'HE»LI0N AND iTHE^EAGLE 1 \ f. THK Lion md tub E^gle A Cooiedy in^ Tlnree Act* ^^X By JOHN E. RAISBECK. "DEC 8 1886 Of WASH CINCINNATI : (iKo. E. P.RVAN, Theatrical Printer and Exgkavkr, 58 West Fourth Street. K P5Z(. , . R/3L Entered accordinii- to Act of Congress, in the year iSS6. by loiiN E. Kaisbeck, in the Office of tlie Librarian of Cong-ress at Washington. D. C. CHARACTERS. JOHN Blassy, a British bottle manufacturer, visiting the United States in the interests of his business. He is a fat Yorkshireman. Sir Charles VVormley. a young British peer, taking his second pleasure trip to America. Tom Rlassy, a son of John Mlassy, and a friend of Sir Charles Wormley, visiting America for the first time. Robert Rosf.well, a rich American returning from a Euro- pean trip with his tvi^o daughters and a vi^idowed sister. George Duckerson, a New York museum manager, and uncle to the girls; also returning from Europe with his wife. Jake, a negro musician. Georgie Rosewell, a sharp, lively, caustic, and patriotic American girl. Daughter to Robert Rosewell. Clara Rosewell, her sister; more subdued, refined, and ladylike. Mrs. Alice Harpley, a widow, and sister of Mr. Rosewell. Mrs. Nellie Duckerson, wife of George Duckerson, and sister of Mr. Rosewell and .Mrs, Harpley. Kate, a mulatto girl at Mr. Rosewell's. Bowery boys, sailors, officers, etc. SCENERY. ^CT I, ..... On Board the Servia. Scene — Outside Sandy Hook. Act II, .... Washington and New York. Scene i — Parlor in Mr. Rosewell's house, Washington. Scene i — The Bowery, New York ("ity. Scene -^ — Duckerson's office in his New York theater. Act III, At Mr. Rosewell's. Scene i — Conservatory and grounds around the house. Scene 2— The kitchen. Time — The Present. COSTUMES. Act I. First part of Scene-Q^oxgx^ and Clara in careless, everyday clothes such as are usually worn by people on shipboard. Latter part If Scene- ^W in the latest styles of traveling cos- tumes. Act II. Scene i— Georgie and Clara in morning wrappers. Kale in shabby dress, handkerchief on head, shoes unbuttoned. Mr Rosewell in morning gown, slippers, smoking cap etc. Mrs Harpley in walking dress, hat, etc. , suitable for shop- s',,; J' ^ffil assy in businesssuit slightly disordered hard round felt hat on one side. Bowery boys in all sorts of old clothes. Sir Charles in dark frock coat and vest, light trousers, hio-h light hat, blonde wig parted in center, blonde side whiskers and mustache, cane, gloves, etc. Tom Blassy in fashionable sack coat, gray trousers, light low-crowned hat, black mustache, no whiskers, cane, gloves, etc. George Duckerson in light summer suit, sack coat, light high hat, black mustache. Mrs. Duckerson in dress of some light stuff, parasol, etc. „ . , i Scene ^—Georgie in handsome, stylish walking dress, parasol, gloves, hat, etc. Clara in suit somewhat different from Georgie's, but equally elegant. Act III. All in full evening dress, but John Blassy's is old-fashioned. THH LION AND THE EAGLE. ACT I. Scene. — A steamer just outside of Sandy Hook^ approaching Nezv York. Officer on the bridge^ peering thivugh his glass at the sea in the distance. As the curtain rises ^ four or five sailors {good singers) are discovered working the chain and singing the follow- ing song : What joy there is on a gallant bark, Controlled by a gallant band, None but a fearless sailor lad Can ever understand. The wild delights of a sailor's life 'Tis useless to explain To those who've never seen the seas, And crossed the Spanish Main, Chorus. — Don't speak of pleasures of home life To men so bold and free. A sailor's life is a jovial life; A sailor's life for me ! We go to islands of the seas, Where white men seldom go; And pluck the fruit from tropic trees, Or brush the Alpine snow. What'er we do, where'er we go, We sailors still remain — We sing and smoke and take our ease, And dream of Betsey Jane. Chorus. — Don't speak of pleasures of home life To men so bold and free. A sailor's life is a jovial life; A sailor's life for me ! 6 The Lion and the Eog/e. As they finish sins^ung the last line a ringing Inngli by Georgie is heard on the outside, and immediately enter Geofgie and Clara ^ rather carelessly dress, d. Clara. There! there! Georgie! Don't be so rude. I am positively ashamed of you. You are much too ^■ Georgie How can I help being amused at that — that — (what do they call it in the newspapers?) — that noble scion of an effete monarchy ? With his eye-glass stuck in his eye half the time like an idiot. Clara. What language! Really 1 should not like Sir Charles to hear you. He would say you Georgie. I don't care what he would say. It is the last day on board, and I shall say what I please I intend to give him a pieee of my mind, if I get a cliance, for the many sneers he has cast at my country. Besides, what is he to me ? I never expect to see him again. Clara. That is no reason why you should speak disrrspt ct- fullyofhim. I much fear, however, that away down in that little heart of yours you do expect to see him again. Georgie. No, I don't. [Slight pause.) Or if I do, he will have to change his tone about America and everything Ameri- can, My own self-respect Clara. (Archly.) He ^e'?'// change his tone about c^/z^ thing American. Georgie. Don't be foolish. You see further with your eyes than your judgment. Clara. Time will tell. But, after all, we have had a de- lightful time on board. Now, haven't we ? Georgie. Oh, yes. Although I think (mind, I only think) that if it had not been for Mr. Blassy, the younger (r2''' very particular friend), and that popinjay, Sir Charles, our voyage vi^ould have been rather monotonous. Clara. [Laughing slightly ) Look out, now. Be careful what you say. Georgie. But he is a popinjay Clara. Then you have fallen in love with a popinjay, and I am sure you would marry him were he to ask you. Georgie. [Stamping her foot.) Never! Clara. Yes, you would. Just think of what Georgie. I say never! never! Clara. Just think of what he is heir to — paternal grounds, baronial halls, ancestral trees, and — and a title. Georgie. [Mimicking.) And — and a title. I guess you TJie Lion and the Eagle. 7 would like the title. [Sarcastically.) You should set your cap for him, my dear — or your bangs. Clara. No; I would not s«-t my cap fur his title, nor [smooth- ing her hair) — nor my bangs either. But I might for his ances- tral estates. So beware of me. Georgie. You know I love anything that has age to ii; and the ancestral estatesof England have the aroma of a thousand years. \Ve may transplant and imitaie, but we can not give to our buildings the ancestral arnmn. C>E()R(;iE. Why, Clara, you are quite an Anglomaniac. Before long you will be despising your own country — you, the sensible Clara. / am an American. CiARA. And so am I. But that does not prevent me from admiring things in other countries unknown in ours, just the same as foreigners admire things in our country unknown in theirs. And Sir Charles Wormley has had the justice to admit that it is possible to live in America. Georgie. Possible, indeed! Possihle to live in America! And you think I would marry a man who talks in that super- cilious style about my country — a prating fool, who talks as though he had a pebble in his mouth— a dolt, who wears a single eye glass. Never I Clara. What dreadful language ! 1 wish you would be a little more choice in the use of words. Georgie. Georgie. It is only a habit of mine. Clara. And it is only a habit that Sir Charles has of wear- ing an eye-glass. He certainly does not talk like a fool, as you call him; for even j-t?// have been forced lo admit the justness of some of his remarks about America, and Georgie. No, I have admitted nothing. I am always and ever an American; and no Sir Charles W^ormley can make me be anything else — unless I wish to. Clara. When, for instance, he said that politics in America at election times always reminded him of the witches' cauldron in "Macbeth," the only difference being that the cauldron of politics was continually boiling over and somebody getting smirched. And when you replied that that was because we liked ourstew hot, did you not admit Georgie. ( With a ringing laugh.) Why, I admitted noth- ing. Didn't you see by my answer that I did not think his criticism worth a gooseberry ? Clara. Perhaps not. However, I think Sir Charles is quite sensible. Georgie. I suppose you do. It is a wonder you do not 8 The Lion and the Eagle. marry him. For my part, I think him insufferably insolent, supercilious, egotistical, vainglorious, bigoted Clara. Stop! slop I Georgiel Perhaps you are equally so to him. Gkorgie. iy Laughing loudly at the thought.) I hope so; I hope so. Indeed, I do. '^- A voice is heard outside. Ci.ARA. Be quiet. They are coming. Georgie. I Avon't. I'll laugh the more. Georgie laughs again ^ Clara grasps her arm .^ and they retire up K., and look out upon the sea. Enter at the same tiftie Sir Charles IVormley and Tom Blassy, L., both dressed for traveling. Sir Charles holds his eye-glass in his left hand^ looks rather namby-pa^nbyish^ bntiszvithal shrewd and sarcastic. Toj?i is a manly looking young fellow, and dressed to contrast somewhat. Sir C. [Dra7olingly.) There she goes again — fairly howl- ing with vacant and idiotic laughter. There is nothing that so soon gives me a mental nausea as vacant laughter. Tom. Do you call that vacant laughter ? Sir C. Yes What do you call it? Tom. I call it a merry, girlish laugh. Sir C. Tut, tut 1 There is nothing girlish about it, and nothing very merry. It is affectation, my boy — affectation — too forced to be natural. Tom. But verv winsome, withal. Sir C. Only to a fledgling. Tom. Like myself, for instance. Sir C. Exactly. Tom. I envy your effrontery Sir C. I know you do, and would imitate it if you could. But I was about to say, Tom — remember we are on shipboard, and not in America yet, else I would not dare to say it. Tom. Well, go on. Si R C. ( Looking around, and motioning toith his finger in the direction of Georgie and Clara.) No American ladies ca.n hear us, can they ? Tom. I should scarcely think so. Georgie. [Aside to Clara.) I wonder what they are talking about. Clara. Oh, about billiards and cigars, I suppose — what young men usually talk about. They unconsciously dra^v nearer^ a}id overJiear the following: 7 he Lion and the Eagle. 9 SiK C. Well, I was about tu say that forced laughter is a pecul amy of the American ladies — perhaps I should call it a national failing; for all the ladies laugh unnecessarily, es- pecially when enteriaining company, and all the girls giggle immoderately at the mcjst commonplace remarks. Claka. [To Georgie^zuho has clenched her hands and become terribly excited.) Oh, why — why did we listen to this? Come away, Georgie. Come. {^Georgie is immovable^ Tom. a result, perhaps, of their naturally high spirits. Sir C That is exactly the impwession they wish to convey. But by watching them closely you perceive that it is mostly, as 1 said before, affectation — thrown in partly to fill up the pauses in conversation, and partly to be thought lively and entertaining. A sham, my deah boy; and I detest shams. Georgie.gnashes her teeth ^ and Clara zvith difficulty prevents her f rem rushing at Sir Charles. Tom. I fear you are prejudiced. Perhaps you have been jilted by some fair American, who was too independent to sell herself for your title Sir C. No, no. 'Pon my honah, no. Tom. If not that, then there must be something else. But I think you said that the women as well as the girls Sir C. {Putting his hand on Tom's arm.) Stop where you are, Tom; you have misunderstood me. I did not say the women ; I said the ladies. Tom. The what ? Sir C. The ladies. Tom. But — I — I do not understand you. Tell me what you are talking about. Are not women ladies ? Sir C. Yes; but ladies are not women — in America. Tom. { Pausing and arching his eyebrows.) I fail to penetrate. Sir C. No doubt; and there will be many things, my deah fellow, you will fail to penetwate before you get through. Tom. What a peculiar people the Americans must be. Sir C. Yes, a vewy peculiar people. Georgie makes another effort to get at Sir Charles^ but is pre- vented by Clara. Sir C. [Continuing.) Even the washerwomen and the servants (female >^r^, I should say) would be insulted did you call them women. [Slapping him on the shoulder.) They are all ladies, my deah boy — all ladies. Tom. " What about the negresses that I shall see ? Sir C Well, they are not negresses now. Tom. No ? Good Lord, what are they ? lo The Lion and ihe F.agle. Sir C. 'i hey are — colored \^A\g?,. Tom, [Ata loss for words to express his thoughts suitably.^ Vou stagger me ! I am bewildered ! I — I fail to pene rate. Sir C. Watch your speech, Tom; watch yours])eech — if you do not want to be thought rude You must not, for in- stance, speak of the barnyard fowls as anything Initioosiers and chickens. They have no cocks and hens. They do not know what they are. You must be vewy particular about this Tom. Very particular about it ? Sir C. Vewy. Tom. But I say, Charles, have they no dictionaries? Sir C. Lots of dictionaries, but few weaders. Everyman is a dictionary unto himself, especially the editors. Tom. No, no, no, Charles ; you can not make me believe everything. When you attempt to cast a slur at ye gentle editor, I shall have to draw the line. Besides, he will cut your head off — with his pen — if he hears you. Sir C, No fear. There's none on board. Tom. But what makes you say the editors are dictionaries unto themselves? Sir C. Why, because they are continually twying to reform the language or to coin new words. One first-class paper, for instance, spells philosophy, philanthropy, and such like words with an f ; and another will have nothing to do with the word "manufacturer," but always pwints it " facturer." Tom. What a strange people ! Every editor a dictionary. And what a singular way to study brevity. If'' brevity is the soul of wit," then their papers must be very witty. I shall like to read their papers. Full of strange thoughts, no doubt. Sir C, {Sarcastically.) Brimful, brimful. And one thing more, my deah fellow, I must caution you about. Nevah speak of shops to a lady; it is too suggestive of machine shops, or something of that sort. You must call them stores. Tom. Call shops stores ? Sir C. Yes. Tom. Then, of course, it will not do for me to ask a lady if she has been shopping ; for if the English go shopping in shops, it necessarily follows that the Americans go storing in stores. I must therefore ask her if she has been storing. Sir C. By no means. Tom. No? What a peculiar people! Sir C, A ve^vy peculiar people. Georgie. [Stepping up, ito longer able to control herself .) Mr. Blassy, allow me to inform you that Ave do not go storing in The Lion and tJie Eagle. 1 1 stores. We go shopping in stores. When we have any storing to do, we do it 1 y storing our goods in the store. Now, do }OU understand? {Jurnifig to Sir Charles dfjiantly.) And if Sir Charles Wormley has anything mor( Ci.ARA. [More subdued.) I think, Mr. l^lassy, that Sir Georgie. Will you let me speak, Clara ? Clara. Not just now, dear; you are too excited. Mr. Blassy, I think Sir Charles is imposing a little upon your cre- dulity. You will find that we are not such a zr^j peculiar pec pie as he would have you believe. We have our peculiarities, it is true; but Sir C. I was not aware that our conversation had the honah of being listened to by — ladies. Turns and takes a few steps up I.. 7i'ith Tom. Georgie. (Angj-il)'.) I suppose you think, Sir Charles, that we ought to stand quietly by, Sir Charles^ and hear insults, Sir Charles — yes, sir, insults — heaped upon us by a picayunish English lord ! Clara. Oh, Georgie! Georgie! Sir C. [Aside to Tom ) I say, my deah boy, you like spunk There is spunk for you. Tom. Too much "^^^wvlV for you.^ I should say. Sir C. [Coolly adjusting his eye-glass.) Ladies, will you permit me to remark Georgie. We don't want 1o hear any remarks from a man who wears a glass in his eye, prrt> his hair in the middle, puts on puppy airs, talks as it he had a hot potato in his mouth, and looks like a Chimpanzee. Clara. Georgie, dear, please don't talk so. It is shameful. Let us all part friends. Remember this is our last day on board. Georgie. I am going to speak my mind first. And whi e I am about it. Sir Charles, since you have been so free in ex- pressing yourself about the Americans, let me tell you what I think about the English T think they are the most arrogant, the most selfish, and the most egotistical people on the face of the earth ; and that Sir Charles Wormley is the most arrogant ( Clara takes hold of Georgie'' s arm., and shakes it in an effort to stop her).^ the most selfish, and the most egotistical of them all ! There ! Clara throivs up her arms in despair^ and Georgie walks excitedly across the stage. Sir C. [Aside to Tom.) Gweat country for divo'ces, is America. Tom. [Significantly.^ I should almost think so. 12 The Lion and the Eagle. Fnter Mr John Blissy and Mr. Rosexvell, R. M^^ Blassy fa very fat man, If true Falstaffian proportions fu^^^ RftvvZsof age, and wearing very big English ^^f^^"f ToeT Mr Rosewell is about the same age, bu rather le der and ^^enteel looking. Blassy has ji ^orkshne tcentjut not too broad. Both are dressed for landing. T^rAssY What' What! Tom, me lad. quarreling with the Us^f ^Na r.is will — ^- Jl^;;.ir^Andy?:M\7s ^turning and ol-cr^^'^-i^e^^SU^^^^^^^ herlnder the dimpled chin quarreling with your Jfr/r,uaS\vS friend .her^tha. insolent spng °^7^^?' What, Sir Charles? Nay, I can not believe that. I r y^hought S.r Charles too ™uch o a Se;;^;^. ^^^,^^ .i^^aU tn »; ifC an^I "^intend that the charnrin. Miss Rosewell shall be the first. .^ „,e ''"If.y-.Aand? I re is too hort to waste it foolishly, as lass. ShaVe hands. Ul^e.^ ^^,,is alkis sl,-'ach.) a greater man ran me ha sa,^ J ^^ ,„^„ b, friendly wrtb , ^ ■ ,aVe,;iTemen i have invited Mr. Blassy to pay us a '^^Z m-ZZ will, of course, bring his son and btr "^ cltr:" h''w -very good of you, papa. I'm sure we will do our best to enterlain them j r R."Qiife"Hght,ai:;'; anrihope GeorgiewiU show the same obliging spirit. o^.p^ell if the young uns are J^plSant^^'e t r:T:o^M ^^y ^^p.^^"- -" -• 'To:: ^mV'flthe-r^-rhtve noCbiuhe Uindliest feelings for the ladies .j c:,-^ r/,r,rl^s ^ And I, for my part, CiARA { Moving toward Sir Uiaries.) ahu , j r Clara'^^MWO Perhaps this will excite her jealousy a little. We women are queer creatures. The Lion and the Eagle. 13 Georgie. [Aside.) She thinks I don't see through her little scheme. But I do. I know she prefers Mr. Blassy. {^Exeunt, one couple 'L.^the other Yi. Blassy. Now, as I >vas saying when we tumbled on them youngs uns a fighting, facts is facts, business is business, and friendship is friendship. Mr. R. All very true, Mr. Blassy — all very true. Blassy. Which being the case, you will exert yourself, for friendship's sake, to repeal the duty on glass. For me it will be business, and your reward will be a fact. [Slaps him on the shoulder. ) I may say, Mr. Rose well, a varry substantial fact. Mr. R. You could not, perhaps, be more definite, and ex- plain how substantial the fact will be. Blassy. Well, no, not just now ; but four ciphers will partly express it. Of course, you will exert yourself personally, Mr. Rosewell — do, in fact, a little lobbying. I believe that's what you call it. Mr. R. Yes, that is our polite term for boring and button- holing our Congressmen. You may depend upon me to do my utmost to further your interests, Mr. Blassy. And, further- more, I will engage Mrs. Harpley, my sister, to help us. The ladies, sir, are the most successful lobbyists in our country. Blassy. [With a surprised look.) Indeed! Well! well! well! But, then, what can't woman do? Nay, is there any- thing on this hemispherical globe that woman can not do? Poor, puny man must seek her aid in everything. Woman ! woman ! Mr. R. Why, Mr. Blassy, you are quite tragic. Blassy. ( With a feeble smile.) Yes, I was a poet once. Mr. R. Ka! ha! ha! Impossible! Once a poet, always a poet. Poets, you know, are born, not made. Blassy. Fact, I assure you. There was once a time when this portly form was as light as the downy web of a fairy's wing. Mr. R. Why, you are quite poetical still. [Slyly scanning his person.) But that must have been in the long, long ago. Blassy. Not so long as a dull sermon, nor so short as a lover's walk ; but it was before Age had plucked me by the beard, and Time liad not reared this monument of flesh to curse my later days. [Putting his hands on his stofnach.) Mr. R. Mr. Blassy, I would advise you to cultivate the muses by all means — if you can reduce your flesh. They do not go well together, and [Merry voices are heard on the outside.) Here comes that perennial bore, my brother-in-law. You must excuse him if he sometimes I A The Lion and the Eagle. Enter George Diickcrson^ unth Mrs. Duckerson and Mrs. Harplcy on his arms. D inkers on is a lively^ hail-felloiv- well-inet sort of man , and the ladies are also jolly. They are aboict thirty-five years of age, and are dressed for traveling. Duckerson. Here, you old graybeards, are you never- Mrs. Harpley. Mr. Blassy, I shall have lo take you under my wing once more if you don't Mrs. Duckerson. Robert, are you going to keep Mr. Blassy here talking until the last minute ? Mr. R. My dear sisters, we are all ready. Only our trunks tolook after. Mks. H. And that, you know, is the most important thing. Is i I not, Mr. Blassy? Blassy. If the ladies say so, Mrs. Harpley, it must be so. Mrs. D. [Aside to her hiisband.) Charming old man. Alice is j ust — yozi know. Duck. {Ready to burst zvith laughter ) Well, I should say I do know. Mr. R. I will go below and see what the girls are doing. Now, Mr. Blassy, don't forget to visit us, and we will endeavor to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Exit Mr. Rosewell, the ladies accompanying hhn to the door. Mrs. H. {Speaking after him.) Robert, tell Clara to look after my sachel. M rs. D. ( Also speaking after him. ) And tell Georgie not to talk to that young officer too much, or I shall tell Sir Chawles. They both laugh heartily, retire up C, and gaze tipon the sea. Duck. ( To Mr. Blassy. ) I say, old man, I guess you have yet some smack of youth in you, eh ?— some relish for the salt- ness of the flesh ? Blassy. I don't exactly Duck. No, you don't exactly catch on — no, of course not. Blassy. [Looking bewildered .) As Tom says, I fail to pene- trate. Duck. Why now, look here, I know a sweet creature that's just gone on you. Blassy. [With a loud guffaw.) Ha! ha! ha! I never thought you could be so interesting. Tell me more about it. Duck. And I'll bet you five dollars you don't know who it is. Blassy. It cartainly can't be Mrs. Ducker Duck. Look out, old man. The Lion and the Eagle. 15 Blassy. Well, I give it up. Duck. That's good enough. If you don't know Avho it is, then I've done talking about it. You certainly are an old slick. I dare say, though, you have known the time that you could have crept through a bride's wedding ring. [Svu'les and looks at Blassy from head to foot. ) Blassy. I've heerd say as the Americans is a 'umorous people. I suppose jj't'z/ are a 'umorous American. Duck. Yes, a little that way. But now for a few^ words on business, John. Blassy. ( With dignity.) Mr. Blassy ^\{ you please. Duck. All right. Blassy then it is. Blassy looks at him with zvithering scorn, kit says nothing Duck. ( Continuing ) 1 t's a delicate subject ; but I've made up my mind to ask you, this being the last day we shall be to- gether. I've been over to Europe seeking artists and curiosi- ties. Now, how would you like me to engj^ge you as a curiosity for my museum ? Blassy. {Disgustedly.) Sir? Duck. You would have nothing to do but sit on a platfoim in two chairs instead of one, and smile at the ladies all day. Blassy. ( Mo)-e disgustedly.) Ton my soul, sir, I never- Duck. I know you never exhibited. Hut that is nothing. Don't let that worry you. {Sleips hitn goodhvvioredly ) Think it over, Mr. Blassy — think it over. Your fortune is made. \Exit Mr. Duckerson. Blassy. {In a tage.) And is it come lo this that I, a repre- sentative British merchant, a man with wealth enough to buy all the beggarly museums in the country — that / should be in- sulted at every turn, upon a British ship, by an enterprising Yankee showman? Now\ by all me forefathers, I want an apology — I wantsatisfaction— I want revenge. {Struts around.) The ladies turn around suddenly, run, and each catch an arm. Mrs. H. Why, Mr. Blassy, what is the matter ? Mrs. D I never saw you in such a passion before. You must have encountered something fearful. Mrs. H. Or been abused terribly. Blassy. {Calming dozvn.) I y^az/^ been abused, ladies. Me feelings have been hurt— I may say stabbed. I have (I am ashamed to say it) — I have been asked to join a museum as a curiosity. Mrs. D. Oh, I am sure George did not mean to insult you, Mr. Blassy. It is merely a matter of business with him. 1 6 The Lion and the Eagle. Mrs. H. That is all, Mr. Blassy. And where no offense is intended, you know, none should be taken. Blassy. {Patting them tmder the chin.) Well spoken, me dears. Perhaps it is as you say. Mrs. D. {Aside to Mrs. ff) It may have been one of George's dreadful jokes. Mrs, H. Just possible. Mrs. D. But upon what grounds did he wish to engage you, Mr, Blassy? Mrs H. Yes, why did he wish to exhibit you as a curiosity? Mrs. D. You are not deformed in any way. Mrs. H, Nor yet capable of writing with your foot and that sort of thing. Blassy. {Looking doubtfully at them.) Well, now, \i you don't know, I'm sure /don't know. Perhaps it was me superb good nature he wanted to exhibit. Mrs. D. Ha! ha! ha! Do you believe that a good-natured man is so great a curiosity ? Blassy. Me fifty years of life have led me to believe so Mrs. H. I think, Mr. Blassy, you are about light. Thor- oughly good-natured men are as scarce as fifty-dollar bills in a tenement house. Enter Sir Charles and Clara, L., and Tom and Georgie R. The girls have changed their dresses, and are now ready for landing. Clara. Come, aunties — both of you — the steward says we shall be landing in two hours, and that we had all better be getting ready. \^Sir Charles and Torn retire up C. Mrs. H. Yes, dear, we are coming. Now, Mr. Blassy [taking his arm), don't forget my brother's invitation to visit us. We shall expect you. {To Mrs. D.) And you, Nellie, also. Mrs. D. { Taking Blassy' s other arm) Certainly I shall be there. I don't propose that you shall have Mr. Blassy all to yourself. Oh, no. ^Exeunt Blassy^ Mrs. H., and Mrs. D., laughing. Clara. {To Georgie.) Well, have you got over your patri- otic soreness? Georgie. I have not, and never expect to, unless Clara. Unless what? Georgie. Unless somebody apologizes. Clara. Well, I dare say Sir Charles will accept an apology . Georgie. Indeed! He will accept an apology, will he? The Lion and the Eagle. 17 I want you to understand. Clara, that I consider an apology due from Sir Charles to me. Clara. Ah, that is quite another thing. Georgie. And quite the correct thing. And I want you and your puppy English lord to know it. Clara. [Petting her.) There! there I Don't get angry — that's a little dear — and it shall receive an apology, so it shall. But suppose Sir Charles looks at it in a different light ? Georgie. He vii/stn^t look at it in a different light. Clara. Oh, if he mustn't, he mustn't; and that's an end of it. When the eagle screams, let the lion beware. Georgie. You may be funny if you like. But I'm going to show you that I'll bring that man to his knees, or — or he'll never see me in pa's house. Clara. That would be sad, indeed — too sad for contem- plation. We must not permit such a catastrophe to occur. Really, the world would Tom. ( Turning around and moving toiuat'd the girls Sir Charles follotving.) I see the sailors are beginning to move. Sir C. And pwaps we had bettah be doing the same. Georgie. {Aside to Clara.) Now watch me brmg that man to his knees. Clara. I'll watch. Georgie. [Pretending to carry on a previous conversation.) And what a nice old gentleman he is — your father I mean, Mr. Blassy — and what a pleasant world this would be if everybody were as destitute of satirical remarks as he is. Sir C. [Aside to Tom.) My boy, that is intended for me. Clara. I quite agree M'ith you, Georgie. The elder Mr. Blassy is indeed a lovable old man. I could almost put my arms around his neck and call him " Father." Tom. [Aside to Sir C) Now, by Jove, ///rt/ is intended for me. Georgie. And I think it is nothing but right that people who are not entirely devoid of honor should feel sorry for words uttered that may have wounded another. Clara. Quite right. Georgie. Then, Clara, I think you will admit that there is a gentleman around here who ought to feel sorry — and who consequently ought to apologize — for some very unkind re- marks made to me. Tom. Miss Rosewell, am I the gentleman ? Georgie. No, sir; you are not. Clara. Am I the gentleman? i8 The Lion and the Eagle. Georgie. [Smiling.) Scarcely. Tom. Why, who can it be ? Georgie. [Looking demurely down at herfoes.) Is there no one else around here ? Tom. ( Looking up above his head.) I see no one. Clara. [Looking around ) Neither do I. Georgie. I see you are very funny, but it is no Sir C. I nevah knew before that I was so attenuated as to be invisible to mortal eyes. I think Miss Wosewell wefers to me. But I was not aware that any wemarks of mine could be construed as offensive, and therefore wequiring an apology. On the contwary, I was vezvy much aware that Miss Wosewell might with pwopriety apologize to me. Georgie. Sir, your impudence is simply marvelous. Do you know to whom you speak ? Sir C. Perfectly. And to show you that I have no ill feel- ing, Miss Wosewell, if you will kindly specify the words that you considered personally insulting, I shall be most happy to apologize. Gforgie. Sir Charles Wormley, you know very well what you said. I do not now recall the particular words ; but I know this, that you insulted my country, and therefore insulted me, for which I want an apology. Sir C. Ah, that is something altogether diffewent. W^hen yourcountwy demands an apology, then I will apologize to the fairest representative of your countwy. Georgie. {Sneeringly.) To theyiz/Vrj/ representative of my country ? Sir C. Yes. Georgie. Hear him, Clara; he is willing to apologize to the yazV^J/ representative of my country. Will you please step this way ? Clara. [Who has been conversing aside unth Tom.) Fight your own battles, Georgie. Mr. Blassy and I are already ar- ranging for their visit in the fall. [Signijicantly.) You'll get left if you don't mind. Georgie. My sister, sir, does rot want an apology. It is I who want it. Sir C. [Conciliaiingly .) It was you whom I meant, and it is you who shall have it. Georgie. I? Then, sir, down on your — I mean, humble yourself; apologize. Sir C. Allow me to ask first, Miss Wosewell, dees your countwy wequire it ? The Lion and i/ie Eagle. 19 Georgie. It does. Sir C. And it is absolutely necessawy that I must obey your countwy's mandate in order to secure your forgivene.ss and — and good-will? Georgie. It is. Sir C. Then, come ; we will talk about it. This is a vewy serious matter. [Ojffers his arm.) Georgie. {Aside, as she viciously gras fs his arvi.) He has not apologized yet. I will make him do it if I have to man y him for it. [ They letire tip. i.. Clara. {Mockingly, aside to Geojgie as they pass,) Well. Georgie dear, did you bring him to his knees yet ? Hal ha I ha I Georgie. {In the same tone of voice. ) Not quite, Clara love ; only to his arms. Clara. {To Tom.) Almost like a lovers' quarrel, Mr. Blassy ; don't you think so ? What do you think of it all ? Tom. I think it would be well if we did a little quarreling, so that you could ask me to do some apologizing Clara. Suppose we try ? Tom. With all my heart. But what would pa say ? What would both our pa's say? They might Georgie. ( With a sudden laugh.) How very funny you can be sometimes. Sir Charles. Clara, I am going for my wraps. Don't delay. The sailors are getting ready to drop the anchor. ^Exeunt Georgie and Sir Charles. Tom. Confound it I I thought she'was laughing at me. Clara. Then you must have a guilty conscience, Mr. Blassy. Unburden it. What were you about to say ? Tom. Only this: You said my father was a lovable old man, and that you would like {A noise is heard outside. ) Clara. What was that? Tom. Oh, nothing. {Koise heard again.) Clara. There it is again. They are hauling the baggage up. We must be getting ready. Tom. The deuce take it 1 They are always hauling things at the wrong time. The baggage-smasher is an incubus on society. He ought to be exterminated. When he is not break- ing boxes, he is breaking hearts. YEjceiint.^ arm in arm. The noise confirmes : officer on bridge gives some directions : the sailors begin %v or king the chain .^ and sing the following verse from the opening song : 20 The Lion and the Eagle. What joy there is on a gallant bark, Controlled by a gallant band, None but a fearless sailor lad Can ever understand. The wild delights of a sailor's life 'Tis useless to explain To those who've never seen the seas, And crossed the Spanish Main. Chorus ,—Viox\\ speak of pleasures of home life To men so bold and free. A sailor's life is a jovial life; A sailor's life for me ! While the sailors have been singing, Mr. Blassy, Mr. Roscwell, Mr. Duckerson, Sir Charles, Tom, Georgie, Clara, Mrs. Ditckerson, and Mrs. Harpley have entej-ed, carrying sachels in their hands ^ and wraps upon their arms . ACT II. Scene i. Parlor in Mr. Rosewelts house, Washington. Doors right and left, and double door center. Kate is discovered dusting. Kate. 'Pears to me as if Miss Georgie and Miss Clara hal) neber been de same gals sence day cum home. No singing, no dancing, no nuthin'. Always talking 'bout deir European trip, an'cl dem lords ober dere, and old castles and abbeys and ruin's. I'm sick ob it all. And den dey sometimes talk, kinder in a whisper, 'bout two fellahs dat cum ober in de same ship as dey did, and wonder why dey neber get a letter from dem. I knowed how it 'd be befo' dey went away. Says I— but here come de young ladies demselves. I must be gwine. [ Exit. Enter Georgie and Clara, C.,.in morning wrappers. Clara. Yes, yes, Georgie ; I know it. Papa was only say- ing yesterday that it is now four weeks since we left New York, and that he thought Mr. Blassy would surely have written be- fore this. The Lion and the Eagle. 21 Georgie. Perhaps Mr. Blassy, the elder, is too busy seeing the sights of the great city; but 1 think Mr. Blassy, the younger, might have let us know if we may expect them next month. Clara. Yes, or Sir Charles might have Georgie. Please, Clara, don't. That man never- Clara. Might have wiitten to inform us if he is yet pre- pared to go down on 1h> knees. Ha] ha! ha J Georgie. You are simply horrid. But he will have to apologize, even if I did apparently make it up. Clara. He shall. Georgie. He must. And if he still Enter Mr. Rosewell in morning gowtz^ slippers^ etc. Mr. R. Girls, I have just reeeived a letter from Mr. Blassy. Clara. ( Eagerly. ) W h at does h e say ? Georgie. {Eagerly.^ When are ihey coming ? Mr. R. He says he has not had a spare minute, or he would have written before. Both. Nothing else? Mr. R. And he says he is enjoying himself immensely, but sufferihg with the hot weather. Both. Is that all? Mr. R. No. He also says that he is becoming, on account of the hot weather, quite thin. He knows this to be so from the fact that only a hundred boys follow him now where five hundred Georgie. Oh, pshaw! Does he say nothing about Clara. He certainly'has not forgotten to mention- Mr. R. {^Divining their meaning.) Ah! yes, yes. Cer- tainly. I see. The impatience of lovers. I ought to have known. We old men forget the callowness of youth, and the thoughts that burned within us before our beards began to sprout. Yes, in a postscript here he says the boys wrote three weeks ago, but have received no answer, and so think that they must have addressed their letters wrong. They think they must have sent them to some other Washington, as they have since learned there are about a thousand in the country. They are writing again, however, by the same mail. Georgie. By the same mail ? Glara. Where are the letters, then ? Mr. R. Probably Kate has them. I will see about it, and send her in. (Moves offhand turns suddenly.) I have also re- ceived a letter from your Uncle Gearge. He says the theatrical season will soon be commencing, and that he will be glad to see 22 The Lion and the Eagle. us at any time. Auntie is well, and hopes the girls will not fail to visit New York the coming fall. He incidentally mentions that Sir Charles Wormley and Mr. Tom Blassy have called upon him, and that he has introduced them to several lady professionals, to whom they seem to be doing the agreeable. But I will see Kate, and ask her about your letiers. '^' \^Exit. Georgt'e walks excitedly across the stage, and Clara up center. Georgie. Did you hear that — did you hear that, Clara? Clara. ( With forced calnmess.) Yes, I heard it, Georgie. Georgie. "To whom they seem to be doing the agreeable." And still they have the audacity to write to us ! Clara. I suppose the next thing they will be asking us to marry them. Georgie. [Sneeringly .) And go off with them to "glorious old England." But I wonder what they say. I wonder whether Sir Charles writes to me or to you. Clara. You don't wonder anything about it. You knoio to whom he writes. Enter Kaie^ ivith letters. Kate. Here's two letters fo' you. I forgot to bring dem in befo'. Georgie. Please don't be so forgetful again, Kate. You may go. \^Exit Kate. Enter Mrs. Harpley, c, dressed for shopping. Mrs. H. Dear, dear! Why, you are not ready yet. I thought you were going shopping with me. Clara. Not this morning, auntie. Georgie's head Georgie. I do not feel quite well enough for shopping. My head — I — I Mrs. H. A little fresh air would do you good, goosey. Come, get ready — both of you. Clara. No, no ! Georgie. Impossible, dear auntie — impossible. Mrs. H. Why, you stupid little creatures, what is the mat- ter Avith you ? It was only this morning at breakfast that you said you would both go ; that you wanted to Clara. Please, dear auntie, do leave us alone for a little while this morning. {Gently leads her to the door.) We are not in a condition — well, never mind. Good-by. {^Kisses her.) Mrs. H. {Aside.) This is very strange. Never saw them this way before. There's something the matter, and I'm woman enough to want to know what it is. I'll find out when The Lion and tlie Eagle. 23 I come home. A love affair, as sure as the moon is not made of green cheese. \_Exit. Georgie. {Opening her letter.) I thought she would never go. It is a wonder she didn't stop half an hour just to tease us. She knew there was something the matter. {Reads to herself .) Clara. ( Havi?jg opetied her letter and read a few lines. ) W hy — why — what is this? I've actually — yes, actually got a pro- posal. Georgie. {With a ringing laugh.') And — and so have I. The impudent puppy ! The impudent puppy! Clara, if you will permit me to use a little slang for once, 1 will remark that this beats — Cain. Clara walks uf and doivn the stage, and Gtorgie across. Clara. What are you going to do about it ? Georgie. What ^x&you going to do ? Clara. I asked you first. Georgie. Well, I don't know. It seems to me that they are making fools of us, and love elsewhere; playing the gal- lants to ladies m New York, and writing us what may be mock proposals of marriage. I suppose I shall have to answer it. Clara. Certainly we shall have to answer. I think we had better tell them that we can not decide until we have seen more of them, and that we will defer our answers until they come to see us. Georgie. {Smelling at her letter. ) This letter {smells again) has had some cigar ashes on it {smells again) and some bad breaih near it Smell ihat letter, Clara, and see if it has not an odor of stale Avine. Clara. {After smelling it.) I don't smell it. Besides, I am not sure that I know the odor of stale wine Georgie. You're a dunce. Well, I smell it. This is not my first love-letter, and I know the difierence between the smell of a cigar flavored with bad wine and the usual perfume of a billet-doux ; and' if this letter has been perfumed in the manner I assume, then the writer of it had too much wine in him when he wrote it. Clara. What a preposterous supposition ! I might almost call it an asinine supposition ! Georgie. Not at all. Now listen, Clara ; I have an idea. Clara. Is it possible? I always thought that giddy girls like you, George, never had any ideas. Georgie. Well, I've got one this time; and my idea is to concoct a little plan. Clara. Explain. 2r 1 The Lion and the Eagle. Georgie. These young men may have been half drunk when they wrote these letters. Clara. Impossible! They are gentlemen, and gentlemei> never get drunk. Georgie. That is one of the fictions that mammas teach their good little girls. Clara. Why, Georgie, you are /?^// of ideas. Must have been communing with your though is lately, an occupation new to you. Philosophers and lovers are the only ones who do that ; and as you are not a philosopher, then you must be, I suppose- in love. Georgie. It may be true, nevertheless. Clara. What, that you're in love? Georgie. Goose, no. But that these young gentlemen may have been half drunk when they wrote these letters. Clara. But perhaps they are prohibitionists. Georgie. I do not think they are. There are not many prohibitionists among the gentlemen of England. Clara. You seem to know a great deal about it. Sir Charles must have been quite confidential with you at some time. Georgie. It did not require Sir Charles Wormley, nor even Mr. Tom Blassy, to tell me that. I could see for myself when I was over there that the English drink a great deal. Clara. But then they have some respect for ladies. Georgie. Not much — at least, not always. I have heard that the Englishman loves his horse a little better than his dog, and his dog considerably more than his wife. Clara. You should not believe all that you hear. But what is your plan ? Georgie. My plan is this : We will go to New York as actresses seeking an engagement. We will take Uncle George into our confidence, and he shall invite (apparently unknown to us) these young gentlemen to witness a trial of our abilities. We shall then find out if they are falling in love with every girl who goes behind the footlights. Clara. Very good, Georgie — an excellent scheme. But don't you think they will recognize us ? Georgie. I'll take care of that. I'll tell Uncle George to put them behind a screen of some kind, and that they are only to hear us and not to see us. In any event, he must place us in the shade, so that, if they j/wm/I:/ peep (as I know they will) they can not make us out. Clara. But they will know our voices. The Lion and the Eagle. 25 Georgie. Not necessarily. You know, they have never heard us sing, and that is all we shall do in their presence. Clara. And dance? Georgie. And dance, of course, in a mild way. And if we should have to speak a few words, why we can disguise our voices. Clara. But what will pa and auntie say ? Georgie. Oh, we shall have to tell them that we are going on a visit to Uncle George Clara. Which, of course, we shall be doing; and so we shall not be telling a story. Georgie. Certainly, certainly. It would not do to tell a story. Lovers wt'z/^r tell stories. They always Clara. Why, here's auntie back from shopping. Enter Mrs. Harpley with three or four pare els ^ivhich she lays on the table. (iEORGiE. And, unlike us, she is full of good sense and — other tilings. Mrs. H. Yes, and other things. Just look here, [Attempts to undo a parcel.) See what I've been buying while you two geese have been talking love and such stuff. Clara. What is it, auntie — a yard of tape ? Georgie. Or a spool of thread — which ? Mrs. H. It is neither, you goslings. I knew I should make your eyes water. Look! It is a duck of a bonnet. [Exhibits a bonnt t. ) Clara Oh, what a beauty ! Ln't it handsome ? Georgie. It's just too lovely for anything! Did you buy it for me, auntie? It will just match Clara. Do let me try it on. Mrs. H. {Picking up her parcels.) Come, both of you. I want to show you something else— something you've never seen before. Oh, it's simply grand. Georgie. What is it? What is it? What is it? Clara. Oh, do tell, auntie ! Do tell ! Mrs. H. Not now, dears. Wait until we get upstairs. Come. Both Girls. Oh, what is it, auntie? What is it? What is it? Exeunt; Mrs. H. carrying her parcels .^ and Georgie and Clara hugging her. 26 The Lion and the Eagle. Scene 2. — The Bowery^ N'ezu York City. A dog barking is heard outside, and a noise as though the dog were worrying something. Enter Johi Blassy backwards slowly^ and trying to kick the dog off^ which he succeeds in doing just as he comes on. His tJ-ousers are disarranged, his hat awry, and he is panting for breath. Blassy. Save, me, lads ! Save me! I am worried by dogs. ( Gives a kick. Looks, and sees there is no dog there. ) Now, by the fat of all my ancestors, I know not why that dog should treat me thus. I was walking quietly along the Bowery just now when that skulking pup, that dirt-enveloped cur that hungry-looking hound, that flea-devoured mongrel, that yelp- ing, snarling, crust-eating snipe of the gutter, flew at me from behind a boy's legs, and attacked my extremities most villain- ously. I did not hear the lad say anything to the dog, nor did I see the dog wink to the lad ; hence I am at a loss to account for it. H'm, now I think on't, I've heerd that here in New York dogs are taught to know a Chinaman, and to fly at him on sight. But am I a Chinaman ? Bah ! ( Takes out his hand- kerchief.) Do I look like one? Bah! [Wipes his face.) True, I am shrinking away. This hot weather is having its eff'ect. I am becoming a mere shadow of my former self. Another month of it, and I shall be as lean and wizened as one of Duck- erson's professional skeletons. But I am not becoming moon- eyed. Nay, lads, I am not becoming moon-eyed, am I ? [Looks up to the gallery.) This is frightful! This is frightful! An honest British merchant to be taken for a rat-eating Mongolian. Does this come from eating rats ? ( Puts his ha^ids on his stomach) Nay. I think not ; but good beef, lads — ^juicy beef and ale. My mishaps in thisgre&t city have been many ; but to be taken for a Chinaman is the unkindest one of all. I shall write a book when I go home. Everybody does it It pays — so I've heerd. And I shall have lots to say about the gamins. They do not follow me so much as they did, which is one reason why I think I am getting thin. Occasionally they seize upon me, and then — yes, then I have a frightful time. For a week or two after I landed I could not leave my hotel without an army of small boys following me. Some would whisper (as only small boys can whisper) : " Have a care, old man ; if you fall, the earth will quake." Others would shout : " How much fur yer beetle- crushers, Mr. Shadow ? " I have since learned they meant my boots; I wear No. 15's. Still others would yell [A noise is heard outside) Ah, here's a crowd of 'em coming now. I had better be going, methinks. The Lion and the Eagle. 27 Enter ^ before Blassy can get away^ about ten Bozvery boys. One shottts,'^IIere^s old Anti-fat P' They initnediately snrj'otmd Blassy. Eour get hold of his coat-tails and pull him different ways A?iotherfonrJuvip around Jiiin and keep t
leecker
Street, up Broadway
Tom. No wonder my father is blowing like a porpoise.
Sir C. Mrs. Ouckerson has only been exercising him a
little — twaining him, perhaps, for some pugilistic contest.
Blassy. It's nothing, boys. Nothing — nothing.
Sir C, Or for some future gladiatowial exhibition with the
Bowery small boy. Now twy the duml)-bells.
Mrs. D. Ha! ha! ha! Yes, Mr. Blassy has been telling
me all about it; how you rescued him from the jaws of — the
very jaws of death. How dreadful it must be to be fleshy. But
where is my husband ?
Sir C. Gone — gone home. [Aside.) I pwesume.
Mrs. D. Gone home? Then I must be going too, and be
there before him, or I shall never hear the last of my escapade
with Father Blassy. Ha! ha! ha!
Sir C. Don't be in a hurwy. Shall one of us accompany
you home ?
Mrs. D. No, thank you ; I'd rather go alone. Good-by.
Ta-ta, Mr. Blassy.
Blassy kisses his hand^ and the others say " Good-by T
{Exit Mrs, Duckerson.
Blassy. A charming woman, but fear — fearfully fast.
[Hastening to correct himself .) I mean a fearfully fast walker.
Tom. Father, you're a chump.
Blassy. A what, me lad?
Tom. a chump.
Blassy. What is a chump?
Tom. Well, if I must tell you, it is slang for a blockhead, a
dolt, a fool.
Blassy. Tom, Tom, me lad, don't call your old father a
fool. Call me a blockhead, a dolt, a jackass, an' you will ; but
call me not a fool.
32 The Lion and the Eagle.
Tom. I did not mean to call you a fool, father. A -'chump"
is not quite so expressive as that. It means a person who has
acted foolishly. And you act foolishly, father, in indulging in
the pleasures of the table so much when you see that it keeps
you so fat. It nettles me to see my old father the sport of boys,
when he might, by a little self-denial, reduce his size to that of
ordinary mortals, and thereby prevent his being a jest forever
Blassy. Aye, aye, me lad ; but how?
Sir C. ' hat'sit, Mr. Hwassy. How?
Tom. Live on bread and water, if there's no other way.
Blassy, Well, well, Tom ; we'll not quarrel. When you
get to my age, you will learn that it is no easy thing to live on
bread and water.
Sir C. 'Tiseven worse, I should judge, than wiving on bread
and cheese and kisses,
Tom, He might try the kisses alone. Some people live on
love.
Sir C. Or dyspepsia. Dyspepsia is a never-failing wemedy
with Americans for reducing flesh. Try and get dyspepsia,
Blassy. What is dyspepsia. Sir Charles ?
SirC, Dyspepsia? Why anybody in this countwy can tell
you what dyspepsia is.
Blassy. Do they sell it in drug stores?
SirC In some dwug stores — yes.
Blassy. And you are sure it is a good remedy ?
Sir C, Perfectly sure.
Blassy. Ever try it yourself ?
Sir C. Nevah,
Blassy, Then how do you know it is good ?
Sir C. I judge fwom its eff.^cts on the specimens I have
seen.
Blassy. I'll get some! I'll get some!
Sir C. Then I'll have to intwoduce you to some sufferwing
native. He'll show you how to take it.
Blassy. Sir Charles, I'm your devoted friend. Show me
how to take dyspepsy, and I'm your devoted slave.
SirC. All you have to do is to watch him at the table. He
takes it at his meals.
Blassy. { All moving off together. ) Before or after ?
Sir C. Sometimes before, but generally after.
Blassy. I'll buy some, Sir Charles; I'll buy .some. I'll try
dyspepsy. I'll try it! I'll try it! Anything to reduce this
Rocky Mountain of flesh.
\^Exeunt.
The Lion and the Eagle. 33
Scene 3. — Mr. Duckerson^s office in his theater. Enter Mr.
Duckerson.
Duck. {Looking at his watch.) It is now twenty minutes
after two. I told Sir Charles and Tom to be here a little before
half past. They have not the faintest suspicion of who the
ladies are, and I do not intend that they shall be enlightened.
I suppose they will go wild, and want presenting this very
afternoon. Oh, no. I shall hustle the girls into a carriage
immediately after it's over, and the young fellows may rave
themselves sick. It's only fun for the girls, I know ; but I've
given my word of honor to do this thing squarely, and I mean
to do it. It may be that they — {a knock is heard) — ah, here they
are. Come in.
Enter Sir Charles and Tom Blassy.
Duck, ( Contimdng. ) How do, gentlemen ? Just in time.
Beaten the ladies by a neck. Now don't break your necks in
beating them behind that screen. Let me
Tom. Now this is no hoax.
Sir C. Nor one of your infernal jokes?
Duck. Never more serious in my life. I'm trembling in
my boots. Wish I hadn't let you come.
Tom Ducky, old boy, you won't refuse us now.
Sir C. Wemember, Duckerson, we know a pwetty little
story about you that Mrs. Duckerson
Duck. Well, then, hurry up. Here, get behind this screen.
I hear the ladies coming. Hurry — hurry! {He pushes them
partly behind the screen. )
Tom, Onemoment, Suppose — suppose^oh, hang it ! Sir
Charles, you say it.
Sir C. I think Tom is twying to say, Mr. Duckerson, that if
we should take a particular fancy to these wadies, you surely
would not wefuse
Duck. Don't have time to listen. i^A knock is heard at the
door.) Now be slippery. Look lively. Get behind there.
( Hep ushes them aga in.) C o m e i n
Enter Georgie and Clara dressed in elegant style .^ but con-
trasting somewhat^ each with parasol.^ gloves^ etc.
Georgie. {In a disguised voice.) This is the manager, I
believe?
Duck. {Bowing.) It is, at your service.
34 The Lion and the Eagle.
Clara, (/w a disguised voice.) And you received our letter,
I presume ?
Duck. I did.
Georgie. Aw, then we will proceed to business without
further ceremony.
Duck. May I ask what line of business? y.
Clara. A little of everything.
Georgie. Down to song and dance.
Duck. Indeed! I should be pleased to witness a trial of
your abilities as song and dance artistes.
Clara. Certainly.
Gf.orgie. ( Whispering.) Are they here, uncle?
Duck. [Whispering.) Yes; behind that screen there. But
don't speak so loud.
Georgie. [Moving toward the screen.) We have scarcely
room here, Mr. Duckerson. Suppose we move
Duck. Don't kick that screen, ladies. {Sir C.a?td Tom start
in surprise. )
Clara. It takes up too much room. If you will kindly
Duck. I tell you again, ladies, don't kick that screen.
Georgie. We are not going to kick it, sir. We are only
going to move it.
Clara. I think the gentleman must have something behind
the screen that he does not wish us to see. He seems so anxious
about it.
Georgie. Perhaps a bull-dog. [Clara screams.)
Duck. Yes, I have a bull-dog there — two of 'em. [Both
ladies scream.) And British bull-dogs at that [Both scream
again, and Sir C and Tom shake their fists angrily.) Fighting
bull-dogs — vicious, snarling beasts. So look out, and don't go
too near.
Clara. Oh, Mr. Duckerson, Mr. Duckerson, why did you
allow us to come here ?
Georgie. We had no idea that this was a menagerie. Have
you any other wild beasts ? [Sir C. and Tom start again at the
thought of being compared to wild beasts. )
Duck. No others, I assure ; and these bull-dogs won't hurt
you if you keep out of their way. Besides, they're chained up,
and I've put a muzzle on them.
Clara. Put a muzzle on them?
Duck. You bet. I've got 'em where the hair is short.
Clara. Then how do they eat ?
Duck. Oh, like dogs. [Sir C. and Tom gleam with rage. )
Georgie. But how do you feed them ?
The Lion and the Eagle. -jj^
Duck. Feed them sometimes with my boot, but oftener
with a club.
Ci.ARA. Don't you give them anything el>e ?
Duck. Not much else during the dog-days, and we are now
in the dog-days. At least, they are in /^^V dog-days. Every
dog has his day.
'i OM. [To bir C.) I will not stand this much longer.
Sir C. ( To Tom ) He's a villainous mountebank. I shall
take the wiberty of pulling his nose at the first opportunity.
Georgie. You seem to know a great deal about dogs.
Duck. About bull-dogs— yes. But these are only puppies.
At least, I don't think they are full-grown, because they have
such pvippy ways.
Clara Oh, why then we needn't be afraid of them.
Duck Not a bit. They're leally the most harmless puppies
you ever saw. They think they've lots of courage, like all
puppies, but they haven't a thimV)Ieful. They crawl into their
holes on the slightest scent of danger. They crawled into their
]>resent holes because they heard a footstep on the stairs.
Tom. {To Sir C.) This is horrible !
Sir C. {To Tom.) Most horwibly horwible ! A Bwitish
pcercwawling into a hole to be the sport of a knavish show-
man.
Georgie How I should like one.
Duck. What, one of these ?
Georgie. No, no ; I didn't mean that.
Clara. She meant a bull-pup like one of these.
Duck. Oh, well; perhaps I'll make you a present of one of
these some day. But let me show you them. They are fine
specimens. Just one peep. {Sir C. and Tom fall back in dismay.)
Both Girls. Oh,no, no, no.
Georgie I'm afraid of their fangs.
Clara. I can almost see their gleaming eye-balls.
Duck. All right. As you say. We'll take a peep at them
some other time — when they're asleep, perhaps.
Georgie. That will be better.
Duck. Well, then, let us to business. What will you try ?
Georgie. We have had written for us a little song of the
sea that we will try.
Duck. All right. That will remind us of those other dogs —
the sea-dogs.
Clara. Exactly.
Duck. Well, then, all ready ?
Georgie All ready.
^6 The Lion and the Eagle.
They sing and dance thefol/oioing :
Old Ocean.
Glorious sea ! Boundless sea I
How delightful to be
Rocked to sleep by thy leonine hand,
In forgetful repose
Of the world and its woes !
For all ills fly away at thy wand.
What on earth can compare
With thy rich bracing air
For the poor weary toilers of earth ?
Yielding health, yielding wealth,
Doing good e'en by stealth,
Asking naught in exchange for thy worth.
Land is bought ; land is sold ;
Men bequeath men its gold ;
But no birthright thou ever hast known.
All to thee are the same :
Rich and poor, strong and lame.
Can inherit thee and call thee their own.
Let us go, then, away, .
To the beach, where the spray
Murmurs sweetly its song of the sea ;
And we'll sit on the shore.
Watch the waves dash and roar.
Dreaming sadly, Old Ocean, of thee.
ACT IH.
Scene r. — Grounds and conservatory around Mr. KoseweWs
house ^ Washington. Three rustic seats partially coicealed from
each other. Enter John Blassy^ arm in arm with Mrs. Harpley
and Mrs. Duckersofn. Blassy is in full evening dress, a little
old-fashioned — large double-breasted white vest and large neck-tie.
Blassy. ( Wiping his forehead.) 'Pears to me you have din-
ner early in this country. In my
The Lion and the Eagle. 37
Mrs. H. We consider it good for digestion.
IJlassy, Hut my digestion is very good.
Mrs. H. But not very complete. I mean-
Mrs. I). Exactly what you say, Alice. Mr. Blassy's diges-
tion is not very complete, else he would not be so fleshy.
HlassY. Why, my dears, I am taking physic to cure that.
Hut more physic I take, the more I seem to eat. Didn't you
notice my appetite at dinner ?
Mrs. H. Not particularly.
Mrs. I ). We all eat rather heartily, I thought.
Blassv. But my appetite is — is frightful — frightful. How-
somever, I am taking physic for it. I am taking dyspepsy — I
think Sir Charles calls it. Funny name. [Both ladies look at
each other in blank astonishment.) Never heard of it in my life
beiore.
Mrs. H. What did you say the medicine was, Mr. Blassy ?
Blassy. Dyspepsy — yes, dyspepsy. I'm carlain that's the
name.
Mrs. D. W^ must Ti\fA.xi dyspepsia,
Mrs H. But taking it as a medicine. I don't understand.
Do you buy this medicine ?
Bi-ASSY, Why bless my 'art, yes. Buy it in a drug-store.
Dollar and a quarter a bottle; six bottles for {Both ladies
burst into peals of laughter.) I — I see nothing funny about it.
Cost me twenty-four dollars already. And now
Mrs. D. Who told you of this medicine ?
Blassl. Sir Charles — Sir Charles did. He said it was a
capital thing for reducing flesh. Nearly every American
took it.
Mrs. D. {Slyly.) It doesn't seem to reduce jK^wrflesh, much,
Mr. Blassy.
Mrs.H. Sir Charles told you ! I didn't think that of Sir
Charles — didn't think he was such a wag Now if it had been
your husband, Nellie, I could have understood it.
Mrs n. Yes, indeed. If it had been George, the thing
would have been perfectly consistent But Sir Charles
Bi.ASSY. Bless your 'arts, ladies, what do you mean ? I'm
all at sea. They both told me. I never
Both Ladies [Bursting into laughter again.) 'Tis enough !
'Tis enough !
Blassy. Some joke on me, I'll bet a sovereign. I've been
the victim of waggery ever since I landed in the country.
B ooming queer country ! Every man a joker, and every joker
taking physic.
38 The Lion and the Eagle.
Mrs. D. But how did George come lo tell you that dyspep-
sia was good for reducing flesh ?
Blassy, Why the way on't was this: Sir Charles told me
that I should watch some sufiferinf^^ native taking it at his meals.
With that he took me over to Mr, Duckerson, who was just
eating dinner, and told him what I wanted. Now I ;.hink on't,
he (2'/ seem a little staggered ; but he immediately got up and
said: "Ah, yes, yes. I have a botlle of it here. I take mine
before meals; some take if after, and some take it all the time.
I would advise you to take it all the time, John. It's very fine
stuff — very fine stuff. Try it. Costs only a dollar and a quarter
a bottle." I did try it. It tasted very good It had a suspi-
cious flavor of port wine. I liked it all the better After din-
ner he took me to the only druggist in town, as he said, where I
could get it.
Mrs. H. And you bought a bottle ?
Blassy. Six of 'em. Because, you see. I take it all the time.
Mrs. D. But what did the druggist say when you inquired
for a bottle of dyspepsia ?
Blassy. H'm. Ah. Mow I remember he did smile a little.
But I thought nothing on't at the time. Duckerson told him I
wanted it like his, and then whispered a few words which I
failed to catch. The druggist then asked, " Will one bottle be
enough?" and Duckerson said, ''Take six, John; take six."
So I took six. Have been taking six ever since. But it seems
I get fatter.
Mrs. H. Did you bring any with you to Washington, Mr.
Blassy ?
Blassy. Brought six bottles when I came a week a^o, but
it^s nearly all gone. I shall have to send for more.
Mrs, D. Any about your person now?
Blassy. Yes, I always keep a small bottle about me. Will
you taste it ? [Produces a bottle. )
Mrs. D. Certainly. ( They both taste it. )
Enter Mr. Duckerson and Mr. Rosewell, c.
Blassy. It has a very good flavor. Don't be afraid of it,
I drink a bottle a day of it sometimes.
Duck. (Aside to Mr. Roseivell ) Zounds, Robert ! Look at
that, will you? Look at that! Old Broadsides carries his
bottle of brandy with him, and induces ladies to drink in secret
out of the same bottle. By heavens, and my wife, too I
Mr, R. This is very strange of Mr. Blassy.
Duck. Hello there! What's all this about? Mv wife
Tht Lion and the Eagle. 30