J^^r U ^ SY O (^ PS 1534 .D54 06 ^^ Copy 1 — — AK mX DAUGHTER. a ©rama in STJjree ^ctjS, BY T. S. DEM SON. FJRIOE 15 OE2STTS. CHIC A60 : T. S. DEN I SON. NO PLAYS EXCHANGED FOR SCHOOLS AND AMATEURS. 1 oeo, Price, 15 Cents Each, Postage Paid. These plays have been prepared expressly to meet the wants of teachers and amateur clubs by teachers of extended experience in the school room and in the presentation of amateur plays. They are simple in construction, and require no scenery, or only such as is usually at hand. They aflord ample opportunity for '■^acting.'' They are 2^ure in tone and language. The " School and Social Drama' series are no longer on trial. Their success is assured. The testimonials given with each play express the opinions of those who have used the play and know whereof they speak. "If the succeeding numbers are as good as the first, we predict for them a large demand."— iVaYiOMo/ Teachers'' Monthly, N. Y. and Chicago. '*The farces are full of inn.''''— Daily Inter-Ocean, Chicago. "These plays are supplying the dearth of good literature in this depart- ment.''— JV. Y. School Bulletin. " We do not know of twelve dramas in the language (twelve sent for re- view) better adapted to teach good lessons and at the same time furnish amusement to the young."— ^V<:'«' England Jour. Education. ODDS WITH THE ENEMY. A drama in five acts ; 7 male and 4 female characters. Time, 1 hour, 45 m. Contains a good humorous negro character. " It took splendidly. 'Tabbs' made it spicy."— (7. E. Rogers, Dunkirk, Ind. SETH GREENBACK. A drama in four acts : 7 male and 3 female. Time, 1 hour 15 m. Contains a good comic Irish character. " Seth Greenback was a perfect success. It can't. be beat as an amateur drama."— TTl// /T. Talbott, Coatsville, Ind., Dramatic Ciub. WANTED, A CORRESPONDENT. A farce in two acts, 4 male and 4 female. Time, 45 m. Very interesting and amusing. INITIATING A GRANGER. A ludicrous farce; 8 male. Time, 25 m. " We used Initiating a Granger. It was laughable beyond description."— J. W. Simmons, Lawrence, Mich. THE SPARKLING CUP. A temperance drama in five acts; 12 male and 4 female. Time, 1 hour, 45 m. A thrilling play, worthy the best eftorts of amateurs. Pathetic song and death scene. "The Sparkling Cup met with great success. It is the great rival of Ten Nights in aBar Room.'^— T^. F. Kuhn, De Graff, O. A FAMILY STRIKE. A spicy farce, illustrating "strikes,' 3 male and 3 female. Time 20 m. TWO GHOSTS IN WHITE. A humorous farce based on boarding-school life; 7 female characters. Time, 25m. Very funny throughout, and contains some excellent hits. AI mix DAUGHTER. ^ id':Rj^i^j^, IN THREE ACTS. T. S. DENISON. AUTOOK OF Odds Tvith thg En^my,'^ '^Iniiiadn^ a Grander," "Wanted^ a Correspondent^ '* A Family Strike,''* " Setk G^'eenback," *'• Hans Von Smash^* *^ Borrow- ing Trouble;* "■Two Ghosts in White," *' The Pull-Back," "Coim- try Justice;^ " The Assessor;* " The Sparkling Ctt^^ **Loux'a thePaiiper," "Our Country" '''The School- Ma^am;'' "■The Kansas Immigrants^* *^T/te Irish Linen Peddler,'"' "Is thf Editor Inr^ Etc, CHICAGO. T. S. DENISON. Copyright, 1879, by T. S. Deniaon. PS l?3+ CHARACTERS. Mr. Hahvey. Edith Harvey, his daughter. James Tuttle. Charles Forest, alias Wilson. IZ^ZSo... !-ServaatsofHarvey. Bryer, a grasping landlord. Little Etta .Forest. Time of representation, 1 hour 15 minutes. COSTUMES. Modern, and to suit the character. STAGE DIRECTIONS. S means right, as the actor faces the audience. L left ; G center. SYNOPSIS. Act I. — Edith's spoiled disposition shown, Tuttle vs. Forest. Tuttle has the father's preference, but Forest wins. Nick Boone's views of modern matrimony. Forest reveals himself. Edith driven from home by her father. Act II. — Poverty and suffering. Forest a drunkard. At- tempted reconciliation by Harvey. He is driven from the house by Forest. Nick, Tuttle and Forest. The deadly assault. Plight of the Forests. Act III. — The hard landlord. Wretchedness and suffering of Mrs. Forest and Sallie. Timely interference of Nick. Return of the absent one and reconciliation. AN ONLY DAUGHTER, ACT i. Scene. — Ilarcey''^ parlor, elegantly furnished, easy chairs^ tenter table, sofa, pictures, etc. Bailie discovered arranging furni- ture. Edith. {Entering L.) Sallie, did you sec the dressmaker? Sallie. 'No, Miss Edith; she was not in. Edith. Why did you not wait ? Sallie. I didn't think you were so particular about your new dress as that. Edith. What right have servants to think for their mistresses T I told you to wait and tell Mrs. James that I must have that dress to-morrow. Sallie. I beg pardon, Miss Edith, Mr. Harvey told me to hurry home. Edith. {Impatiently.) Pshaw! I do wish pa would quit giv- ing orders about things he can't understand. Sallie, you have not put the vase of flowers on the table yet; you know I always want fresh flowers. Sallie. Miss Edith, I forgot them, I have been so busy alt day; I will get them at once. Edith. Forgot them ! How stupid you are. It is too late now to get them to-day. The gardener has gone home. {Exit R.) Sallie. Miss Edith gets peevish beyond endurance. She has- her own way until she's clear spoilt. {Enter Nick, L.) It make& me feel contrary too. {Dusts furniture snappishly.) Nick. That's just what / have always told you, Sallie. Sallie. It don't matter to you if it is so. Nick. Haven't 1 always told you that you are a little bit stub- born, and haven't you just now owned up, eh? Sallie. Nick Boone, do stop your teasing. This house would try the patience of a saint. Nick. Walls damp, eh ? or are the chimneys smoking again ? Sallie. Oh, it isn't the walls nor the chimneys. It is the jJeo- ple, yourself among them. I'm made a martyr of by everybody. Nick. Indeed! What is a martyr. Miss Simmons? Oli, yes! I know! If a fellow gets an idea into his head and you can't reason him out of it he's stubborn, but if you try to singe it out of him with a hot poker, then he's a martyr. 4 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. Sallie. (With contempt.) Humph! No danger then, of y(7Tir being a martyr. Nick. I'm approaching one, Sallie. {Puts his arm around her waiat.) Sullie. {Quickly eluding him.) Ha! ha! you're not quite fit >> join the ranks of the martyrs just yet. Nick. An unworthy candidate! (Aside.) All a martyr needa is perseverance. A little soft soap will help matters. (Aloud.) Sallie, it is a shame that Miss Edith is so alldred hard to please. Sallie. You don't have to please her very often. Nick. No, not often I It is not pleasant to have to please an^ woman often. Sallie. You mean tiling! Nick. Sallie, you w^ere just complaining of her. Sallie. Can't I complain when 1 please? Nick. You're just right! I don't blame a good-looking girl for complaining a little. (Aside.) She's mad, but soft soap will fetch her round. Sallie. (Coyly approaching Nick.) Nick, it is provoking the way Miss Edith acts. Mr. Harvey spoils her in everything. Nick. Of course he does. He ought to know better. Sallie, if you weren't such a good-tempered, nice girl, you couldn't get along with her at all. Sallie. (Approaches Nick. He puts his arm round her waist.) Well, I think it is not everyone that could get along with her. I like her though, don't you? Nick. I'd give all I have in this world to keep her from sor- raw, but I pity the man who marries her. SaWe. Why ? Nick. He'll have a tough time of it. Sallie. She will have lots of money. Nick. And knows how to make it fly, Sallie. She will spend the money and the burden will be on him. He'll have to drudge to keep up his income. He'll have to get new servants every week, for the old ones won't stay. The furnaces will always be too hot or too cold. He'll never get to dinner at tlie right time. He'll talk too much or too little, or not at all. He'll soon wish he was in — Sallie. Nick ! ! Nick. In a state of bachelorhood ! Just as most fellows do who try matrimony on the modern plan. Sallie. On the modern plan ! What is that? Nick. Well, it would take some time to explain that plan, so I'll just give you a sort of bill of particulars, as it were. You see in the first place the man must have stamps. Sallie. Postage stamps? Nick. (With a drawl of feigned contempt.) No, stamps! same thing as tin, you know. Sallie. (With prudish air.) Oh, Nick; I do wish you wouldn't talk slang. You know I don't understand it. AN ONLY DAUGHTER 5 Nick. Oh, you don't! Well, you ought to get acquainted with it. It is the rising generation of the English language. Lilte most boys, it's a little olF in its young days. Well, as I said, the man must have stamps. No ditference what he hasri't got if he has stamps. Then he must have a span of fine horses and a footman and a headman, and all the rest of them fellows, male and female. Then he must rent a front pew in the biggest church in town, and a box in the Opera House. Them's luxuries. Then he must have a few necessaries of life, so he subscribes to the Driving Park. SalUe. Nick, when are going to stop, anyway ? Nick. Oh, I'll wind up on the domestic duties. Home, sweet home! There's no place like home. The man has to ix)und carpets till he can't lift a broom-handle any longer, and break his back lifting stoves and setting them in a new place and risk his neck on a step-ladder hanging chromos that cost ten cents a dozen, and so forth. Well, when company comes he has to trot down town after a fresh beef steak. When he gets that he has to trot back after coflee, and next time he trots after a general as- sortment. Bailie. Why, his duties must be chiefly trotting., Nick. Nick. You're just right! He keeps trotting lively if you count trotting the baby. It's risky; that's why I don't intend to marry. Sallie. (Quickly withdrawing from Nick.) Oh, you don't intend to marry ? Nick. (Aside.) Hang it, I said too much. (Aloud.) I meant not right away. (Aside.) I'll try a little more soft soap. (Aloud.) Now, with such a girl as yourself, Sallie, marriage would be a very different thing. Sallie. {Goquettishly.) Would it? Nick. Yes; you are a jewel, you are a moss-agate, a diamond, an angel, a — Sallie. Humph! a regular prize package, eh ? Nick. Yes, a prize package. I couldn't think of the word, I — Sallie. Nick Boone. (Nick stops suddenly.) Nick. What? Sallie. Taffy won't go down ! Nick. (Feigning surprise.) Taffy! Sallie! that overcomes me! I feel short of breath. 1 thought you didn't understand slang. Sallie. I was just quoting you. I suppose it is the same as soft soap, which you use pretty often. Nick. No; I always use Jiard soap. Soft soap is entirely out of date. It isn't genteel. Sallie. You seem to study the slang dictionary. Nick. Yes. I'm fitting myself for a iiome missionary. (Sallie slaps Nick.) I'll present the other cheek. (Tarns his head.) Sallie. Well you may. You've plenty of it. (J AN ONLY DAUGHTER. Nick. Lot's go on with our »jynmastics. You see when soft soap won't stick you must try tatly, that sticks a little better. Sallie. You needn't try it any more, Nick. It won't stick. Help me fold this shawl, ("f hey take opposite ends of a large hJuiwI. Nick twists the shawl as often as tiallie tries to straighteii it.) Sallie. What are you doing? Niek. Trying to find the right side. Now I have it. Here, Sallie, take hold of these corners and you ha\"e it. (Sallie takes the shaiDl and Nick steals a kiss. Enter Edith, B. Sallie screams. Edith stands in silence, looking at them.) Edith. Nick, the temperature of this room is entirely too high. Attend to the furnaces. Nick. It is a little warm here. Sallie, don't you feel uncom- fortable ? Sallie. {Snappishly.) You're a dunce. (Exit Sallie, B., Nick, L.) Edith. (Seating herself listlessly.) Oh, dear! how tired I get of receiving company, it is a constant round of stale compli- ments, and vapid commonplaces. It is such a bore. If one could only go to balls and parties ail the time ! (Enter Har- vey, L.) Harvey. Ah, daughter, alone, I see. Edith. Yes, father. It's a relief to be alone occasionally. I hate to wear a society mask all the time. Harvey. (Lausrhs.) Edith, don't wear a mask at all. Be the same at home and abroad. Edith. Oh, pa, it does well enough to talk so, but you know most people are different at home from what they are in society. Harvey. Yes ; they are models of propriety in company, and unbearable shrews in their families. Edith. Pa, you are not scolding, are you? Harvey. No, darling. I didn't think of scolding my pet. Edith. You are too kind for that, good, dear papa. (Places her arm round his neck.) You wouldn't scold your pet, would you? Harvey. No. I'll never scold you, Edith. Haven't I always granted j^our slightest wishes ? Edith. Oh, you are so good, it is a pleasure to you to grant favors. Harvey. Edith, you claim a double portion, yea the whole of my existence. You are all that is most precious to me. There was one who I hoped would be a son to me and a brother to you. Edith. (Laughs.) Pa, if I fill two places, I should have the privileges of two. Harvey. Edith, you are at times a trifle too exacting. Take heed in time. Edith. Why, what do you mean, father? Harvey. I have never refused you a request, and never de- AN ONLY DAUGHTER T manded the slightest sacrifice. You are old enough to guess for yourself, Edith. I suppose so! Oh, pa, that ball of Mrs. Garvin's will be splendid. My new ball dress will surprise some of the bon ton. Hai^ey. Pshaw ! So that is your highest aim — to surprise the bon Ion with a new dress ! {F/ices the floor. A pause.) I saw Mr. Tuttle to-day. Edith. Indeed ! Harxey. He will call here this evening. Edith. {Slightly impatient.) That is not very gurprisiog news. Harvey. He is an excellent young man. I esteem him as a true gentleman. Edith. Certainly ! He is a gentleman. Harvey. I am much interested in his success in life. {Exit R.) Edith. {Musing.) Father's w^ords admit but one meaning. I suppose I must be married sometime. That seems, after all, to be woman's sphere that we hear so much about. I am rich, and a prominent member of society, so there is nothing else for me to do. Work, however respectable, would disgrace me with my set, and really I suppose work is not easy. Everybody thinks so. Tuttle is cluU, and always talking business. Mr. Forest is so nice, and he waltzes exquisitely. Well, I will choose for myself. {Door hell rings. That is Mr. Tuttle. I must dispose of him, for Mr. Forest intends to call. {Nick shows Tuttle in L.) Edith. Good evening, Mr. Tuttle. Take a seat. Tuttle. Good evening. Miss Harvey. {Seating hiTUself.) I took the liberty of dropping in this evening. I hope I do not in- terfere with any engagement. Edith. I'm very sorry, Mr. Tuttle ! I have an engagement. Will you step into the library and visit with father? Tuttle. I had hoped to have a few minutes' chat with you. Edith. Oh, I am at liberty for a short time. Tuttle. A few w^ords will tell my story. Miss Harvey, we have been acquainted for years. You know that I have not been in- different to the charms of your society. Will you be my wufe? Edith. Mr. Tuttle, this is very sudden ! Tuttle. 1 could not longer endure this suspense. Edith. Mr. Tuttle, you^are a grave man of business, and I am a gay butterfly of society. Tuttle. I have considered it all. I have the means to main- tain your position in society. Beneath the gay exterior of the ijutterfly I see the sterling qualities of a true woman. Edith. Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Tuttle, but I fear we should be an ill-assorted pair. Tuttle. Miss Harvey, I know you are fond of society, and thai I am not, but time would probably bring us nearer together. 8 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. Edith, Let us not repeat the mistakes of others. It is im- possible. Tuitle. Don't say impossible. I hate that word. Think over this. I will wait lor a final answer. Edith. Mr. Tuttle— {Enter Havcey suddenly E.) Harvey. Good evening, Mr. Tuttle, I'm very glad to see you. {They are seated.) Edith. Mr. Tuttle, and papa please excuse me. {Exits^ R.) Harvey. How are the markets, Tuttle. l^uttle. About the same as yesterday. Harvey. Mr. Tuttle, I am glad you have called this evening. An impression I received on entering the room just now leads me to speak with you on a matter about which I think we have an understanding. With my consent you have long wooed my daughter, but I have not used my influence with either you or her to bring about a marriage. Edith is a girl of strong impulses . You are a tardy suitor. Speak out plainly, and at once, or your cause is in danger. Tuttle. I realize, Mr. Harvey, that it is in danger. Impor- tunity will not strengthen it. Harvey. Urge the case. Hearts, like forts, may be taken by Btorm. Tuttle. Ah, Mr. Harvey, you little know your daughter if you think she can be won by such means. Harvey. Hang it, my boy, she must marry you. I hold the balance of power. She dare not refuse to do my bidding. Tuttle. Mr. Harvey, I will never be a party to coercive meas- ures. A forced marriage is an abomination and a desecration of the most sacred of human ties. No honorable man would enter into Buch a union. Harvey. With the home you can furnish, she would soon be- come a happy wife. She is fond of style. Tuttle. Money can do many things, but it cannot purchase domestic happiness. It can adorn the haughty bosom with sparkling diamonds, but it can not light the eyes of beauty with the glance of affection or wreathe the smile of love on rosy lips. No: the price of these is love, — the love of a pure woman tor the man of her choice. Money can lay your floors with velvety piles of rarest texture, and adorn your walls with beautiful works of art, but it cannot place love's sweet welcome at the threshold. All the mines of the great West can not bring peace to aching hearts mismated, who strive to conceal from a cold world the ugly skeleton of discord by veiling it in the poor drapery of outward affection. Such risks are too great to be assumed lightly. Harvey. Urge your suit! She'll love you by and by. The visits of that Forest are becoming frequent of late. I don't like him. There is a mystery about his antecedents. Nobody knows who he is. I have heard some rumors that he is a gambler and addicted to drink. I believe you know him, Tuttle? AN ONLY DAUGHTER ^ Tutile. Yes ! but silence becomes me best. Hai'vey. I appreciate your delicacy. I shall find it out else- where. Edith shall never marry that man and call herself my child. {Bell rings.) Tiiere is a caller! Come into the library where we shall not be disturbed. (Exeunt R, as Nick enters. Nick goes to doar i/, and vshers in Forest.) Forest. Is Miss Harvey at home? Nick. She is; I will call her. Forest. Hold a minute, Nick. I would like to ask you a few questions. Nick. Would you like to have them answered ? Forest. Do you think I would ask them if I didn't? Nick. I only thought you might be more careful what you Forest. {With a sneer.) Humph ! Y^ou mean to answer if you please. Nick. That's about my position on the subject. Forest. {Getting angry.) Fellow, I see you know about what I want to ask. Somebody has been circulating evil reports about my character, Nick. {Taunting.) Well that's naughty. They oughtn't to do it. I feel for you. ^ ^ , , ^ Forest. {Angrily.) Nick Boone, you try to play the fool, but you can't hide the knave. Nick. I don't think you're worth hiding. Forest. Villain I I'd break every bone in your body if it was worth while. , ^ , . n. Nick. It isn't worth while. Just give me plenty of the stutt you had when I saw you at the races, and I'll be as limp as if I hadn't a bone in my body. {Staggers round and imitates a drunken man. Forest strikes at Nicky who dodges.) Forest. Oh ! I forgot where I was. Nick. {Coolly.) Well, that is hardly a sufficient apology. But I'll accept it. {Waves hand deprecatingly.) You were hasty. I'm of a very equable temper. I rise superior to circumstances. I say. Forest, did you ever see anybody rise superior to circum- Btances ? Forest. Heavens! I'll— Nick. There now, don't ! Keep cool. Let's take an example of what I mean. Suppose the pet monkey gets your best cravat on just as you want it, when you're already too late for the party. You chase him round the house with the boot-jack; that's the cir- cumstances. Well, when the monkey runs up the lightning-rod with the cravat to the top of the chimney, and makes faces at you, he rises superior to circumstances. Forest. Scoundrel ! I will hit you ! Nick. {Suddenly dropping his humorous tone and assuming an air of dignity.) Mr. Forest, no man can call me a scoundrel. You call yourself a gentleman I am a gentleman too, if I am & eervant 10 AN ONLY DAUGHTEIi Forest. Then why did you circulate stories about me? Nick. When a man asks me civilly I'll tell him civilly. Sup- pose I had told Mr. Harvey that I sav/ you drunk, and that you gamble. If you had a clnld and such a man wanted to marry her, wouldn't you thank anybody for telling the whole truth? Forest. Nick, I am trying to reform. Nick. I'll be the last man to hinder you. Forest. 1 wish to see Tuttle. (Nick goes to door E to call T.) I must strike now, or the prize is lost. {Enter Tuttle, M.) Tuttle. Good evening. Forest. We seldom meet lately. Forest. Some of my former friends choose to avoid me. Tuttle. Forest, sit down and let us talk this matter over. I have never avoided you; I have avoided the company you kee\*^.. Foreat. Every man has the right to choose his associates. . ' don't blame you. I did hope that my old comrades would not sa} any more than was necessary about the little freaks I, for a time, indulged in. Reporting what a man once did after he is trying to do better, looks like striking a man when he is down. Tuttle. Forest, you are mistaken ; I have never said a word to any one on that subject. Forest. Some one has. Mr. Harvey's family seem to know a great deal about my affairs. Tuttle. Forest, you are wrong in your suspicion. There is no use mincing words. We are rivals. I never would injure a former friend, much less advance my own interests by blackening the name of a rival. You confided to me your love for Edith Harvey, when you must have known that I loved her. You knew your revelation would seal my lips. Whether it was fair or not, I leave you to judge. I have never stooped to peddle secrets. {Rises to leave.) Forest. Mr. Tuttle, you think me suspicious and unjust I have had bitter wrongs' of which you know nothing. I was forced by circumstances to be your rival. You can not understand it now. You will sometime. I have signed the pledge, and am trying to do right. Tuttle. May God help you to stand firm. Forest. My wrongs have made me suspicious. Will you think of me as one trying to do right ? Tuttle. I will. {They shake hands. Exit Tuttle, L.) Forest. It is hard to be forced into such a position, but I am -playing for high stakes and must win. {Enter Nick, R.) Nick. Mr. Forest, shall I announce to Miss Edith that you have called ? Forest. If you please! {Nick hows and exits R.) It is a des- perate move, but time admits of no delay. The girl io already won. I will appeal to IVlr. Harvey, and disclose all. He cJieated me out of my mother's inheritance. I'll win his daughter before they know who I am, and then I'll get the money stiU, for he -can't refuse her. With Edith for my wife, I shall feel a ten-fold AN ONLY DAUGHTER. H power to resist temptation. She will be true as steel. {Enter Edith, L.) , ^ M • 1 Edith. Ah! Mr. Forest. Aren't you ashamed to fail in keep, inff your appointments punctually ? ^Foreat. 1 was detained on a matter of business with a gen- tleman. „ -, * »u * Edith. Aha! so you prefer the society of a gentleman to that of a lady. Forest. I said I was talking business. , . Edith. Now, Mr. Forest, don't get to talking business, it is so stupid. {They take seats.) Forest. Especially on a moonlight evening. Edith. I do hope this delightful weather will not change until after Mrs. Garvin's ball. That will be a splendid affair. 1 shall enjoy it, I know. Won't you ? Forest. I don't know. That depends on you. EditJi. On me? Why? Forest. Because mv happiness is in your hands. Edith. I'm afraid it's in poor hands. {Laughs.) Forest. Seriously, Edith, will you make me happy for lite? Edith. Charles, you are jesting. Forest. No, Edith. A plain question need not be masked by idle approaches. . u w^ Edith. Charles, I must ask you a question. I have heard that you are addicted to strong drink. I hope this is not true. I never would marry a drankard. Forest. Dear Edith, with shame I confess that I have at times taken more wine than was good for me. But I never reeled in the street, or was picked out of the gutter, and carried home, as my enemies reported. I never got so low as that. Edith. I'm so glad you didn't. That would be so ungenteel. I never believed that, though a former friend of yours told me. Forest. {Quickly.) Has Tuttle done that? He has turned traitor to a friend. ., t- • a ^\.^ Edith, Charles, don't be hasty. It was another friend who told me. Mr. Tuttle is too much of a gentleman to say a worn ^^F^rest.^\^\ih, I have suffered bitter wrongs. Men have tried to ruin me. 1 have pledged myself never to taste another drop of intoxicating liquor. In your presence I renew that solemn promise. With your aid I should be strong to resist all tempta- tion. I await an answer. Edith I believe you, Charles. ^ r, a \ n^a. Forest. Mine ! {Clasps her in his arms, L C. A pause.) l^ar- est Edith, I feel that all must be clear between us. 1 have a revelation to make. Edit7i. {Startinq.) A revelation! Forest. Do not be alarmed! It is nothing. My anme waa 12 AN ONLY DAUGHTER. not always Forest. I am Charles Wilson, son of your father's first wit© Edith. {Q-re^Uy aqitafM.) You Charles Wilson? I can- not understand it! Why have you never told me this? Forent. Don't think me a deceiver. I thought it best. Your father drove mo away from home years after my mother's death, when you were a little girl. He and 1 never could agree. He was set against me. He kept the property which beloaged to lay mother, and rightfully was mine. EditJi. Tlien you would have been my brother. Forest. Thank fortune, I missed a brother's place that I might be something dearer. Edith, do you forgive me? Edith. Oh, Charles, you surprise me so. I hardly know what to think. I trust you. You must have good reasons for this. But please don't judge papa harshly. He was severe with you. But he will not withhold from you what is yours. He intends to leave that money all to you, 'if you shall only prove worthy of it. Bat he must not know of this. He would say it was deception. Forest. There can be no better time than this to seek recon- ciliation. Edith. Oh, not now! Papa will not consent. Don't ask him. Forest. Charles Wilson may yet — {Enter Harmy suddenly^ L.) Edith. (Screams.) All is lost! Harvey. Forest, what does this mean? I heard the name Charles Wilson. Forest. It means, Mr. Harvey, that I have won the love of your daughter. Will you give your consent to our union ? Harvey. Never ! Forest. Listen a moment, Mr. Harvey ! Hai'vey. I know you have a specious tongue, but don't think you can win me as easily as you have that foolish girl. Edith. Father, this is my own free choice. No specious arguments have been used to influence my decision. Harvey. So much the worse, headstrong girl, when you choose one unworthy of yourself without asking a father's advice. This is a poor return, girl, for all my kindness. I will not allow it. Forest. Mr. Harvey, will you hear a few words from me ? Harvey. You are unworthy of my daughter. No words can alter that fact. Forest. I will make myself worthy of her. Harvey. I prefer that my daughter shall have a husband who has always been a man of honor. Reformed drunkards seldom hold out. Edith. Father! Father! You are cruel. Harvey. Child, truth is stronger than idle sentiment- Forest. Mr. Harvey, I tcill win your esteem. Do you know me ? I am Charles Wilson ! AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 13 Harviey. (Starting suprised.) What! Did I hear aright? (Brief pause.) Yes ; I recognize now something familiar in that face ihil I coul.l not account for before. bo Charles, you have given Lip dissip.itiou to play the smooth-tongued hypocrite, have you? Forest Mr. Harvey, though I deserve censure, have I no claim upon you? Harvey. Alter you have atoned for years of misconduct by years of useful, honest effort, then come to me, and I will listen to your claims. (Mings impatiently.) A servant will show you out, Mr. Forest. Edith. Then I will go with him. Harvey. Silly girl! I forbid your communicating again in tmy manner with this person. Edith. Is that the way to win the erring? Haroey. Girls should not be reformers! (Enter Hick, E.) Forest, leave this house at once. Edith. Remember I go too ! Harvey. Girl, beware ! I will not be trifled with. Edith. And I will marry the man of my own choice. Harvey. Then you are no longer my child. Go and starve with the hero of your own imagination. (Calk Nick, B.) Nick^ show this fellow out. Edith. And me too ! Harvey. Edith, don't plunge yourself into this dark abyss. Recall this hasty determination. Edith. Better true love and poverty, than such a home as you would see me enter. Harvey. (In a broken voice.) Nick, take her in the carriage wherever she wishes to go. Nick. Mr. Harvey ! — Harvey. (In tone of anguish.) No ! no I I know her will ! I am childless! (Covers his face with his hands. Edith leans her face on ForesVs slioulder. Nick has handkerchief to his face.) DISPOSITION OF CHARACTERS, Xi Forest, Edith. (7, Habvbt. Nick B. ACT II. Scene. — Scantily furnished lodgings. Illcketij clinirH and Dlain table. Edith discovered as curtain rises sewing. jShe is poorly- dressed, and looks careworn. Enter Forest, li. He hears marks of recent dissipation. Farest. Edith, I am going down town, and I want some monej\ Edith. Husband, I have no money to give you. Farest. {In severe tone.) What do you do with all the money your stingy old father sends you? Hasn't Nick Boone be;jn iiere lately with a stock of pennies and old shop-worn clothing? Edith. The little help Nick brings us is all expended for the necessaries of life. It is but little. Forest. Precious little! A fine specimen of a gentleman your fatiier is. Why don't he pay me what he owes me, and I shouldn't need his miserly help. Edith. Charles, you too owe a debt ! Forest. Several of them if the neighbors don't lie. They've sent bills enough. Edith. Your greatest debt is to 3'ourself and to your family. Forest. There now! Next thing you'll be sniffling. •! can't stand a crying woman. (Starts toicard L.) Edith. (FnterjJoses.) Charles, please don't go down town to- day. Avoid the tempter. Forest. Indeed ! You would have me stay at home and listen to your growling and fretting all day. (Starts. She lays her hand on his arm.) Edith. Charles, think of the ruin that is before you. Forest. {Laughs.) Yes, I see it. {Looks at her.) {Throws her rudely aside.) Don't try to detain me. I know what I'm doing. {Pushes her rudely aside. Exit L.) Edith. {Drops into a chair iceeping.) Nothing can satiate this demon of drink. Our slender means are exhausted, and the family honor tarnished. I never thought it possible that my husband's really noble nature could 'sink so low. ■ Is it not enough that he should cease to love! No, the victim of alcohol stays not his hand from helpless loved ones. {Enter Sallie, R.) Sallie. What is the matter now, Mrs. Forest? Edith. Charles has gone ! Sallie. And took the money you got for that sewing, I suppose ? Edith. He took that yesterday, and lost it at play. He is mad to retrieve his losses. Sallie. Well, I wouldn't give him a cent! If he must drink and gamble, let him earn his own money. We work hard enouirh to earn ours. 14 AN ONLY DAUGHEER. 15. Edith. Since he lost his place as salesman, he has become almost savage. I dare not refuse him anytliin|r'. He will come home maddened with drink, and I almost fear him. Snllie. What's going to become of us all, I'd like to know? Edith. Sallie, take my advice and go back to my father's. You know he said you could come back at any time. Sallie. I'm not going back till he takes you too. I told him. so. Edith. Sallie, you are unwise! Leave me! The pittance father sends is not much, but it will keep us from starvation. It is all I deserve for disobeying the kindest of parents. Sallie. {Aside.) If she only knew where that pittance comes from. {Aloud.) No, Mrs. Forest; I will stay with you. You may yet need my help worse than now. {Enter Nick, L.) Nick. Good morning, ladies! All well? Edith. No, Nick. My little Etta has caught a severe cold. Nick. {Produciiifj from bundle a thick new shaicl.) Mrs. For- est, this will be good for her cold. Edith. Oh, tills is so kind, Nick ; how can I express my thanks ? Nick. I don't know! Just lump them, I guess. Edith. It is so opportune. I had begun to be alarmed about my darling. But she shall suffer no more these chilly nights. I will put it over her at once. {Exit, li.) Nick. She looks careworn! Is the old 'un cuttin' up again? Sallie. Humph! He's always cuttin' up. He's a beast. Nick. Now, Sallie, don't be too hard on the "male sect." See here! I've something for you, too. {Produces another shawl.) Sallie. Oh, isn't that nice. {Reaches to take it.) Nick. Wait a minute! Let me put it on you. Stand up straight! {Places slmwl over her shoulders, and suddenly steals a kiss icith a loud smack.) Sallie. {Feifining anger.) Go 'way, you awkward booby! Nick. It was a little awkward, but it sounded all right. Sallie. Nick Boone, will you always make a fool of yourself? Nick. {With mock solemnity.) I will, Miss Simmons, when a chance like that offers. Sallie. Don't call me Miss Simmons. Nick. I'm ready to call you Sallie Boone any time you say so. Sallie. And I shan't say so soon. I've seen enough of the men. Men are a nuisance. Nick. Take your time, Sallie. Don't commit yourself. Sallie. I don't want to impose on any man who thinks all the burdens of matrimony rest on the husband. Nick. Well, never mind that. I've been imposed on so much that 1 begin to think I'd like it for a steady diet. Sallie. Nick, you're a regular pest! Nick. Well, then I'll be oil". Does Mrs. Forest know that IQ AN ONLY DAUGHTER. Tattle i\nd I pj- 1 those thini^s instead of her father? t^>dlie. She never siispec 8 it. m . i m_ Nick. Don't tell licr. She wouldn't take them. Ta! tal Tra ^ Soliie. Tie's a man. He's no walking clothes dummy. No- ble ffllow! lie gives his hard earnings to help a sutTermg woniiin, wliile the lotifmir lout who should be her protector, Bciuanili'rs his monev on his own pleasures. Somehow this world is all out of balance, when such things go on every day and nobody thinks anything of them. {Ent.r Harvey L.) Sallie. {Stnrtinr/.) Mr. liar vey, I declare! llai-ooy. Yes Sallic, I've suspected Nick for a good while, ana now I've caught him at the very door. I know now what ho diy more work. Times are so bad that the factory will run only a few handa. 22 AN ONLY DAUGHTER Edith. Then we can fight the wolf no longer. Mr. Bryer will be here in half an hour for the furniture. Sallie. He shan't have it. I'd like to see him take this furni- ture. Edith. But he will take it. He has the law in his favor. Sallie. Plague the law! It's only another way of strangling justice. {Enter Brye) , //.) I wish I was a man. Bryer. Ha! ha! AVhat would you do if you were a man? Sallie. I'd be a man. Bryer. Well, I guess you would have to be a hoy first. There'll be plenty of men for a while yvX. There wouldn't be one woman to a county though, if they could all get their wish. Sallie. Yes, \\\Q\'(i'B plenty of men, such as they are. Bryer. Mrs. Forest, have you that money yet? Edith. I couldn't raise it. Bryer. Well, I knew you couldn't, if you depended on Spoyle. Nobody ever got any favors out 'o \im. I'll have to take the furniture. I hate to do it, Mrs. Forest, but it's every- body for himself these times. There's an officer round the corner. But I thou^^ht I'd carry 'em out myself, as you mightn't like strangers round. Sallie. {Spiriiedly) Strangers! What stranger could be so heartless as you are ? Bryer. Miss, don't be sassy. It won't do any good. (B. tak^s the lamp from the table, and a chair^ and cirries them out L. Edith and Sallie fall into each others arm-^, R (7, crying.) Bryer. {Re-enters.) They feel pooty bad. Well, I swovv I don't blame them. I'd feel Dad myself if I was turned out o* doors this cold weather. {Takes up table and is carrying' it to- ward the door, when he runs against Nick Boone, L G) Hello, young man, what do you mean by running against me that way? Nick. (C', with nonchalance.) Hello, old man, what do you mean by getting in my way with that table ? I didn't come to dine. {Looks at the loomen, who do not notice his entrance.) Bryer. You're not liable to dine here, unless you feast your imagination a little. Nick. Mister, I've fed my fancy till she's in prime, A No. 1, condition. She's clear as a bell. In fact, I think I can imagine without much strain on the organ just what you're up to now. Bryer. {Laughs.) I'm up to this table just now. Nick. {Looks at women ajain.) They don't seem to be in a hurry to recognize old frientls here. Old gentleman, that won't go down. Bryer. Yes it will. I measured the stairway. Nick. See here, old fellow you'd better measure the stairway another time or two, and then get yourself measured for a coffin before you trv to take that table down stairs. {Attempts to take the table from Bryer's grasp. The noise attracts the attention of thawo^nen. Sallie screams and falls into Nick^s ar>ns, 0) Sallie. Is it you, Nick? AN ONLY DAUGHTER. 88 Nick. I thiak so. What do you say, Sallie ? SaUie. rin so glad you've come. '{Withdraws a little.) Nick. Are you! Til stay if you waat me to. How do you •do, Mrs. Forest? Edith. Nick, you cau't tell what joy it is to see old frienda. Nick. That's so. /can't tell. Can you, Sallie? Sallie. You're just the same old Nick. Nick. Whew! (Prolo/iged whistle.) Don't call names, Sallie, Old Nick sounds personal. Sallie. Then I'll say yoww^' Nick. Butyou'vecome just in time. Nick. Y'es, the old gentleman said 3 o'clock. Bdith. The old gentleman ! AYho, Nick ? Nick. Your father! He sent me round to inquire about you. Edith. Oh, did he! Dear father! Nick. Who is this old scrub who wants to carry out the furni- ture? (Looks round.) Hang me if he hasn't taken that table. (Re-enter Bri/er, L.) Edith, He's the landlord! Nick. Old executioner, where's that table? Bryer. It's on the sidewalk. I'll take good care of it, (Grosset and picks up a chair, li.) Nick. Drop that chair or I'll drop you. Bryer. Young man, take care. Don't strike me ; I'm the law. Nick. You are the law, are you? Well, I'm one of the propJin ets. (A pause.) If you don't get out of this, I prophesy some- body will get hurt. Edith. 'Nick, please don't provoke him. Sallie. (Aside to Nick.) Nick, hit him. Bryer. All right, my good fellow! Shice you set yourself up as a protector of tliKsw wonaii, just pay my little bill and I'll carry the tiii lu^-; in i^^il i. ICs only four dollars. Fork it over. Nick. 1 will. (Fees in all Lis pockets in vain.) I'll — I'll write yoM a check. Bryer. (Insole (.ft'.) G -t ;^ce«, which cannot easily be ouud elsewhere. The editor's extended experience In teaching elocution has admiral)ly (lualitied him for discriminating ns to what is really adapted to elocutionary purposes. While special care has been taken to find new and rare ]>ieces", nothing has been acTmitted which does not contain real merit. Price, 25 cents. T. S. DENISON, Chicago. -K v>r c/ t^ 015 863 524