taken very ill, this afternoon. Your father will forget his dyspepsia in worrying over you. All remedies they give you must fail. Old Dr. Parkinson is away, and —

Clara (clapping her hands). And papa will have to send for you. At your first powder – you mustn’t give me pills – I can’t take them – I’ll get well immediately.

Charles. And your papa, delighted at my skill, will give your hand to your preserver.

Clara. How clever you are, Charles! (Noise without.) Go away. Somebody’s coming. (Charles disappears.)

(Enter Twitters.)

Twitters (advancing thoughtfully, aside). I wonder if the brand of Cain is perceptible upon my brow. To think that I should be the cause of all this suffering! That no day may pass without a death which proper investigation might lay at my door! That all my life must be passed with this terrible man. I cannot endure it! (Sits down.)

Clara (approaching him). Why, papa, you look ill.

Twitters. Ill! Yes, this is a wicked world, Clara. I meant to strew your path with roses, to hide from you the villainy —

Hunker (without, shouting). Towels, Twitters.

Clara. O, dear! What is that?

Twitters (rising). It is the voice of fate. (Calling.) Coming, sir.

Clara. What do you mean?

Hunker (without). Found ’em! No matter!

Twitters. A gentleman is come to stay with me, dear; and while he is here, we shall have so much business together that I have been thinking that it might be well for you to visit your kind grandmother.

Clara. But I don’t want to. Grandma has horrid things to eat. Who is this gentleman?

Twitters. You saw him here, this morning.

Clara. That horrid, dirty man!

Twitters. An old friend of my boyhood, Clara – a worthy man, whom the world has dog’s-eared by hard usage. I am superior to prejudice, but I cannot expect you to be.

Clara. I should hope not.

Twitters. So you had better go at once, dear. I’ll send your things. He is rough, I know, but he has a gentle, kind heart —

Hunker (without). I say, Twitters! Where are you? Damn you!

Twitters (calling). Here, sir. (To Clara.) Go away, dear, quickly.

(Clara goes toward door. As she reaches it, Hunker appears and meets her, face to face. He is showily dressed in clothes of Twitters’, somewhat too small.)

Hunker (bowing). Much obliged, miss; you were coming to show me the way, I ’spose. I’ve found it, you see. I heard your lovely voice.

Twitters. My daughter was going out, Mr. Hunker.

Hunker. I guess she’d better not. It ain’t a nice day out.

Clara. I beg your pardon, sir.

Hunker. Twitters, this young woman mustn’t go out. Do you twig?

Clara. Good-bye, papa.

Twitters. You had better stay, dear. (Clara stops, amazed.)

Hunker. So I think. (Drawing long breath.) I feel like a new man, and I’m going to give the new man a drink. (Pouring out brandy again.) What’s her name, Twitters?

Twitters. My daughter is named Clara, sir.

Hunker. Lovely name. Here’s to Clara (drinking). Sit down; we’ll soon be pals.

Twitters. Sit down, dear. (Clara sits amazed.)

Hunker. Two young people like us can’t be thrown together in a house without liking each other pretty well?

Clara (to Twitters). I cannot submit to this, papa.

Twitters (to Clara). We should never take offence when none is meant, dear.

Hunker. I’m an adventurous cuss, Miss Clara – just on from Arizona to float a gold mine on the eastern market. Going to let Twitters in at bed-rock prices – eh, Twitters?

Twitters. Yes, yes, of course.

Hunker. We had hard old sledding on the plains, at times, Miss Clara.

Clara. Indeed, sir!

Hunker. Chased by Indians twenty miles, riding with Custer – you know Custer? Seventeen of them miles I had a bullet in my leg (starting to pull up his trouser leg) – want to see the 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 shoulder).

Hunker. I aint libelled nobody.

Officer. Dry up! Come along with me. I want your phiz in the rogues’ gallery.

Hunker (putting hat on one side). I guess I can screw it up so as you won’t know it again. I say, Twitters, I’ve made a suit of clothes out of this, anyhow. (Exeunt.)

Twitters (to Clara). Ah, you sly puss! Charles was the medicine you needed! Here, Charles, she’s your’s and half my fortune with her. Thank heaven, I’m not a blear-eyed Borgia, chumming with a prison-bird.

Clara. I don’t understand you, papa.

Twitters. No reason you should, my dear. Everything is bright and happy, excepting that I shall lose my little girl and be left all alone.

Mother (embracing him). I will take her place, Theophilus. The past shall be forgotten. I will never desert the lonely husband of my departed Sarah.

Twitters (shaking her off. To himself). I shall have to send for Hunker.

Curtain