Boots, and one for you, Harry. Hiding letter behind her.
| Harry Vernon |
Ah, one for me, Florence? |
| Florence Trenchard |
Now what will you give me for one? |
| Harry Vernon |
Ah, then you have one? |
| Florence Trenchard |
Yes, there, Harry. Gives it. |
| Harry Vernon |
Ah, for a ship. Opens and reads. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Ah! Mon ami, you are to leave us. Good news, or bad? |
| Harry Vernon |
No ship yet, this promises another year of landlubbery. Goes up. |
| Florence Trenchard |
I’m so sorry. Aside. I’m so glad he’s not going away. But where’s Dundreary. Has anybody seen Dundreary? |
|
Enter Lord Dundreary. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Good morning, Miss Florence. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Comes down, L. Good morning, my Lord Dundreary. Who do you think has been here? What does the postman bring? |
| Lord Dundreary |
Well, sometimes he brings a bag with a lock on it, sometimes newspapers, and sometimes letters, I suppothe. |
| Florence Trenchard |
There. Gives letter. Lord Dundreary opens letter and Florence Trenchard goes up R. Lord Dundreary knocks knees against chair, turns round knocks shins, and at last is seated extreme R. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Thank you. Reads letter. |
| Capt. De Boots |
Reading paper. By Jove, old Soloman has made a crop of it. |
| Lord Dundreary |
A—what of it? |
| Capt. De Boots |
I beg pardon, an event I am deeply interested in, that’s all. I beg pardon. |
| Augusta |
Ah! Florence, dear, there’s a letter of yours got among mine. Gives it. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Why papa, it’s from dear brother Ned. |
| Sir Edward Trenchard |
From my boy! Where is he? How is he? Read it. |
| Florence Trenchard |
He writes from Brattleboro’ Vt. Reading written letter. “Quite well, just come in from a shooting excursion, with a party of Crows, splendid fellows, six feet high.” |
| Lord Dundreary |
Birds six feet high, what tremendous animals they must be. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Oh, I see what my brother means; a tribe of indians called Crows, not birds. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Oh, I thought you meant those creatures with wigs on them. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Wigs! |
| Lord Dundreary |
I mean those things that move, breathe and walk, they look like animals with those things. Moving his arms like wings. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Wings. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Birds with wings, that’s the idea. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Reading written letter. “By the by, I have lately come quite haphazard upon the other branch of our family, which emigrated to America at the Restoration. They are now thriving in this State, and discovering our relationship, they received me most hospitably. I have cleared up the mysterious death of old Mark Trenchard.” |
| Sir Edward Trenchard |
Of my uncle! |
| Florence Trenchard |
Reading written letter. “It appears that when he quarreled with his daughter on her marriage with poor Meredith, he came here in search of this stray shoot of the family tree, found them and died in their house, leaving Asa Trenchard, one of the sons, heir to his personal property in England, which ought to belong to poor Mary Meredith. Asa Trenchard is about to sail for the old country, to take possession. I gave him directions to find you out, and he should arrive almost as soon as this letter. Receive him kindly for the sake of the kindness he has shown to me, and let him see some of our shooting. Your affectionate brother, Ned.” |
| Sir Edward Trenchard |
An American branch of the family. |
| Mrs. Mountchessington |
Oh, how interesting! |
| Augusta |
Enthusiastically. How delightfully romantic! I can imagine the wild young hunter. An Apollo of the prairie. |
| Florence Trenchard |
An Apollo of the prairie; yes, with a strong nasal twang, and a decided taste for tobacco and cobblers. |
| Sir Edward Trenchard |
Florence, you forget that he is a Trenchard, and no true Trenchard would have a liking for cobblers or low people of that kind. |
| Florence Trenchard |
I hate him, whatever he is, coming here to rob poor cousin Mary of her grandmother’s guineas. |
| Sir Edward Trenchard |
Florence, how often must I request you not to speak of Mary Meredith as your cousin? |
| Florence Trenchard |
Why, she is my cousin, is she not? Besides she presides over her milk pail like a duchess playing dairymaid. Sir Edward Trenchard goes up. Ah! Papa won’t hear me speak of my poor cousin, and then I’m so fond of syllabubs. Dundreary, do you know what syllabubs are? |
| Lord Dundreary |
Oh, yeth, I know what syllabubs is—yeth—yeth. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Why, I don’t believe you do know what they are. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Not know what syllabubs are? That’s a good idea. Why they are—syllabubs are—they are only babies, idiotic children; that’s a good idea, that’s good. Bumps head against Florence Trenchard. |
| Florence Trenchard |
No, it’s not a bit like the idea. What you mean are called cherubims. |
| Lord Dundreary |
What, those things that look like oranges, with wings on them? |
| Florence Trenchard |
Not a bit like it. Well, after luncheon you must go with me and I’ll introduce you to my cousin Mary and syllabubs. |
| Lord Dundreary |
I never saw Mr. Syllabubs, I am sure. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Well, now, don’t forget. |
| Lord Dundreary |
I never can forget—when I can recollect. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Then recollect that you have an appointment with me after luncheon. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Yeth, yeth. |
| Florence Trenchard |
Well, what have you after luncheon? |
| Lord Dundreary |
Well, sometimes I have a glass of brandy with an egg in it, sometimes a run ’round the duck-pond, sometimes a game of checkers—that’s for exercise, and perhaps a game of billiards. |
| Florence Trenchard |
No, no; you have with me after luncheon, an ap—an ap— |
| Lord Dundreary |
An ap—an ap— |
| Florence Trenchard |
An ap—an appoint—appointment. |
| Lord Dundreary |
An ointment, that’s the idea. Knocks against Capt. De Boots as they go upstage. |
| Mrs. Mountchessington |
Aside. That artful girl has designs upon Lord Dundreary. Augusta, dear, go and see how your poor, dear sister is this morning. |
| Augusta |
Yes, mamma. Exit, L. 1 E. |
| Mrs. Mountchessington |
She is a great sufferer, my dear. |
| Lord Dundreary |
Yeth, but a lonely one. |
| Florence Trenchard |
What sort of a night had she? |
| Mrs. Mountchessington |
Oh, a very refreshing one, thanks to the draught you were kind enough to prescribe for her, Lord Dundreary. |
| Florence Trenchard |
What! Has Lord Dundreary been prescribing for Georgina? |
| Lord Dundreary |
Yeth. You see I gave her |