A Tender Attachment

Hor. Now, Loopstitch, triumph in your face.

Loop. Oui, oui. Vive la triomphe!

Hor. That’s very good. Now, Picket, let a martial spirit glow in your face.

Pic. Yaw, yaw. (Starts, R.)

Hor. Where are you going?

Pic. For mine lager, mit de spirit up stairs.

Hor. No, no; you don’t understand me. Look as you looked when you met the rebels, fierce for the fight.

Pic. Ven I fight mit Sigel?

Hor. Yes; as you did then, do now.

Pic. Yaw; den I’ll go right up stairs.

Hor. What do you mean?

Pic. Ven I fight mit Sigel, ven de repels coom, ve runned away.

Oak. What a darned sneaking coward!

Tim. Easy, now, Mr. Horace; my hand’s getting tired.

Hor. Let me see what I can do. (Goes to easel, and takes brush.) Now, steady, all.

Tim. Och, murder! the crayture’s crawling up my back again!

Pic. I am ash dry ash never vas.

Hor. Steady, steady!

Tim. Ow, my back! Give me a dig, Frenchy.

Oak. Confound you, I will! (Hits Timothy in the stomach, who doubles up.)

Tim. Ow, murther, murther! (Backs into Loopstitch, who tumbles over. Timothy runs up and down stage howling.)

Loop. Sacre! you have broke me all to pieces.

Hor. Order, order! How do you suppose I can paint with such confusion? You have spoiled everything.

Tim. Faith, it’s not myself that’s to blame.

Oak. Darn him! he’s got a nest of hornets under his jacket!

Hor. We can do nothing to-day. It’s now nearly six o’clock. An individual will be here at six to take possession of my room; he has hired it, and I must vacate.

Oak. What, hired the room over your head?

Hor. Yes; it’s a little plot of my father’s to get me home again. If he stays here, I must give up my painting; and of course you will be wanted no more as models.

Loop. Sacre! zat is too bad! ver mooch too bad!

Tim. Faith! must I lose my sitivation?

Pic. Yaw; we can’t come here some more!

Hor. That’s exactly the state of the case. Of course, as he’s my father, it will not do for me to take any measures to cause him to leave. With you it is different. If you can manage to make him sick of his bargain to-night, we shall resume operations to-morrow, as usual.

Oak. Darn him, we’ll pitch him out of the winder!

Hor. No, no; no violence!

Tim. No, b’ys; no voilence. We’ll break his head intirely! That’s all.

Hor. He’s very particular to have everything about him quiet. I offer no suggestions. If you can manage to scare him a little, I’ve no objections.

Tim. Faith, lave us alone for that.

Oak. Come to my room, boys; we’ll fix the old skinflint! Come along.

Tim. Yaw; flint ish goot ven I fight mit Sigel.

Oak. O, never mind Seagull. Come along.

Loop. Sacre! Vat you fix his flint with? I no comprehend.

Oak. I’ll fix everything all right. Leave it to me. Come along.

[Exit, R.

Tim. I’m wid yees. If there’s to be a shindy, count me in.

[Exit, R.

Loop. Monsieur, I be vat you call in ze dark ver much all over.

Pic. Yaw, it pe all covered mit de dark like de moonshine. [Exit Loopstitch and Picket, R.

Hor. What a set of stupid donkeys! If they manage to circumvent my respected parent, I’ll forgive them. (Exchanges jacket for coat, and puts on hat. Stage dark.) How dark it is!

Clap. (Outside, R.) You’re very prompt, sir.

Eben. (Outside, R.) I am always prompt. Is the room ready?

Clap. (Outside, R.) Yes, sir; walk this way.

Hor. There he is, right on time. There’s sure to be a rumpus, and I’m bound to see the fun. [Exit, L.

Enter Clapboard, with a lighted candle, which he places on table, followed by Ebenezer.

Eben. Now, sir, I’ve caught you at your tricks! Why, he’s gone!

Clap. Why, you certainly didn’t expect to find him here.

Eben. I certainly did. Where is he?

Clap. He’s probably at Jobson’s, over the way. But he’ll be back soon. He’ll be delighted to see you.

Eben. Clapboard, you lie! you know he won’t.

Clap. Come, come, Mr. Crotchet, don’t insult a man in his own room.

Eben. ’Tis false! it’s my room; and you may take yourself out of it just as soon as you can!

Clap. You don’t mean to stay here!

Eben. Yes, I do. I’ve had another note from my unknown correspondent. The object of his tender attachment visits him every evening, and I’m bound to see her.

Clap. O, pshaw, Mr. Crotchet! you’ve been humbugged!

Eben. I know it; but I’ll be humbugged no longer; so here I’ll stay to unmask the hypocrite!

Clap. Well, stay, then; but if you’re made uncomfortable, don’t blame me.

Eben. What do you mean?

Clap. No matter; I’ve cautioned you. Keep your eyes open, and don’t blame me. Remember you have been cautioned. Good night.

[Exit, R.

Eben. Clapboard, Clapboard – What does he mean? Can there be any danger? I’m an old fool! What business have I down in this unfrequented place, all alone? I’ll go back. No, I won’t! Horace would laugh and chuckle! He shan’t do that! Who’s afraid? I’ll make myself comfortable on that lounge; and when he comes, he shall learn how terrible is the vengeance of an enraged and injured parent. (Reclines upon lounge. Noise overhead; jumps up.) What’s that? It’s that infernal soldier! Clapboard said he walks in his sleep. Suppose he should come here – with a loaded musket too! Gracious! (Trombone heard outside.) There’s the tailor practising. What a confounded din!