University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—A Room in the Inn. Margaret and Cutely.
Cutely.

True, true, it is uncertain; life's uncertain: but I'll make it two hunder pound a-year, that is per annim, if I die.

Margaret.

Two hundred pounds—that is two hundred pounds. Ah, well, life's so uncertain. A written contract, of course?

Cutely.
Black on white.

Margaret.
Yes, well,—that's over and above what the law might allow?

Cutely.
By course. The law you know is the law; but this is certain and sure.

Margaret.
Then, there's that dear little boy, your son.

Cutely.
He'll be provided for.

Margaret.
By law? or—

Cutely.
No; let's see though—yes: ah, well, we'll see about that after.

Margaret.

O, certainly, see about that; make it something definite, you know, dear little fellow!

Cutely.

Yes, yes; all them things can be settled, when we get settled ourselves.

Margaret.

Ah, but life, you know, life is so uncertain, and there's no time like the present.

Cutely.

I'll do it to-morrow. Where's your mother? Let's arrange about the wedding-day.

Margaret.

We've some sharp young men in the house now— attorney's clerks, and the like. One of them could do the settlement, and—

Cutely.

O, any barber's clerk could do that.—I understand there's something they call a special license, that one can get at once. Now, what day would be convenient?

Margaret.

—And we've writing things in the house. It could

be going on in another room, while I consult my mother about the day.

Cutely.

Very well, very well; go get your pen and paper —some ink too; and if you can pick me out a clerk that can keep a thing, do so. [Exit Margaret.]
Ay, that's the sort for me; a girl of business. My affairs is running into a ravel since my poor, dear Maryhann, heaven forgive me, died; and I must have another at once.—She'll have money, too, money; old Riccard cannot last for ever. They tell me she has some fifty after her on that account—young, penniless shavers, that don't know how to take a woman. I've had my eye upon the girl these two weeks; but never spoke with her before to-night. Every man—and woman— has her price, as the poet says: and very proper too.

Re-enter Margaret.
Margaret.

Now, love, everything's ready—young man and all— in the little back parlour, No. 7.

Cutely.

Kiss me Margaret. (Kisses him.)
There; send me in a pipe and tobacco; and let's have a bottle of sherry over the job; and come yourself in a little, to see that it's all nicely written. They tell me you can do something in that way. You'll have all my writing to do.

[Exit Cutely.

Margaret.
(throwing herself into a chair)

Mother! [Enter Mrs. Riccard.]
Mother, my bannock's baked for life.

Mrs. Riccard.

I thought it would, my girl; I told you that was the right sort of man. What has he come to?

Margaret.

Two hundred pounds a-year, settled and certain— send him in a pipe and tobacco—that is on his death, you know—and a bottle of sherry into No. 7.

Mrs. Riccard.
Bless my heart! two hundred pound! Well, well, well, well.

[Exit Mrs. R.
Margaret.
(rising)
Two hundred pounds at death, and twice my age.
Besides, the law, despite his will, allows
One third, I think, of all his moveables.—
He's not so handsome as I could have liked.
Then there's that brat, that boy by his first wife:
Ay, what of him? He shan't be in the house,
With young ones of our own: I'll board him out
With some one who—he's delicate, poor thing,
And may not live long.—But, about the day:—
'Tis Friday now—say this day week—no, no;
Friday would be unlucky—Wednesday—
'Tis not too soon.—Two hundred pounds a-year!
And what will Master Reuben think of that?—
O name not Reuben! would to heaven it were
Two hundred pounds and Reuben! or half that!
Love, love, methinks, were worth the other half.
Or nothing! if he had the name of rich.
His name's a golden key that opes my heart:
Where art thou, Reuben? Ah, come back, come back!
Two hundred pounds! two hundred wither'd leaves—
Are scatter'd by the breathing of thy name.

Re-enter Mrs. Riccard.
Mrs. Riccard.

He wants you, Margaret—run, my girl, fly—he's made of money—but run to him. See you! here's fifty pound he's given me to buy livery for myself and the wenches—but go, go—any prints will do for them —and there's other fifty yonder for yourself, to buy dresses with—away with you!

Margaret.
Other fifty! he must indeed be made of money!
What have I been thinking of!

Mrs. Riccard.
Run, run, there's no time for thinking.

[Exeunt.