Large Deductions 
 
 fi Domestic C 
 
 OMESTIC LOMEDY 
 
 IN FOUR ACTS, 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND CONCLUSION. 
 
 Any correspondence concerning the Play will receive prompt 
 attention if addressed to 
 
 W. F. NORTON, Prentice Club, 
 
 LOUISVILLE, KY- 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS 
 
 IN FOUR ACTS, 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND CONCLUSION. 
 
 ./ : 7*. 
 
 Introduction — Clear Sky Land. 
 
 Act I. — Love's First Gleann, and " Large Deductions." 
 
 Act II. — A Dreann ; and the Dranna of the Idle Apprentice. 
 
 Act III. — The Prodigal's Return. 
 
 Act IV. — Father and Son. 
 
 Conclusion — Shepherds All and Maidens Fair. 
 
 SCENE LAID IN CANADA IN INTRODUCTION AND CONCLU- 
 SION: IN THE DRAMA, IN LONDON. 
 
 :^y"0F <^Ov^?>s 
 
 pol.d " 
 
 h 
 
 LOUISVILLE : 
 
 COURIEE-JOUHNAL BOOK PRINT. 
 
 1878. 
 
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA. 
 
 Stephen Burdacomb, brother of Mrs. Pomerov, ^ . Appearing only 
 ' ' ' ( in the mtroduc- 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy, separated for years from husband. {^\^^ *°<l conclu- 
 
 JoHX Pomeroy, father, a London merchant, who has lost ftiith in 
 
 hmiian nature and makes "large deductions." 
 John Pomeroy, son, who seeks to reconcile the father who has 
 
 never seen him; an open, manly Canadian. 
 Will Langton, adopted by John Pomeroy; the idle apprentice, 
 
 one who falls into evil companionship; a figure in the drama; 
 
 rescued. 
 KuGEL, a fellow clerk of Will Langton, fond of pool and sport; 
 
 a hard one. 
 Monsieur Rosenay, correspondent of a Paris paper ; ambitious of 
 
 writing a drama; wholly and severely dramatic. 
 Mr. Halkett, of Ferris & Halkett, employers of Langton and 
 
 Kugel. 
 Lettice Langton, a maiden fair, of simple faith and an only love. 
 Idle clerks, a policeman, London sharpers. 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 Stephen Burdacomb, broad hat, home-spun, simple. 
 
 Mrs Pomeroy, white cap, apron, sober dress, country style. 
 
 Pomeroy, Sr., full whiskers, over-hanging brows, dark suit, (not 
 broadcloth), old-fashioned, (somewhat negligent), bandana, 
 cane. 
 
 J. Pomeroy, Jr., in Canada, home-spun; London, dark suit, busi- 
 ness, plain. 
 
 Will Langton, stylish, (no watch chain or diamonds.) 
 
 Kugel, stylish, but unbrushed. 
 
 Rosenay, seedy in a measure, black. 
 
 HoLKETT, broadcloth of formal cut, watch, chain and seal. 
 
 Lettice, neat. 
 
 KTOTE. 
 
 •'Large Deductions'' is a dramatization ot "Shepherds All 
 and Maidens Fair," a Christmas story by Besant and Rice, full of 
 fancy, very tender, but written from the subjective point of view. 
 Yet the material for a drama was ample, and the work of construc- 
 tion was simple. A few scenes are original. A few scenes have 
 rather much narrative, and are not spirited in form; however, 
 they have a quiet sentiment, which may be preferred to the char- 
 acteristic, and tireless flash, retort, and small talk of the modern 
 drama. The fact is, the dramatic author of the day has about sur- 
 rendered to the actor on all points. The occasional lack of action 
 is in character, so removed is the play from the run of modern 
 dramas. The acting play must be so corrected that the lines will 
 have a hearing. W. T, Price. 
 
S-^lsTOIE^SIS. 
 
 Twenty-five years have elapsed since the separation of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. Under the unjust charge of infidelity, Mrs. Pom- 
 eroy, accompanied by her brother, Stephen Burdacombe, emigrated 
 to Canada. A few months after the separation, John Pomeroy 
 was born, of which the father has no knowledge. Mrs. Pomeroy, 
 relenting toward her husband, discloses to John the history of the 
 separation and enjoins upon him to seek and reconcile the father. 
 Mr. Pomeroy had remained in England, and while conducting a 
 large business, had become morose, suspicious and unsocial, living 
 retired with only Lettice Langton, whom he had taken to educate. 
 Her brother Will he had placed in the house of Ferris & Halkett. 
 Under the assumed name of Ashton, John gains admission to the 
 house of Mr. Pomeroy. Love springs up between Lettice and 
 John. Will is entrusted with money to deposit in bank. Having 
 missed the hour, he is made drunk overnight by Kugel, a fellow- 
 clerk, who robs him and secretes the money in his room, where he 
 keeps Will concealed, having convinced him that his account of 
 being robbed would not be accepted, and that he had best flee the 
 country. The robbery is witnessed by Kosenay, a French journal- 
 ist, whose curiosity led him to look over the transom from his ad- 
 joining room. Through his evidence and John's search, the inno- 
 cence of Will is proved. When John reveals himself to his father, 
 he is acknowledged and the innocence of his mother is accepted. 
 John announces that Lettice is to return with him as his wife, 
 when the father overwhelms Lettice with reproaches as the 
 daughter of the man whose jealousy and lies had caused the separa- 
 tion, and finally demands that John choose between him and his 
 mother. John returns to Canada with Lettice and Will, leaving 
 the old man solitary and in wrath. In the end, the father relents 
 and joins his wife and the happy household. 
 
 STAGE DIKECTIONS. 
 
 E. means right; L., Left; K. D. Eight Door; L. D., Left Door; 
 S. E. Second Entrance; U. E., Upper Entrauce; M. D., Middle 
 Door. 
 
 EELATIYE POSITIONS. 
 
 R. means Eight; L., Left; C, Center; E. C, Eight of Center; 
 L. C, Left of Center. 
 
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 
 W. T. PKICE AND W. F. NOKTON, Jr. ^^ 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Scene 1. — (A snug country home interior^ a bright fire on 
 hearth ; everything plain ^ neat, farmer like. ^ 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. \knitttng7\ It is growing late. John should 
 be here by this time. What a dear, noble fellow he is, my 
 son; for so long my only love and comfort; so pure, so 
 manly, so industrious. Indeed, the boy has made my home 
 in Canada these long years very sweet to me. What might 
 it have been in dear, old England ! At last I must tell him 
 what may even test his love for me. No, no, no, the boy is 
 too true. \in revery.~\ I am weary of that long-time burden. 
 I almost fear to tell him, but I must. The time is come. I 
 must, [rising, she puts knitting aside, takes keys.'] Why don't 
 they come ? I must take a look at the kitchen. Exit R. 
 
 Scene 2. — (John enters c, followed by Stephen Burda- 
 
 COMB.) 
 
 John [heartily.] We do not see you half often enough, 
 Uncle Stephen. Mother will be glad I have brought you. 
 And won't it be a real pleasure for mother that all our cattle 
 took premiums at the fair to-day. What with those Merino 
 sheep, and the hauling, and the busy season, and now the 
 fair, I am overhead in work. 
 
 Stephen, [pre-occupied.] Ay, ay, John, I know. Your 
 mother wrote me to come. She hev a thing to say. 
 
 John. Grot a thing to say, uncle ? Very well, uncle, I 
 shall be very glad to hear any thing that you and my mother 
 have got to tell me. 
 
 Stephen She said she hev a thing to say. It's been born 
 in upon me lately — last Sunday it was born in upon me that 
 — that massive (as you would say it was a barrel of apples), 
 
4 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 in church too. So when she said she hev a thing to say to 
 you, and when I knew what that thing must surely be, I 
 said to m^ old woman. I up and said, after dinner on Sun- 
 day morning : '^ I stood by Mary throughout. If Mary tells 
 the boy, 1 must be there too for to stand by her. John 
 Pomeroy," I said — meanin' you my lad, and no other — -^he's 
 a true boy and well grown, and never said nor done other 
 than what is right. But he don't know this, and when he 
 does know it, I must be there to stand by Mary. Blood," 
 I says to my old womon, ^' is thicker than water. She's the 
 only sister I have got, and I'm bound to stand by her. [they 
 have taken off coats and wrappings, and prepare to be seated by 
 the fire; enter Mrs. Pomeroy.] 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy, Here at last. My dear boy, my bright 
 ayes, your ride has made you ruddier than ever, \_kis sing him, '\ 
 Welcome, Stephen, I looked for you. 
 
 John. Ever so much luck to-day. mother ; all the cattle 
 came in for premiums, and — 
 
 Stephen. Ay, ay, John, but she hev something to say, and 
 she had best say it now. 
 
 John, [who had seated self on stool ^ resting o?i knee of another, 
 looking up into her face, who looks ?neditative .'] Certainly, 
 uncle. Well, mother. 
 
 Stephen, Me to stand by you always, Mary. Let the lad 
 know. 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. [still meditating, but gains st7'ength as she 
 proceeds.^ Four-and-twenty years ago, four-and-twenty long- 
 years ago, when you were only a month old, John, dear, we 
 sailed from Liverpool for this country — Stephen, and your 
 aunt Esther, and their two daughters, and I, and you in my 
 arms. 
 
 John. Yes, mother, I know. 
 
 Mrs, Pomeroy. We told the people in the boat, and we 
 told the people when we landed, that I was a widow. But 
 I was not, my son — oh ! I was not, and I am not now. 
 
 John, [leaning back from his mother's kjtee, thoughtful, his 
 face a little hardened. ] What do you mean, mother. 
 
 Stephen, Easy, lad. Let her say it out. 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy, We had quarreled, my husband and I ; 
 what we quarreled about does not matter. I have tried, all 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 5 
 
 these years, to persuade myself that it was my fault ; but I 
 can not, John, I can not. We quarrelled so bad that we 
 separated — only for a time, I thought. But he came after 
 me, a week later, and he said the most cruel, the most un- 
 founded, the most wicked things, [breaks down.'] 
 
 Stephen. [_firmly^ quietly] Stand by your mother, boy. 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. And I told him that nothing, nothing 
 should ever bring me back to his roof again. I left him. I 
 went home to Stephen. I heard nothing more from my hus- 
 band, and six months later you were born. And then we 
 came away. He never knew, he does not know now, that 
 he has a son. He does not know that he has a wife living. 
 He has lived alone ever since I left him, and I know not 
 whether he repents, or whether he has hardened his heart. 
 [John lays his ha?id upon hers.] It is for your own sake, 
 John, that I have told you the story. Tell me, my dear, 
 that you believe in your mother's innocence. 
 
 Stephen. Elseways there is no good in having a mother, 
 and you'd best ha' been born without. 
 
 {^John does not answer at firsts but he presses her hand^) 
 
 John, [after slight pause.] I must try as well to forgive 
 my father. 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. The time has come when you must cross 
 over and tell him. He has left the old place, and is living 
 now in London, and he is reputed to be wealthy. In your 
 own interest you ought to see him. 
 
 John, [hotly.] I do not want his money. 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. And it is your duty, my son. I shall 
 give you papers sent to me six or seven years ago, which 
 will establish in his mind the fact that he was made a dupe, 
 by a wicked man, of his own suspicions. You will give 
 them to him when you tell him who you are. 
 
 John, [who has arisen and paces the floor ^ And how am 
 am I to introduce myself? 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. I have thought of that, John. You will 
 go under an assumed name ; you will take a letter to my 
 old friend, Eli Ramsden ; he will talk to you, and you 
 must make out a plan. 
 
 John. When am I to go ? 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. You ought to go at once — in a few days. 
 
6 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 You can be best spared during the winter, and you will 
 come back to your mother in the spring, or as soon as you 
 can. Promise me that, my son. 
 
 John. Yes mother, I promise. 
 
 Mrs, Pomeroy. \_all riseJ\ He will go and see the old farm- 
 house, Stephen ; the dear old farmhouse at Moulsey Priors, 
 with the sun-dial and the ivy ; and the church where all the 
 Burdacombs lie buried, and the river, and the orchards. Oh, 
 Stephen, Stephen, shall we ever, you and I, go over again 
 to the old country 1 And I wonder what he is like now — 
 after so many years — my poor husband. My son, you must 
 
 go- 
 
 John, \all are standing, 
 his mother — curtain falls. 
 
 1 will, dear mother. \he embraces 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene 1. — [An old court; Great St. Simon Apostle, in London; 
 a church to side ; gloo??iy houses-, a business office; no shops. ) 
 
 John, A quaint old place, this. Why, it is like stepping 
 back a century into London to come from the busy street 
 to this quiet old square, and yet Lettice loves this old place. 
 I must not forget that my name is Ashton — not Pomeroy, 
 ior the present. I almost forget in talking with Lettice. 
 Ah. here she comes. \_Lettice Langton comes l., book in hand, 
 plain costume for a walk. John., defe^'entially,^ Good morn- 
 ing. Miss Langton. 
 
 Lettice. Good morning, Mr. Ashton. 
 
 John. You said, that is, I hoped, that you might be 
 walking here to-day. 
 
 Lettice. [rather sadly ^ I walk here every day. 
 
 John, [looking around compassionately.^ Every day, in this 
 prison of a place? 
 
 Lettice. [gently.~\ I do not find it a prison ; I find it a 
 place where I get fresh air and exercise, and can think. 
 
 John, [in some wonder.'] Tell me, do you never go outside 
 these walls ? 
 
 Lettice. 0, yes, sometimes. To-day, I thought I would 
 go as tar as St. Paul's, and walk up and down the south 
 aisle. 
 
 John, Another prison ! 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 7 
 
 Lettice. But when I got to the end of the passage the 
 crowd was so great, and the men were jostling each other so 
 that I could not bear to think that I was going to make one 
 of such a mob ; and, besides, the cabs were noisier than 
 usual, and so I* came back to my old favorite walk where 
 nobody ever comes to disturb one. 
 
 John, Every day the same thing ? 
 
 Lettice. You mean my daily life. If you like I will tell 
 you how my days are spent. We have breakfast at nine, 
 Mr. Pomeroy and I. I suppose you think that late in Can- 
 ada, Mr. Ashton? 
 
 John. Well — yes. I hardly see how we should get along 
 at all if we had no breakfast till nine. 
 
 Lettice. At two o'clock I send in his luncheon on a tray. 
 In the afternoon I come down into the court, when all the 
 footsteps have hurried away, and walk about here for exer- 
 cise and fresh air. 
 
 John, [compassionately, ~\ She calls this fresh air — and at 
 night — 
 
 Lettice. Business over, Mr. Pomeroy rarely speaks. He 
 has had me taught as girls usually are. I have my piano, 
 but only play when he can not hear me, and is away. He 
 never asks me. He looks at me sometimes and murmers, 
 '" like all the rest, like all the rest — large deductions." 
 
 John, Have you no visitors ? 
 
 Lettice. Only his clients on business. He reads, sits by 
 the fire, and looks in the coals. At half past seven I give 
 ' him a cup of tea ; at ten he takes down his pipe and fills it, 
 and then I leave him and go to my own room. 
 
 John, And while he reads and looks through the fire — a 
 pretty way of getting through the evening — why can't he 
 talk or take you somewhere? 
 
 Lettiee. It has always been understood from the beginning 
 that i was to leave, Mr. Pomeroy to go on living as he had 
 always lived ; that I might do as I pleased, provided he was 
 not disturbed. He gave me a piano, for instance, and as he 
 told me I should not disturb him by playing, I play of even- 
 ings only ; sometimes I think he listens. 
 
 John, And does he actually never talk to you — never? 
 
 Lettice. Before breakfast he says '^good morning," in the 
 
8 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 eveniDg he says ^-good night." Sometimes he will ask me 
 at dinner if I want any thing. When I tell him that I want 
 nothing, and am grateful for his kindness, he says, "large 
 deductions." 
 
 Joh7i. What does he mean by that? 
 
 Letiice. It is his way, you know. He pretends — because 
 it can be nothing but pretence — to believe nobody. And in 
 the same way, he will now and then ask me how my brother 
 Will is doing ; and when I tell him that he is doing well, 
 and is grateful for the start in life, which Mr. Pomeroy 
 gave him, he says, 'hum, grateful — large deductions," 
 meaning that poor Will is not so grateful as he pretends to 
 be. 
 
 John, And have you nobody — nobody at all — to talk to ? 
 
 Leitice, Nobody at all, Mr. Ashton ; only the cook and 
 the housemaid, and perhaps the old woman at the church. 
 
 John. But that is a Dutch church. Do you go there? 
 
 Lettice. Yes. It is close by, and one avoids the crowds 
 and rush. 
 
 John, But you do not understand Dutch ? 
 
 Lettice. But it is going to church, you see ; and if you 
 shut your eyes, and make believe, the language sounds very 
 much like English. And then there are the hymns. They 
 are sad hymns really, sung in unison, and they play the 
 organ in chords, so that the music rolls about the roof and 
 peals in gusts, like the wind on a winter night. I do not 
 think I could go to any other church now. And then I 
 look at the faces of the Dutchmen, and wonder what they 
 are thinking about, and if being a Dutchman is being very 
 different from an Englishman. 
 
 John, You derive joy from every thing. Miss Langton. 
 But your life is too inactive to be real life. 
 
 Lettice. 0. no. \laughing7\ I am a real housekeeper ; 
 plenty of business — with two servants, a cook, and a maid — 
 bills to pay, and such things. 
 
 John. But always shut up in a room which looks on a 
 dead wall ; always taking exercise in a vault with the roof 
 off, never a soul to speak too, never any society, and yet 
 you are happy, Miss Langton? You are actually happy? 
 
 Lettice, [looking up into his /ace.~\ Yes, I suppose I am 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 9 
 
 happy. Life is so smooth, for one thing — and when I came 
 here first it seemed as if that compensated for all the soli- 
 tude. We had a great misfortune just before we came ; a 
 great and terrible thing happened to us — to Will and 
 to me. 
 
 John, Will? 
 
 Leiiice. Yes. My brother. Of course. I see him every 
 Sunday evening. Mr. Pomeroy always spends the whole of 
 Sunday in his office ; he comes to see me in the evening, and 
 we have tea and music. Dear Will ! You would like my 
 brother Will, Mr. Ashton. 
 
 John. I am sure I should, if he is in the least like — like 
 the sister. 
 
 Letiice. \not regarding the compliment7\ My brother Will, 
 he is two years younger than I am. He is seventeen now. 
 It is seven years since — since that dreadful misfortune hap- 
 pened to us, and of course it was worse for me than for him 
 at the time, because I was the elder. I came here to live 
 with Mr. Pomeroy, and Will was sent to school, and when 
 he was sixteen, a year ago, he got him a place in a great 
 house in the city, where they pay him forty pounds a year. 
 It isn't much, but it is a beginoing. And oh, Mr. Ashton, 
 he is such a bright-face, handsome boy, and his ways 
 are so winning. Indeed, indeed you would like my brother 
 Will. 
 
 John. So you have been a real prisoner for four years. I 
 hope you will let me come and see you often. 
 
 Lettice. 0, I shall like it ever so much, for you are the 
 only one I know in London. My life is so quiet. And that 
 music you gave me, the old ballad, I have learned to play 
 quite well. Last night Mr. Pomeroy for the first time asked 
 me to play, and I played it. It pleased him. I had to 
 play it twice. He looked in the fire and murmured, " It 
 must be a trick of memory, it sounds so like a music I once 
 so loved." 
 
 John. It is my favorite piece, and my mother's too. We 
 are late this evening. I have business with Mr. Pomeroy, 
 and a letter of introduction to him. I shall come this very 
 evening. So now, good bye. 
 
 Lettice, Good bye, Mr. Ashton. [_Lettice exit R., John l.] 
 
10 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 Scene 2. — (Wt'll Langton enters L., cane, jauntily attired^ 
 cigar in mouthy not loud, he being a youth just learning the 
 ways,) 
 
 Will Langton. 0, bother, T thought Lettice would be 
 here. She always walks here of evenings. But I am too 
 late. I can't well go to the house. I can't get the money 
 from her there, with Mr. Pomeroy always watching the fire, 
 and who can see every thing. He makes altogether too 
 many deductions. It won't do to let him know it. \walks 
 about impatiently, ] 
 
 KugeL [enters L.] I saw she wasn't here, so I followed. 
 
 WilL I say, Kugel, Lettice has already given me three 
 quarters of her allowance. I can't get any more from her. 
 I have been running in debt ever since I have known you, 
 Kugel, just three months. They are dunning me about 
 those things 1 got on tick. 
 
 KugeL I know. Come, don't anticipate trouble. If Cas- 
 sandra wins — 
 
 WilL But if she don't win ? 
 
 KugeL — if Cassandra wins, I pocket a cool hundred 
 pounds, and you, my boy, twenty. Just think of twenty 
 pounds. She's bound to win. Didn't the trainer's own 
 first cousin tell me there was nothing could stand against 
 her ? Hasn't she gone up from twenty to one, when I got 
 the tip, to six to one ? 
 
 WilL If she doesn't I'm gone. 
 
 KugeL Oh, your sister will lend you more money. 
 
 WilL I don't know whether she will have it ; and then 
 she must never know about my betting. Well, where shall 
 we go to-night? 
 
 KugeL We went to the Connaught Hall last night. I 
 don't think we want two nights running of that entertain- 
 ment, in spite of the ballet. Let us have a little pool. 
 Have you got any money ? 
 
 WilL I've got ten shillings. "^ 
 
 KugeL That will be more than we shall want. I'll show 
 you how to divide the pool. 
 
 WilL I want first some coflFee and a roll. 
 
 KugeL And I some gin and bitters, [go out l.] 
 
LARGE DEDTTCTIONS. 11 
 
 Scene 3. — (^Old Fomerofs room; solid furniture; office desk; 
 piano; fire; Leitice reading to self in one corner^ seated on 
 music stool where she remains; Fo?ne?vy looking in fire^ 
 
 Po77ieroy. [bell rings.'] Who is that Lettice ? [maid enters 
 and delivers a letter.] 
 
 Maid, The gentleman asked me to deliver this. I said 
 that you saw no one in the evening, but he says he wants to 
 see you very particular. 
 
 Pomeroy. Humph. Give me the letter. It is from old 
 Eli Ramsden, the Quaker, of Moulsey Priors. What has 
 he got to say to me ? 
 
 "Dear Friend John Pomeroy. — The bearer of this 
 " note, John Ashton, has to confer with thee on practical 
 " questions. It is for thy great good that thee should see 
 " him at once, see him often, and learn to know him. This 
 ''• in truth, from thy friend, Eli Ramsden." 
 
 For my great good? See him often? What does Rams- 
 den mean? Jane, light us a fire and show the young man 
 up. [Maid lights fire and exit] My ^reat good ! As if 
 any thing could happen to me now for my great good ! 
 [enter John c; Lettice starts; the old man remains seated^ 
 
 Pomeroy, You are Mr. John Ashton ? 
 
 John. I am — I am John Ashton. 
 
 Pomeroy. [looking steadily at John^ My old friend, Eli 
 Ramsden, tells me that you wish to see me. How can I 
 serve you ? or, as we are men of business, and I like to call 
 things by their proper names, how can we serve each other? 
 
 John. Let us call things by their proper names. You 
 can serve me by teaching me. 
 
 Pomeroy. I am not a private tutor. 
 
 John. And yet you can serve me by teaching me. You 
 are, Mr. Ramsden tells me, better acquainted than any liv- 
 ing man with agricultural work of all kinds in England. 
 
 Pomeroy. Eli Ramsden is a man of truth. I should not 
 have said that of myself. But since he says it you may ac- 
 cept it. 
 
 John. I do accept it. I am a Canadian, sir, not by birth, 
 because I was born in England, but went to Canada twenty- 
 four years ago, as an infant passenger, in the first steamer 
 
12 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 of the Allan Mail Line that ever crossed the Atlantic, so 
 having passed twenty-four years out of twenty-five and two 
 months in the country, I claim to call myself to be a Cana- 
 dian born. 
 
 Pomeroy, You seem proud of it. 
 
 John. I am proud of it, sir ; we are going to be a great 
 country some day. 
 
 Pomeroy. Ah ! Large deductions ! 
 
 John. Well, we will talk about that another time. I am 
 over here to learn all that can be known, all that can be 
 taught me, to aid me on my farm in Canada. 
 
 Pomeroy. You have a farm ? Of your own ? 
 
 John. It is my mother's. I am her only son, and I am 
 therefore, in a sense, the owner. 
 
 Pomeroy. And you have brought over money ? We do 
 nothing here for love. 
 
 John. I am in command of three thousand pounds, most 
 of which, am to lay out to advantage in implements and 
 stock, but part I may spend upon myself. 
 
 Pomeroy, To throw away on what you call ornaments. 
 
 John, No sir, to throw away in education — in such things 
 as one can not get in the backwoods, and Mr. Ramsden says 
 you can help me. 
 
 Pomeroy. Ah. I am agent for more than one kind of 
 business. Suppose I can help you ? 
 
 John. Then we will make an arrangement. This is my 
 proposition : I will come here three nights in the week ; 
 you shall answer my questions — there will be plenty of 
 them — and you will tell me what you know. There is 
 plenty of knowledge in your brains if I can get it out. 
 Think it over and make a proposal as to terms. Just as 
 well be talking to me as sitting over a fire. 
 
 Pomejvy. [leans self on arm of chair on elbow^ thinks a 
 moment^ replies slowly.'] You say that your name is John 
 Ashton — John Ashtou. I never knew any one of that 
 name ; and yet your eyes seem familiar to me. I knew a — 
 a person with the same eyes once ; quite the same eyes. I 
 thought that person was in every way to be trusted. But 
 there — the same dull old story — the usual deductions. Never 
 trust to appearances, boy. Never believe in your neighbor. 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 13 
 
 Fight for your own hand. Praise nobody. Trust nobody. 
 Ask no trust of any body. There, you have learned more 
 wisdom from me in two minutes than you have learned all 
 your life in Canada. The time came to me when I gave up 
 what you call pleasures, because I learned to know the 
 world. Was taught it in a single lesson. Most men learn 
 it in a series of lessons. 
 
 John. Perhaps, sir, that is a sort of wi&dom which every 
 man must have for himself. This young lady would not 
 believe it- as yet, at any rate. I am sure of that — any more 
 than I believe it. 
 
 Letiice. \looking at Pomeroy, and holding out arms depreca- 
 tingly.~\ No. I can not believe that there are no good people 
 in the world. I have met with one, at least. 
 
 Pomeroy, Tush ! nonsense, girl. What do you know ? 
 
 John, Will you take me, Mr. Pomeroy ? You shall call 
 me your pupil, your apprentice, any thing you please ; only 
 take me. Let me come here three nights a week for a 
 a month or two. You will find me an apt pupil and a 
 ready learner ; only you must let me come as a friend and 
 an equal, else I am afraid my Canadian habits will surprise 
 you. 
 
 Pomeroy, Why do you want to come so much ? 
 
 John, Why ? For fifty reasons. Listen a moment, sir. 
 Canada is a poor country, because she has never had a fair 
 chance of attracting capital. What is the best way of at- 
 tracting capital? 
 
 Pomeroy. That is a broad question. 
 
 John. No sir. I think it is a narrow one. It is — success. 
 Now, I believe we are going to succeed at last. We are 
 going to become the great stock-farm of England. We 
 have the lands, we have the railways, and we have the boats. 
 As we grow in wealth, so we shall grow in greater esteem. 
 I guess that is so, sir ? 
 
 Pomeroy. At least, young man, you seem sensible. You 
 may come. Let it be from to-morrow night. Now you, 
 may go. 
 
 John, Then, good evening, sir. \_ John goes ^ bowing to Let- 
 tice also, who returns it.'\ 
 
 Pomeroy. [after pause with some excitement.'] I am a fool, 
 
14 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 Lettice. I am a fool to admit that boy to the house. What 
 does Eli Ramsden mean by sending me a mad Canadian ? 
 AH because his eyes made me think of some one else. 
 Eyes, and mouth, and voice — gestures, too, all remind me. 
 Strange tricks memory plays. Good-night, Lettice. Go, 
 girl, go ! [^Fomeroy alone.^ What is it? The lad's eyes, his 
 mouth, his gestures — all remind me of her. Rubbish ! I 
 am put out, and nervous. She is dead — dead, long ago — 
 long ago — dead and forgotten ! 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene 1. — (^Street in London; enter Kugel R., Will l., hasten- 
 ing and about to pass^ 
 
 KugeL Langton ! Langton ! 
 
 WtlL ! Kugel, what about the race — Cassandra? 
 
 Kugel. She must have been got at. Nowhere at all — not 
 in it — not even placed! Oh, if we could only find out how 
 it was done ! A hundred pounds lost — cheated out of a 
 hundred pounds ! 
 
 Will. That cleans me out. 
 
 KugeL Cheer up, young 'un, the game isn't over yet, 
 thouirh we have lost this time. What's a sovereign, after 
 all ? That's all you've really lost, though you feel as if it 
 was more. It's worse for me — I feel as if I had lost a hun- 
 dred. I thought that hundred was certain. 
 
 Will, It can't be worse for you than for me. I made 
 sure of that twenty, and I've got no money, and I shan't 
 have any, except the weekly pay — Sfteen shillings every 
 Saturday — for three months more. How am I to pay up ? 
 And he threatens to go to Mr. Pomeroy and tell him what 
 sort of life I've been leading. 
 
 KugeL What if he does ? 
 
 WilL You don't know Mr. Pomeroy. If he were to find 
 out that I g:o about with — with — 
 
 KugeL With me. 
 
 WilL Yes, with you and your set — I should hear the last 
 of my allowance. And poor Lettice — Kugel, you must help 
 me out of the scrape. 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 15 
 
 KugeL It's deuced unlucky for both of us. As for me, 
 my landlady doesn't know where my office is, and I don't 
 mean to let her know of Ferris & Halkett s. I owe for 
 three weeks now — rent, and coals, and breakfast. Promised 
 to pay up on Saturday. I rather think, Langton, my boy, 
 that when she sends up her bill on Saturday morning, she 
 will find the bird flown. How much do you really want? 
 
 WilL The bill is fifteen pounds, five shillings, and six- 
 pence. 
 
 KugeL Phew ! You must ask for time. It's your only 
 chance. 
 
 Will. Four o'clock ! And now I can't pay in. 
 
 KugeL Were you going to the bank? Well that does 
 not matter. You can take it back for to-night. 
 
 WilL No, the clerk has just left. 
 
 KugeL 0, then you can slip out to-morrow at ten and pay 
 it in the first thing. 
 
 WilL I suppose I will have to do that. Kugel what am 
 I to do, now Cassandra has lost. 
 
 KugeL It is ridiculous to make a fuss over debts. If you 
 can't pay them, say so, and let them do what they like. A 
 gentleman wants all the coin he can get for his amusements. 
 Hang debts ! 
 
 Will, But if he goes to Mr. Pomeroy and lets out about 
 things. 
 
 KugeL There will be a row, that's all, and he will blow 
 up and pay up, and you will go on the same as before. 
 Come, Langton, let's have a glass of something. 
 
 WilL I am too near out of money. My board — 
 
 KugeL Devil take your landlady. How much money 
 have you in your pocket to deposit for Ferris & Halkett ? 
 
 WilL Two hundred pounds in notes, eighty-five in gold. 
 
 KugeL \musingly] Eighty -five in gold ! And the notes, 
 I suppose they \_pointing cautiously over shoulder as if to 
 Ferris 6^ Halketfs\ know the numbers. 
 
 WilL I took them down. They are in my desk. 
 KugeL Ah, in your desk. Well, old man, take care you 
 do not lose that bag. Eighty-five pounds. Eight-y-five- 
 pounds ! What a flutter we could have, you and I to- 
 gether if we had that money to spend. Pay your bills and 
 
16 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 all. Start us fair again. It would be a good joke, wouldn't 
 it ? \_leans over and temptingly makes the suggestion'] to pre- 
 tend that you had lost the bag, wouldn't it? Let us see : 
 you might say that it had been pulled out of your hand as 
 you walked along, eh ? You were afraid, you know, to 
 tell them till the morning. I wonder how that would wash ? 
 
 Will. Tell them I lost it ? But I haven't lost it ! 
 
 Kugel. Ha ! ha ! ha ! It would be a good joke — only as 
 a joke, but it won't work; hey? Come \taking warmly by 
 the arnt\ come let's have a game of pool, and this time — 
 gin for two. 
 
 Scene 2. — {KugeVs bed roo^n much in disorder; old trunk, bed, 
 &^c,, beer bottles, a boot, pipes hanging up, two doors ^ R. 
 and L. center, transom over one of the doors?) 
 
 De Rosenay. [smoking cap, curled fnustache, a very pro- 
 nounced Frenchman in appearance, pipe in hand.] Monsieur 
 de Rosenay, you have one grand curiosetay. Here I, Mon- 
 sieur de Rosenay, have ennui. I see nothings from my 
 window. 1 have nothings to do. I not even write my 
 grand letter to the Paris Journal du Monde. I smoke, I 
 have sing all de day, and just now I have one grande curi- 
 osite to look in my neighbor's room. Six months in thees 
 lodging house, and him I nevaire see. I mooch loike to see 
 zat man. He come so often in de night times, sometimes 
 feery dronk. Ze young lady on ze other side, who paint 
 de photograph I know, and de milliner, and — and — but 
 some one come. I look again. 
 
 Scene 3. — {KugeVs room; enter Will very drunk^ led by Kugel, 
 who lays him on the bed; mixes some gin and water, raises 
 WiWs head, who drinks and falls back in stupor; Kugel 
 slowly takes knife from cabinet (^just then de Rosenay appears 
 at transoni); looks at Will; cuts off buttons; gashes button- 
 holes; draws out bag from WilVs inside pocket, counts gold 
 on table in eight piles; puts notes in envelope; takes up carpet 
 and a loose board in one corner, and conceals money.) 
 
 Kugel. [as above^ giving him gin.] I rather guess this will 
 settle him. Nothing like your gin on top of beer. It's a 
 reg'lar *' stone fence." [after cutting.] I found him [putting 
 
LAEGE DEDtTCTlONS. 17 
 
 finger to nose and winking] drunk on the curbstone, robbed, 
 of course. I'll stand by you, old boy. But then of course 
 nobody'll believe you were robbed. 'Twon't wash. There 
 was a similar case last year, a fellow pretending to lose 
 money. He got five years. My advice to you is to keep 
 quiet — get out of the way — 'twon't do, you know — too 
 thin. \j:huckling.'] Now for a time with the boys, [goes out 
 singing dramatically^ ^^Schlafe wohl du susser engel du"'] 
 
 De Rosenay, [still over transom,~\ And dees is my neebor ! 
 I must see vat he do weeth the yoong man ; I try to open my 
 door, [gets down, tries door, it opens, '] I unbolt my door. 
 [sees letter on table,~\ Oh! ha! Slon-sieur Ku-gel, Messrs. 
 Ferris & Halket's. [goes to Will; takes letter from pocket.'] 
 Aha ! Mr. William Lang-ton, Messrs. Ferris & Halkett. It 
 becomes complicated, this affair. Situation. Two clerks 
 in one bureau. Good. I write one grande letter to the 
 Monde. I write one drama comme Sardou. Ze young 
 clerk gets dronk, ze more older clerk he r-r-rob him. Tiens, 
 tiens — what next ? Next he hide ze money. Where ? 
 Sous le plancher — in ze ground, Bien, bien. [he goes on 
 hands and knees to examine planks, and finds the money."] 
 What to do ? What to do ? If I leave the packet, he will 
 perhaps come home and take ze money and go. If I take 
 ze packet, one might soospect me — bah ! that is impossible — - 
 soospect Henri de Rosenay ? Zat is foolish, zat is absurd; 
 I weell take ze money, I weell watch for to-day and to-mor- 
 row. Aha ! to-morrow, I weell go to his office and denounce 
 ze true robber. End of act tree, with fifth grand tableau. 
 
 Scene 4. — (Street scene; young fellows; clerks; a fast crowd; 
 vociferous. ) 
 
 1st speaker. Shall we have some pool. 
 
 2d speaker. Billiards and pool, say I. 
 
 *M speaker. We'll go around any how — I am for the new 
 game. 
 
 1st speaker. What new game is that ? 
 
 2d speaker. Why, at cards, Pedro I mean. 
 
 ^d speaker. A royal game, in fact, Dom Pedro, played 
 with the entire pack, the tray spot being elevated to the 
 peerage, and much more whereof — when you set up the 
 cigars for the crowd. 
 
18 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 2d Speaker. I hope Kugel and his chum, Langton, will be 
 on hand. I love to see Langton play — he has just learned, 
 and has an insane love for trumps, nine spots, and the points. 
 
 Zd speaker. Well, it is a fascinating game. Demme, I 
 could never see any thing in whist, which is made for quar- 
 relling, and the secret of which is only learned in old age. 
 Euchre is played, as it were with only half a regiment, 
 most of them officers ; now your seven up — 
 
 \st speaker. See here, young man, we don't want a lecture 
 on cards — 
 
 2^ speaker. Nor billiards — 
 
 ^th speaker. Nor horse-racing — 
 
 ^th speaker. Nor hunting. 
 
 \st speaker. In fact, you had better pull down your vest ! 
 (all laugh. ^ 
 
 2d speaker. Sheer your nibs ! 
 
 3^ speaker. You fellows won't let a fellow talk sense. Now 
 Kugel is a player from the knobs — what particular locality I 
 can't — 
 
 1st speaker. Come on — on, on, Stanly, on, to the billiard 
 room ! 
 
 Scene 5. — {The old square; Lettice R., meets John coming L.) 
 
 Lettice. Oh, Mr. Ashton [taking his hand~\j if you can 
 not help me, no one can. 
 
 John. If I can help you — 
 
 Lettice. My brother Will, \sobs after a pause. ^ You have 
 not heard then. A messenger has just come from Ferris & 
 Halkett's saying that Will has disappeared with three hun- 
 dred pounds. He had it to take to the bank. The bank 
 account was sent after the close of banking hours to Ferris 
 '& Halkett's ; the money had not been left. They have 
 commenced at once to search. Will can be found nowhere. 
 ! Mr. Ashton, my brother can not have done wrong. 
 Find him. See what is wrong. Help me. Save him. 
 
 John. It is a tough contract to find one in London. In- 
 deed I will try. Be in good cheer. I will do all. 
 
 Lettice, Poor — poor Will ! Oh, Mr. Ashton, try to think 
 that my brother is not — is not really bad ! He can not — 
 oh, he can not — have taken the money wilfully. Some ac- 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 19 
 
 cident may have happened ; he may have lost it; he may — 
 oh, I do not know what to think. 
 
 John. Try not to think at all, Miss Langton. Let me 
 think for you. Now, may I begin ? 
 Lettice. Yes, if you please. 
 
 John, London is a big place, full of temptation. Your 
 brother is only seventeen years of age ; he lives in lodgings 
 — all alone — at seventeen. There is no place for him to go 
 in the evening ; he may have got into bad company. You 
 must not think too hardly of a boy left all alone. Let us 
 try, first, to ascertain in what company he has been lately. 
 Tell me, Miss Langton, have you any reason for believing 
 that your brother was not — not quite steady ? 
 
 Lettice, I should have said, yesterday — nothing. But 
 now, I remember little things. He was always without 
 money. He only had forty pounds a year, but Mr. Pomeroy 
 doubled that for him, and — and — and — he had all my 
 money too. 
 John, All your money ? 
 
 Lettice. Very nearly all. Mr. Pomeroy gives me forty 
 pounds a year for my dress, and poor Will borrowed, last 
 year, nearly all that. 
 
 John. Humph ! That makes a hundred and twenty. 
 What did he pay for his lodgings ? 
 
 Lettice. He had a single room, with the use of sitting- 
 room, for five shillings a week. 
 
 John, I see. Five shillings a week for lodgings ; two 
 shillings for breakfast ; seven shillings for dinner, half-a- 
 crown for tea and supper ; a couple of shillings for washing ; 
 eighteen pence for sundries — that makes only fifty -two 
 pounds a year. What do you think he did with the rest ? 
 Lettice, He had to dress himself. 
 
 John, Very well, fifteen pounds — sixty-seven pounds — 
 leaving fifty-three pounds. What did he do with that fifty- 
 three pounds — more than a pound a week? 
 
 Lettice, Indeed, I am afraid he spent it all on amuse- 
 ments. I must go now. \_giving both hands impetuously, '\ 
 Indeed I have hope now. 0, Mr. Ashton, indeed I have 
 faith in you, my only friend. You have known me only a 
 week, and yet you are so kind. Are all Canadians like you? 
 
20 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 John, \with emotion.~\ We are old friends, are we not, just 
 as if we had known each other all our lives. Have hope, 
 Miss Langton ; to-morrow I will report what I have done. 
 
 Lettice, Hope ! Yes, 1 have hope while you are here. 
 Everything seems easy ; but when you are gone, and 1 am 
 alone, then the misery begins. Poor Will ! my poor, dear 
 brother. Oh, he can not — can not have — taken the money ! 
 
 John. No ! never believe that. 
 
 Lettice. Yet Mr. Pomeroy thinks so. And before you 
 came I was having dreadful thoughts of — of policemen and 
 trials ; things one has read of. Oh, tell me, tell me, is it a 
 dream ? Are you a dream ? Will you pass away and leave 
 me here again in this great, silent house where no one ever 
 comes, and no one ever speaks? I used to have dreams 
 in the daytime before you came. They crossed my brain 
 when I was awake, and sometimes I did not know whether 
 I was sleeping or walking in my sleep. And now I feel the 
 same again, just the same as if I was walking in my sleep. 
 
 John. Lettice, I will never leave you alone again. I am 
 no dream at least. Are these hands a dream ? Did ever 
 arms in dreams fold you round like this, \_she draws away 
 confuted,'] Forgive me, Lettice, but do not talk like that, 
 you terrify me. Promise me that you will not let such 
 thoughts dwell in your mind. Remember, I am your friend 
 — no dream, unless we are all dreams together — if you will 
 let me be your triend. 
 
 Lettice. Oh, if 1 will let you, I who have never had a 
 friend before. 
 
 John. We must part. I to look for Will. Be patient. 
 
 Lettice. 0, thanks, my friend. \^Exit R.] 
 
 John. \alone7\ The boy must be in bad company. 
 [thoughtful, after pause.~\ Hold, I have an idea. It is worth 
 trying. The boy is too young for crime on his own account. 
 [goes out L.] 
 
 Scene 6. — (^Saloon with door leading to billiard room; 
 players^ some with coats off, cues in hand, come in, ask for 
 drinks.) 
 
 1st speaker, I say, George, how did you come out in that 
 game with Hanly last night. 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 21 
 
 2d Speaker, 0, I cooked him for fifty. Tough bird, but 
 oan't play with me. He has genius for euchre, though. 
 He is having a turn with Jones, of Samuels & Simkins' 
 now. I think he'll rather take the starch out of him. 
 
 ^d speaker. Jones made a haul, by the way, on the Derby. 
 
 \st speaker. Yes, and Kugel, like a consummate fool, 
 had to throw his money away on Cassandra. Day Star was 
 the horse. I told him that. 
 
 \jEnter John; takes seat at table in front; does not order drink 
 from waiter, ~\ 
 
 1st speaker. And Langton lost too, but then he's a greener, 
 and Kugel has him soft. 
 
 2d speaker. By the way, where is Kugel to-night? 
 
 All. [as Kugel enters,^ Kugel ! Kugel ! 
 
 \st speaker. Where is young Langton to-night? 
 
 Kugel. I thought some of you fellows could tell me. 
 
 \st speaker. Well, he is always with you, and you took 
 him away last night. Precious drunk he was too. 
 
 Kugel. No, he left before me. 
 
 1st speaker. Why I walked down stairs with you both. 
 
 Kugel, My dear fellow, how could that be, when I tell 
 you that Langton left half an hour before me? 
 
 1st speaker. I suppose I was drunk too, then \_laughing\y 
 because I have a firm recollection of propping Langton up 
 on one side, while you helped him up on the other. 
 
 2d speaker. What the deuce does it matter who went out 
 first ? I dare say Langton will turn up some time. 
 
 John, [advancing and addressing 1st speaker,'] Are you, sir, 
 certain of what you say ? 
 
 1st speaker. Well, I don't know what concern it is of 
 yours. We are all friends here, and we don't know you. 
 
 John. It concerns you all, in this way : Langton was 
 here last night with a bag of money in his coat-pocket, 
 belonging to his employers, Messrs. Ferris & Halkett. 
 He has not been home at his lodgings ; he has not been 
 heard of any where. It is therefore interesting for all 
 of you, because you may be asked questions, to find out 
 with whom William Langton left this room. 
 
 1st speaker, Kugel, you did leave the room with him — I 
 remember it perfectly. Does no other fellow remember 
 
22 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 any thing about it ? [all shrug shoulders, and remain, or talk 
 apart ^ 
 
 Kugel. And who are you, sir ? coming here to poke your 
 nose into other people's affairs— a Yankee detective? 
 
 John, I am here on behalf of the boy's nearest relative. I 
 am going to look for that boy. If any of you are his 
 friends, as you pretend to be, you will help me. 
 
 ?>d speaker. Look here, if Langton has bolted with the 
 money, or if Kugel has helped him off, and we get called 
 upon to give evidence, it won't do any of us much good to 
 have to state in a witness-box what we know about their go- 
 ings on, and where we spend our evenings. 
 
 \st speaker, Kugel, you may fight your own battles. You 
 did go off with him ; and I saw you turn the corner into 
 HollDorn with him. And that, if I must swear to it, I will. 
 But as for the rest, 1 know nothing ; and Fm' not going to 
 get the sack, if I can help it, from my religious firm by con- 
 fessing to music-halls and billiard-rooms, and all the rest of 
 it. \they all quietly have slipped away separately. Kugel starts. ~\ 
 
 John. Hold ! You and I must have a word or two before 
 we part. What have you done with the boy ? 
 
 Kugel. I have done nothing about him, or his money 
 either. 
 John. Good. Are you going home ? 
 
 Kugel. Yes, I am. 
 
 John. I will go with you. I must know to a certainty 
 who you are and where you live. 
 
 Kugel. \_stubbornly7\ Then I stay here. 
 
 John, Then wild cats is the word ! In the first place, I 
 shall have the pleasure of giving you a good caning. And 
 then a policeman will take us both to the station, when I 
 can say who I am and where I live — and you must ! [Police- 
 man comes in, saying, ^^ Time to shut up.'''] There, if you will 
 have it. 
 
 Kugel. I give him in charge for assault and battery. 
 
 Policeman. Come, you must both go. This isn't the first 
 time I have had to look after rows in this house. Come 
 along, come along ! [John willingly. Kugel, struggling, wrests 
 himself away ^ and escapes through door.] 
 
LARGE DEBTTCTIONS. 23 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene 1. — {Office of Halkett^ of Ferris ^ Halkett ; a screen ; 
 business office ; Halkett and Rosenay seated as if engaged in 
 earnest conversation ; a servant,^ 
 
 DeRosenay. Mais, mon Dieu — 
 
 Halkett. 1 understand all. \to servant^ You may tell Mr. 
 Ashton he may come up. \to Rosenay.~\ You, mossoo, will 
 have the goodness to sit a little apart, and say nothing, 
 nothing at all for the present. \_Rosenay moves aside ; enter 
 Ashton.] You have found out something? You have a 
 clue ? 
 
 John, [shaking head ^ Very little, sir, I am sorry to say; 
 but I ascertained yesterday who was Langton's chief friend, 
 and to-day I find he is one of your clerks. 
 
 Halkett, Ay ! ay ! that is something. 
 
 John. It is a man named Kugel. 
 
 Halkett. One of our foreign correspondence clerks. Pray 
 go on Mr. Ashton. Will you take a chair ? 
 
 John, I found out where this man Kugel was likely to be 
 found — a billiard-room — and I went there and found him. 
 I asked him what has become of Langton. He refused to 
 tell me, but it was proved that they left the place together, 
 and that Langton was drunk. 
 
 Rosenay. Dronk ! Mon Dieu ! Nevare I see a man so 
 dronk. 
 
 John, [looking around astonished.'] Were you there then? 
 
 Halkett. Go on pray, Mr. Ashton. And then ? 
 
 John. As he refused to give any account of the boy, I 
 told him I should follow him home. Now Mr. Halkett, ob- 
 serve that if there were no reason why I should not follow 
 him home, he would have made no objection. But what 
 did he do ? He refused ; I cowhided him. 
 
 Halkett. Oh ! you cowhided him — that is you thrashed 
 him, did you ? 
 
 John. I did, sir. And now, Mr. Halkett, as I am sure 
 that when we find out this clerk's lodgings, we shall learn 
 where the boy has gone, or get upon his track, I have an 
 ofi'er to make you. I am not rich, but I have a few hun- 
 dreds. They are my mother's property, but I can use them. 
 
24 LARGE BEDTTCTIONS. 
 
 1 will pay the whole amount by check, if you will at once 
 undertake to let the boy go. 
 
 Halkett. We will not speak of that. I know more than 
 you, my friend, as you will speedily find out. And I may 
 tell you beforehand, that there will be no prosecution. The 
 boy, whether guilty or not in intent, of which I know 
 nothing, is innocent in reality. 
 John. Thank God ! 
 
 Halkett, And, if I may ask, what relation are you, sir, 
 pray, to the boy? 
 John, None at all, sir ; I have never seen him. 
 
 Halkett, Then what — what reason have you for proposing 
 this generosity on his behalf? 
 
 John, A selfish one, Mr. Halkett. I want to take the 
 boy back to his only sister, and I want to ask that young 
 lady to marry me. 
 
 Rosenay \in ecstasies^ throwing up hands ^ etc7\ Ah ! It is 
 beau-ti-ful. It is ravishing. It is a tableau tor ze Porte 
 St. Martin. Why do give ze money ? Am I a fool ? Am 
 I mad ? No, it is not zat, I am a fool. It is \he slapped his 
 heart with e7?iotio?t.~\ It is zat I lo-ove ze English mees. 
 Tableau ! 
 
 Halkett, \touchi7iga bell; enter servant. ~\ Say to Mr. Kugel 
 that I wish to see him. You will be good enough, police- 
 man, to stand behind the screen until I touch the bell. 
 You, Mr. Ashton. and you, mossoo, had better go behind 
 the screen, too, and you will all then wait there until I ring 
 the bell. Then you can come out. 
 
 Rosenay. \_directing the positions behifid the scree7i7\ A moi, 
 you Monsieur le Gendarme, here; you. Monsieur, here; 
 I in ze front. Hein ? When ze bell rings, I am in front ; 
 I dash ze screen aside — so ; it falls with a — how you say ? 
 grand fracas. Tableau ! 
 
 Halkett, \_e7iter Kugel ^ I sent for you, Kugel, in reference 
 to this affair of young Langton's. 
 
 Kugel. \deferential and oily7\ Yes, sir. 
 
 Halkett. 1 understand that you are his most intimate 
 friend. 
 
 Kugel. I certainly was his friend. 
 
 Halkett. Can you throw any light on the affair ? 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 25 
 
 KugeL Nothing, whatever, sir, I assure you ; I wish I 
 could. He did tell me walking away from the office, that 
 he ought to have paid some money into the bank, but was 
 too late. 
 
 Halkett, He did not say that he had the money upon him. 
 
 KugeL No, sir, I did not ask him. I think it very un- 
 likely that he would have carried all that money away with 
 him. 
 
 Halkett. True, it seems unlikely. Well, you left Langton 
 early that evening. 
 
 KugeL We walked together to a place where I often stop 
 for a cup of coffee, and there he left me. 
 
 Halkett. Did Langton, now, frequent billiard - rooms, 
 music-halls, or places of that sort ? 
 
 KugeL Not to my knowledge ; but I could not say with 
 certainty. It was not likely \with an affable smile~\ that I 
 should meet him at such places ; my evenings are different- 
 ly spent. 
 
 Halkett, I am glad to hear it. Then, Kugel, I am to 
 understand that you know nothing whatever of this business ? 
 
 KugeL Nothing at all, sir, further than what I have told, 
 you. 
 
 Halkett. And you can not guess where William Langton 
 now is ? Think. You were with him a great deal ; you 
 can not suggest any place where he might have fled to 
 escape the consequences of his act? 
 
 KugeL I can not form the least idea. 
 
 Halkett, He was in debt it appears. K man has been 
 here tp-day asking for him, and stating that a promise was 
 made that he should pay it yesterday, the very day on which 
 he disappeared. That makes the case look worse. 
 
 KugeL i am surprised to hear that he was in debt. * He 
 did not tell me of it. But I think, sir, that you somewhat 
 .exaggerate my intimacy with Langton. I really know very 
 little about him, certainly not so much as some others, more 
 of his own age, in the office. 
 
 Halkett. Very well then, I have no other questions to ask 
 you. \with a sudden change of voice.'] Come, Kugel, you are 
 lying. You know where young Langton is. 
 
 KugeL I do not \_doggedly\ and am not lying. 
 
26 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 Halkett. You know where he is. and you know where the 
 money is ; will you give him up ? 
 
 Kugel. I do not know ; I have not seen him since he left 
 me on Wednesday evening. 
 
 Halkett, In that case \strikes the bell ; the Frenchman 
 assumes a dramatic attitude when he pushes doum the screen J\ 
 Now, Mr. Ashton. we will go in search of the lost boy, 
 Kugel will be taken with us. 
 
 Scene 2. — {Street ; the same party as in Scene 4, Act II.) 
 
 \st speaker. Boys we've got to go slow in this business. 
 It is all nice enough getting on larks occasionally, but we 
 are wasting too much time on it. 
 
 2d speaker. Yes. I've heard you talk that way a hundred 
 times — yes. even while you were swigging away at your bock 
 or Shad's bottled. Have some reason about you, don't get 
 so blind drunk, eat pretzels with it, fill in with sour krout, 
 be scientific ; selah ! [all laugh ^ 
 
 \st speaker. Yes, or you'll go to hell in a hand-basket, with 
 your pretzels and sour krout. 
 
 Zd speaker. You must have joined the ^" Red Ribbons." 
 
 1st speaker. No, and I do n't intend to. I do n't want a 
 lot of psalm-singers weeping over me, and celebrating all 
 over the town the reclamation of a • drunkard." I am just 
 simply going to retire from the business of frequenting 
 saloons. 
 
 2d speaker Are you going into the champagne line? Hav- 
 ing got something of an abdomen on you with beer, I 
 advise you to try cognac for a year or two for a nose, [all 
 laugh. '\ 
 
 \st speaker. I'll tell you, boys, I want to quit the saloons, 
 because you run afoul of such characters there as Kugel. 
 Now I have n't heard anything about it since last night, 
 but I, for my part, am convinced that Kugel robbed that 
 boy. 
 
 3^ speaker. And I believe so too. 
 
 2d speaker. Well, whether he did or not we've got to 
 " shake him." [They go off singing some current song as ^^Put 
 Me in My Little Bed,''] 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 27 
 
 Scene 3. — [KugePs bed-room; Will dejected and weeping at 
 table; hair dishevelled^ coat torn, clothing muddy ^ 
 
 Will. Poor Lettice, if she only knew. Kugel tells me I 
 was robbed on the street. I can not go back to Halkett's 
 for they will not believe me ; Kugel will help me to escape. 
 I see no hope, and never to see Lettice any more, who has 
 been so good to me, whom I love so, and whom I have used 
 so badly. It is horrible ! horrible. \_Noise outside ; Halkett^ 
 etc . approaching ; officer second to enter. Will, startled,~\ Who 
 is that? 
 
 Halkett, Langton, stand up, sir, and tell me about this. 
 Will, [he stands up and brushes away tears ^ I lost the 
 money, sir. [here he sees his friend^ You here Kugel ! 
 
 Halkett. Tell us, Langton, how you came here, and why 
 you are staying here. 
 
 Will. Kugel brought me, Kugel told me that no one 
 would believe me if I said that I lost the money, and that a 
 warrant was out for my arrest ; so I was afraid to go away. 
 Halkett. Kugel brought you here ? 
 
 Will, [hangs his head^ I was drunk, and did not know 
 what happened ; and in the morning I found myself lying 
 in bed ; and, oh, Mr. Halkett, I am not guilty. Indeed, 
 indeed, I am not. See my coat was cut and torn like this. 
 I found it so in the morning, and all the money was gone. 
 Halkett. Why was not the money paid into the bank ? 
 Will. I was sent out at half-past three, and on the way 
 met Kugel, and we stopped to talk ; and he had to tell me 
 that Cassandra had lost the race. 
 
 Halkett. [astonished^ Cassandra ? Cassandra lost 
 
 Will The Derby stakes ; we had both backed the horse. 
 Kugel advised me ; I should have won twenty pounds, be 
 cause the odds were twenty to one ; and Kugel would have 
 won a hundred. 
 
 Halkett. Oh ! And so Kugel bets, does he ? Before we 
 go any farther, tell me where you generally spend your even- 
 ings. 
 
 Will Sometimes we go to music-halls and sometimes to 
 play billiards. 
 
 Halkett. You and Kugel. Go on. Why did you not 
 return the money to the cashier ? 
 
28 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 Will, Because it was halt-past four when I got back, and 
 I thought I would step around in the morning and no one 
 would know ; I was afraid to tell him I was too late. 
 
 Halkett. Who knew of your having the money upon you ? 
 
 Will. Only Kugel, unless I told somebody else when I — 
 got drunk. 
 
 Halkett. A lad who confesses to being a drunkard — 
 
 Will. No, sir, no ; it was the only time in my life. 
 
 Halkett. To be afraid of telling the truth, to waste his 
 evenings in low haunts, to bet upon horse-races ; do you 
 think that lad a fit person to be in my office. [ Will makes no 
 reply ; Kugel is very composed^ and grows defiant^ Now, sir, 
 first of all, you are dismissed from my service. 
 
 Kugel. Very good. Go on. 
 
 Halkett, Next, you are given in charge for robbing this 
 boy, L-angton, of the money which he had lost. 
 
 Kugel. Prove it ! Prove it ! I find the boy drunk on a 
 doorstep, I pick him up and carry him home in a cab; he 
 was robbed already when I picked him up. 
 
 John. They left the billiard-room together ; that I can 
 prove. 
 
 Halkett, Listen to a plain tale. \to Rosenay\ Would you 
 repeat the story you told me ? 
 
 Rosenay. [very dramatic ; takes a position apart ; shrugs^ 
 etc.^ It is midnight. Ze bells have struck ze hour. Ze 
 streets are silent. It rains, and those who sleep not hear ze 
 dropping upon ze stones. Hark ! A voiture — a cab. Ze 
 door open himself. A step of foot make himself to hear. 
 A step of foot which carries — aha ! What do that step of 
 foot carry ? 
 
 Kugel. [furious'] Idiot of a Frenchman, go on ; I carried 
 the boy to bed because he was drunk. 
 
 Hosenay. It is very well. I proceed, I am idiot of French- 
 man, am I ? We shall see. On ze bed zat boy lies, his 
 face is red and — what you say? — gonfle, because he has 
 dronk very much pell-ell. His eyes are half shut — so — and 
 he breathe — so — hunc, grunc. Nevare I see a boy more 
 dronk. Then our dear friend, who call me idiot of French- 
 man, he opens ze cabinet, hein ! like this, [opens the cabinet^ 
 He take out a bottle — en efl*et — this bottle — and make a 
 
to 
 
 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 29 
 
 glass half gin, half water. He give this to ze boy. Then 
 the boy's eyes shut tight — so — he breathe more 'ard — hunc, 
 gr-r-r-unc — he is more d^onk than before, and knows noz- 
 ing— nozing at all. He next, my dear friend from Gair- 
 mony, whom we lo-ove to see, especially when he calls a 
 Frenchman idiot ; he takes a pocket-knife — see — like this, 
 perhaps it is ze same knife, [takes a knife from the cabinet. '\ 
 and by this knife he cuts ze buttons off ze boy's coat — so — 
 and cuts ze buttonnieres — so. Afterwards he puts ze but- 
 tons in ze tiroir of ze cabinet — here is one, aha! and 
 here is ze ozer. [compares buttons on WiWs coat, and slips 
 them into his own pocket^ Afterward he take a sac — a bag 
 out of the boy's pocket — so — he opens ze sac, he takes out 
 what is inside it, he lays it all on ze table — so. There is 
 papers, notes, billets de banque ; a pile, a heap, a little moun- 
 tain of gold ; he counts it all and when it is counted, he 
 hides it away. Where does he hide it? [looks around for 
 answer, and then addresses Kugel.'] Where did you hide it ? 
 Aha ! voleur, tell us where you did hide it. In ze bed ? No. 
 Shall I tell ze respectable Mr. Halkett where he hid zat 
 money ? [goes to hiding spot, feeling with his feet, with air of 
 superiority ; dramatic to policeman.'] Lift up ze carpet, find a 
 timber which permit himself to be elevated. There is ze 
 money, [they look and find nothing^ 
 
 Kugel. [assuming boldnesss.] Here is a pretty end to 
 your fine conspiracy to ruin my character. This is what I 
 get for harboring an ungrateful sneak of a boy. Now, Mr. 
 Halkett, produce your proof. A mad Frenchman invents a 
 story for some purpose of his own, which you believe at once 
 without enquiring into the circumstances. I give you 
 notice, Mr. Halkett, great city man that you are, that I will 
 bring an action against you for conspiring to ruin my char- 
 acter. You and everyone in this room shall be the defend- 
 ants. I will ruin you all. 
 
 Rosenay. Aha ! [turning up his shirt-cuffsT] We have not 
 yet finished ze drama. Your money, Monsieur Halkett, it 
 was in notes and gold, ow mosh? 
 
 Halkett, Three hundred pounds. 
 
 Rosenay. Be-old your money ! Count your money. Hein? 
 You think, [turning to Kugel] you think that ze fool of 
 
30 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 Frenchman so great fool as leave the mon^y for you to 
 take? No, no! Monsieur Halkett, is your money all 
 right ? 
 
 Halkett. It is quite right, sir, and I beg that you will 
 allow me to thank you very much for your prompt and vig- 
 orous action. Policeman, you have seen enough to warrant 
 the arrest of this man. 
 
 Rosenay. It is finished, ze play is over ; let fall ze cur- 
 tain ; make ze gas to descend ; let us all go away. 
 
 John. Mr. Halkett. you have the money ; the attempts of 
 this man to steal it have been frustrated ; will it not be a 
 sufficient punishment that he can never obtain another 
 situation in the city, and that his character is gone ? Let 
 him go free. 
 
 Halkett, \hesitating.~\ Go, sir, rid us of your presence. 
 You are free so far as i am concerned. \_Kugel puts o?i his 
 hat and disappears without a word7\ And as for you, Lang- 
 ton, you have had a sufficient warning; you may return to 
 your duties to-morrow ; but I shall keep my eye upon you. 
 
 lohn. [taking Will firmly by arm.~\ No, sir, you simply 
 explain things to your employers. This boy goes with me. 
 
 Will, [looking up in his face 7[ Who are you ? 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene 1. {Fomerofs room.) 
 
 Lettice. So he is innocent, as I thought. A noble fellow, 
 that Rosenay. He could write his drama sure enough now, 
 couldn't he? 
 
 John. Yes, he is as happy now as we are. No wonder you 
 lost hope about Will while our search was going on, for 
 this is a dismal home of yours at best, with a silent old man 
 in a silent old court ; and you have sat here day after day, 
 all by yourself, for three years. 
 
 Lettice. All by myself. It is very silent, is it not ? And 
 sometimes, as I told you yesterday, I do not know whether 
 I am asleep or awake ; whether I dream or whether I see. 
 
 Joh7i. Poor girl, [taking her hand.~\ Poor Lettice ! Will 
 you let me tell you my scheme for everybody, for you as 
 well as for Will ? 
 
 Lettice. For me ? 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 31 
 
 John. Listen, Lettice. Let me call you Lettice, if only 
 for to-day. I must so back to Canada. I promised my 
 mother to return in the spring ; but I have seen all I want 
 to see ; 1 have done all I want to do, except one thing ; and 
 I should like to get back to the dear old place in the winter 
 before the ice breaks up and the snow melts ; but I can not 
 bear to leave you here behind, all alone in this cruel place, 
 with no one to speak to. It is dreadful ! Lettice, come with 
 me. 
 
 Lettice. Go with you — to Canada ? Mr. Ashton. 
 
 John. My name is John, I am only a farmer ; only a man 
 who farms a two-hundred-acre lot, but we can live upon it. 
 Oh, I have no fear, everybody does well who can work and 
 does not drink, in Canada — the best of all countries the 
 world can show. Come with me, Lettice, my dear, let me 
 say what is in my heart. I love you so that I am afraid to 
 say it. Come with me and be my wife. 
 
 Lettice, Your wife, Mr. Ashton — your wife ? Ah, no — it 
 can not be. 
 
 John. Why can not it be ? 
 
 Lettice. Because [burying face in hands ^ bursts into tears, \ 
 because I am disgraced. Will and I. 
 
 John. Disgraced ! But I told you he was innocent. 
 
 Lettice, That is not it. Our father — I told you once we had 
 a great sorrow — he was found dead in a field. He had com- 
 mitted suicide ; and they discovered the reason — that he had 
 — oh, the shame and disgrace — that he had taken some 
 money. No one would do anything for us except Mr. Pom- 
 eroy. Stern as he is, he has been very kind, because he has 
 kept both Will and me from the workhouse. 
 
 John. But that is not disgrace, my dear. Oh, Lettice, it 
 is not you who did this, it was your father. What do I 
 care, what would anyone out there care, even if they knew, 
 which they do not? Come to me, my love, my dear ; come 
 out with me and be my wife. 
 
 Lettice. Oh, I dare not, you ask me because you pity me. 
 
 John, No, no ; it is not that. I do pity you, God knows 
 I pity you with all my heart. I should be less than human 
 if I did not pity you, my poor, poor Lettice. But I love 
 you too, dear Lettice ; your soft blue eyes I have loved longer 
 
32 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 than you think ; you, simple dove, never thinking of love. 
 [s/ie yields to his kisses and embraces.'] You will come with 
 me, Lettice ? 
 
 Leitice. \softly7\ I will go with you, John — if you will 
 take me. 
 
 John, I have one thing more to do. It is the thing for 
 which I came to England. Will you forgive me beforehand 
 for deceiving you, Lettice ? 
 
 Leitice. How have you deceived me, John ? 
 
 John. It is a deception which has done you no harm, 
 my dear. But now I wish I had not consented. It 
 would have been better, perhaps, to have come here with 
 my true name, and shown myself in my true colors. 
 
 Lettice. Your true name, John ? 
 
 John. Yes, dear, my name is not Ashton at all. What 
 it is, I will tell you in a few minutes. It is time, is it not, 
 for Mr. Pomeroy to be at his desk ? Oh, he is coming. 
 \enter Pomeroy., who goes to desk and works.'] Can I interrupt 
 you a while, sir ? 
 
 Pomeroy. Yes, if it is a matter of business. Not other- 
 wise ; these are business hours. 
 
 John. It is a matter of very important business \ not a 
 money transaction, but much more important 
 
 Pomeroy. Now that's nonsense, Ashton \_^ood humordlyT] 
 only a young man like yourself could say that any transac- 
 tion could be important which was not connected with 
 money. Love and affection I suppose you would say. StuflF! 
 no one loves anybody but himself in this world. If they 
 pretend otherwise, make the proper deductions ; the largest 
 deductions and go on your way. 
 
 John, Well, sir, you will see. First of all you will be 
 glad to hear that young Langton has been found ; he did 
 not steal the money, which was stolen from him, and has all 
 been recovered. 
 
 Pomeroy. Very well ; enough. 
 
 John, I wish to take him to Canada with me. 
 
 Pomeroy. Well, it would get him out of harm's way. 
 
 John. You do not like the boy ? 
 
 Pomeroy. I dislike all boys. Remember, Ashton, these 
 two children of my old friend Langton, who as perhaps you 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 33 
 
 know, got into a mess with his accounts, and cut his throat 
 have no claim whatever upon me. Because he was my friend 
 once, and once did me a great service, I have educated his 
 orphans. She never talks and gives no trouble. Take him 
 by all means ; you will do well by him. You, at least, are 
 unspoiled by city life. It is refreshing to meet such a one ; I 
 am not soft, but — oh — well, have you any farther business ? 
 
 John. Yes, very important and personal. 
 
 Pomeroy. Lettice, you will retire. 
 
 John. No, Lettice will not leave us. It concerns her too, 
 Mr. Pomeroy. She has promised to be my wife. Will you 
 let me take her away with her brother to Canada ? 
 
 Pomeroy. This was your important business was it ? Well 
 you are young. You think that marriage is the only 
 business worth anything in this life, I suppose. Ah ! what 
 enormous deductions ! Only an episode at best, and gene- 
 rally an unpleasant one. Well, Lettice, what do you say ? 
 
 Lettice. I have promised to go with him. 
 
 Pomeroy. Well, then you will go of course. You under- 
 stand, Ashton, from what I have told you, that neither 
 Lettice nor William Langton have any expectations from 
 me — none whatever. My money will not be left to either 
 of them. 
 
 John. I quite understand that, sir ; and in Lettice's 
 name I thank you for the kindness you have shown both to 
 her and to her brother. 
 
 Pomeroy. There, there — gratitude, professions — deduc- 
 tions, deductions! You will not have any wedding fuss ; no 
 bridesmaids or nonsense, you know, Lettice. You can go 
 and get married any morning you like. If I have time, I 
 will give you away. If not, the clerk can do that just as 
 well. Wedding bells, indeed ! If most people knew what 
 was before them, the bells should be a knell ; a mourning 
 coach should be the bride's carriage ; and the guests should 
 all be dressed in black, with crape gowns and hat-bands ! 
 Wedding-cake and rejoicing ! Pah ! 
 
 John. We shall do our rejoicings across the pond, Mr. 
 Pomeroy. Our wedding bells shall be the bells of the 
 sleigh in which I shall take my bride home ; the snow shall 
 be the white cover of our wedding-cake ; and the maples 
 
34 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 in the forest our wed ding -guests. Cheer up, Lettice dear, 
 there will be rejoicings enough in the new country over you 
 and me, and songs and dances too, and joy for all our 
 lives. 
 
 Pomeroy, Poor things. When do you propose to begin 
 this — this pilgrimage of sleigh-bells and snow? 
 
 John, We will be married as soon as we can. But that 
 too, will depend upon you. 
 
 Pomeroy. I will have nothing to do with it, 1 tell you. 
 Joh7i. Wait a moment, sir ; I have other business. Sit 
 down and listen. You said when you first saw me, that my 
 face and my voice reminded you of some one. Of whom, 
 sir? 
 
 Pomeroy. Of — of one I lost, many years ago. 
 John. Of one you loved many years ago, and whom you 
 — drove away ! 
 
 Pomeroy, She left me, in her guilt. 
 John, She left you, in her innocence. 
 Pomeroy, Who are you, sir? and what do you know? 
 John, I know nothing but that fact, that she is inno- 
 cent. Whose is my face? 
 Pomeroy. It is her's. 
 
 John, And yours, I am her son — and yours. Yes, father 
 — it is true ! I have come from Canada to tell you that you 
 have a wife living who has long since forgiven you, that you 
 have a son that stands before you, [taking papers from his 
 pocket^ and that I bring with me papers which I have not 
 read, because that would be to think of my mother what 
 is impossible ; but papers which will prove to you what I 
 have said. She left you, driven away by you, in her inno- 
 cence. And a few months later I was born. Lettice dear, 
 that is my deception. In marrying me you will marry the 
 son of your benefactor. 
 
 Pomeroy. Prove your words, prove your words. How do 
 you know you are my son ? 
 
 John, You might know, by my face and my voice. These 
 letters will tell you more than I can prove. If they are not 
 proof, I have no more to say ; I shall then leave you, as I 
 found you, a stranger. If they are proof, you have a son 
 and a wife. 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 35 
 
 Pomeroy. Give the papers to me. 
 
 John. Before I give them, think. 1 am here asking noth- 
 ing, nothing ; claiming nothing. As regards your money, I 
 do not know whether you are rich or poor. And as I ask 
 nothing of you, so I owe you nothing. For the care of my 
 childhood, for my education, for my farm, T owe you noth- 
 ing, and my mother everything. Remember, then, that I 
 am on her side, whatever you think of these letters. 
 
 Pomeroy. You are frank, young man. Before T was your 
 age I had learned to pay respect to my father. 
 
 John. You forget, sir ; I have never had one. 
 
 Pomeroy. I know the handwriting of each. These are no 
 forgeries. These may, however — but, no — that can not be. 
 What is your name? 
 
 John. John. 
 
 Pomeroy, John Pomeroy. My name, too. You are my 
 son. 
 
 John. And my mother ? 
 
 Pomeroy. I will write to her myself. There are things to 
 say which no one but myself can say. 8he has been — deeply 
 — wronged. You do not know the contents of these letters ? 
 
 John, No, sir. 
 
 Pomeroy, You do not know the cause of our estrange- 
 ment ? 
 ^ John. No. sir. 
 
 Pomeroy. Better not. There are four documents here. 
 The first is from Eli Bamsden, the Quaker, to your mother, 
 stating what he knew ; it is not much, but it is something. 
 The second is an account drawn up for her by her brother, 
 Stephen Burdacomb. The third is your mother's own 
 account. And the la?t is a letter written on the morning of 
 the day when he died, by the man who Ah ! \wiih sud- 
 den violence^ The man who — the man who did the mischief — 
 who lied, and calumniated, and made up a story against 
 the woman he had wished to marry : the man who ruined 
 
 my home out of revenge — that man — that man , that 
 
 man was your father. Do you hear, you girl — your father ? 
 
 John. Patience, Lettice dear. 
 
 Pomeroy, You, whom I took out of the gutter and have 
 brought up — do you hear ? Daughter of a bankrupt, 
 swindler . 
 
36 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 John. Stop, sir. This is my future wife — your son's 
 future wife. 
 
 Pomeroy. Never. Go ! leave my house within a quarter 
 of an hour ; starve ; beg your bread, or steal it, for what I 
 care. Go from my house. 
 
 John, If Lettice goes it shall be with me. 
 
 Lettice. Oh, John, John, I told you we were disgraced ; 
 but I did not know of this. Yes, sir, yes ; I will go. It is 
 not right that I should stay any longer under your roof, nor 
 that I should think of marrying your son. Forgive me, sir. 
 I did not know. Indeed, indeed, I did not know. 
 
 John. My Lettice, do you think I would let you go ? Is 
 this bygone history to part you and me ? 
 
 Lettice. John, I can not. Think of your mother. 
 
 Pomeroy, Yes, think of your mother, if, in the headstrong 
 stream of passion, you can think at all. How will it be to 
 go out to your mother and say, " Here is your new daugh- 
 ter, the girl whose father ruined your happiness?" 
 
 John. That is not what I shall say to my mother. I shall 
 say, '^ Lettice is the innocent daughter of a man who wrong- 
 ed you and died repentant." Lettice, you do not know my 
 mother, or you would not let that be a plea. You, sir, have 
 forgotten her. 
 
 Pomeroy. You are my son. I did not think I had a son. 
 I hardly knew — I did not care — if I had a wife. But hear 
 me. Choose between me and that girl. Henceforth I shall 
 think of her with the hatred that belongs to her father. 
 Take her and leave me — never to see me again. You shall 
 be dead to me. I give the same choice to your mother as 
 to you. Choose between me and this girl. 
 
 John. I choose — not between you and Lettice, but between 
 revenge and love. And I choose for my mother as well. 
 Come, Lettice, we will go. You shall stay with your broth- 
 er until we can be married. Cheer up, my darling, it is 
 not you who shall suQer for your father's sin. 
 
 Pomeroy, Yes, and for the third and fourth generation. 
 Scripture authority for you. 
 
 John. There is yet another Scripture. The son shall not 
 bear the iniquity of the father. Think over that. We 
 leave you, your son and the girl to whom you have been a 
 
LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 37 
 
 protector for so long. In the solitary winter evenings, when 
 you sit here alone, night after night, with your thoughts, 
 you will remember sometimes the wife and son whom you 
 have thrown away in wild revenge. The very chairs will 
 cry out to you aloud of the innocent girl you have driven 
 away in wrath — the second woman whom you should have 
 loved. And when you think of the things you have thrown 
 away, remember that across the ocean we shall be all togeth- 
 er, waiting only for the day when you will write and bid us 
 come back to you. 
 
 Pomeroy, Never ! Henceforth, I sit alone and trust no 
 one again. Go ! 
 
 John^ Shake hands, sir. Let me tell my mother that you 
 have given your hand to your son. 
 
 Pomeroy, No. You have chosen. I have no wife, and no 
 son — I never had — I never will have. Take that girl out 
 of my sight, lest I do her, or you, or myself a mischief. 
 \madly^ Go ! go ! go ! 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Scene — \Interior as in Introduction^ 
 
 Lettice. Dear mother, John is an angel isn't he ? To 
 think that all the good he did in his voyage to Eng- 
 land was to find and save me from my lonely life. How 
 I love him, and you, and the home. What merry days you 
 make of the Christmas with your sleigh-bells and the fire- 
 side. In Christmas times we may talk a little of love. 
 Will, I know will be a man now. How readily he has taken 
 to work. 
 
 Will, [entering,'] Merry Christmas to you all. 
 
 John, [enters!] Mother — Lettice — What a pleasant fire 
 you have to welcome us. This is better than Carmel Friars 
 — the old court — isn't it, dear? {embracing Lettice — sleigh- 
 bells heard.] 
 
 Stephen, [entering.] Happy Christmas to all — wife and 
 children coming along, presently, [sleigh-bells.] Hallo ! 
 They must have driven fast. [John goes to door.] 
 
 Pomeroy, [outside^ It'll come ofi* — I know it will come 
 
38 LARGE DEDUCTIONS. 
 
 oflf. Wait 'till I rub my nose in snow a little, boy ; now its 
 all right. How are you, John ? Shake hands — glad to see 
 you. 
 
 Lettice. Mother, it is Mr. Pomeroy. 
 
 Pomeroy. [outside.'] Take off these furs, John ? and now 
 I'll go in. [in opening door 7\ All well, eh? 
 
 Stephen, [between his sister and Mr. Pomeroy 7\ I stand by 
 nay sister . 
 
 Pomeroy, Monsieur Stephen, how are you? how are 
 you ? [holds out hand to wife who falls on breast.^ sobbing,] 
 Kiss me, Lettice, my dear. Hope you find marriage a hap- 
 py condition of life. Hope your husband treats you well. 
 How are you. Will ? And now we will sit down, and talk, 
 and be comfortable. Seasonable weather, Stephen ? Sur- 
 prised to see me, eh? Well, Lettice, my dear, when you 
 went away the home grew uncomfortable. After six or 
 seven years of you about the place one felt lonely. That's 
 the reason. That's all. How's your farm getting on, John ? 
 Let us all sit down, and be comfortable. 
 
 John. I think there is something more, sir. 
 
 Pomeroy. What a persistent boy that is of yours, my dear, 
 he must have been a sad trouble to you all these years. Well 
 — there was something more. And what that was, John, 
 your mother knows already, and that's enough. He's a 
 
 fine boy, too, wife, and, on the whole, just the son I should 
 have liked. Well — what next? How do you like Lettice. 
 my dear ? [Mrs. Pomeroy lifts face ; smiling through her tears ^ 
 
 Mrs. Pomeroy. I will answer you as you answered John, 
 Lettice knows and that's enough. 
 
 Pomeroy. Kh. ; anything else ? 
 
 Stephen. Supper. 
 
 Pomeroy. That's business-like. That's to the point. John, 
 my son, 1 believe I told you, when I last saw you, that I 
 should never forgive you — Kiss me again, Lettice, my dear. 
 You made a most sensible observation about choosing be- 
 tween love and revenge, for which I am obliged to you — 
 you also quoted a very remarkable passage from the Bible, 
 for which 1 am more obliged to you. I said I should never 
 forgive you — said I had no wife and no son. Well, you 
 must make Deductions — Large Deductions. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 017 401 591