 | Uncle Tom's Cabin |  |
SCENE II
The Garden of Miss Ophelia's House in Vermont. Enter Ophelia and Deacon
Perry.
Miss Ophelia, allow me to offer you my congratulations upon your safe
arrival in your native place. I hope it is your intention to pass the remainder of
your days with us?
OPHELIA:
Well, Deacon, I have come here with that express purpose.
DEACON:
I presume you were not over-pleased with the South?
OPHELIA:
Well, to tell you the truth, Deacon, I wasn't; I liked the country very
well, but the people there are so dreadful shiftless.
DEACON:
The result, I presume, of living in a warm climate.
OPHELIA:
Well, Deacon, what is the news among you all here?
DEACON:
Well, we live on in the same even jog-trot pace. Nothing of any conse-
quence has happened—Oh! I forgot. (Takes out handkerchief.)
I've lost my
wife; my Molly has left me. (Wipes his eyes.)
OPHELIA:
Poor soul! I pity you, Deacon.
DEACON:
Thank you. You perceive I bear my loss with resignation.
OPHELIA:
How you must miss her tongue!
DEACON:
Molly certainly was fond of talking. She always would have the
last word—heigho!
OPHELIA:
What was her complaint, Deacon?
DEACON:
A mild and soothing one, Miss Ophelia: she had a severe attack
of the lockjaw.
OPHELIA:
Dreadful!
DEACON:
Wasn't it? When she found she couldn't use her tongue, she took
it so much to heart that it struck to her stomach and killed her. Poor dear! Ex-
cuse my handkerchief; she's been dead only eighteen months.
OPHELIA:
Why, Deacon, by this time you ought to be setting your cap for
another wife.
DEACON:
Do you think so, Miss Ophelia?
OPHELIA:
I don't see why you shouldn't—you are still a good-looking man,
Deacon.
DEACON:
Ah! well, I think I do wear well—in fact, I may say remarkably
[Description: 916EAF. Page 117.]
OPHELIA:
And you are not much over fifty?
DEACON:
Just turned of forty, I assure you.
OPHELIA:
Hale and hearty?
DEACON:
Health excellent—look at my eye! Strong as a lion—look at my
arm!! A No. 1 constitution—look at my leg!!!
OPHELIA:
Have you no thoughts of choosing another partner?
DEACON:
Well, to tell you the truth, I have.
OPHELIA:
Who is she?
DEACON:
She is not far distant. (Looks at Ophelia in an anguishing manner.)
I
have her in my eye at this present moment.
OPHELIA:
(Aside.)
Really, I believe he's going to pop. Why, surely,
Deacon, you don't mean to—
DEACON:
Yes, Miss Ophelia, I do mean; and believe me, when I say—
(Looking off.)
The Lord be good to us, but I believe there is the devil coming!
(Topsy runs on, with bouquet. She is now dressed very neatly.)
Miss Feely, here is some flowers dat I hab been gathering for you.
(Gives bouquet.)
OPHELIA:
That's a good child.
DEACON:
Miss Ophelia, who is this young person?
OPHELIA:
She is my daughter.
DEACON:
(Aside.)
Her daughter! Then she must have married a colored
man off South. I was not aware that you had been married, Miss Ophelia?
OPHELIA:
Married! Sakes alive! what made you think I had been mar-
ried?
DEACON:
Good gracious, I'm getting confused. Didn't I understand you to
say that this—somewhat tanned—young lady was your daughter?
OPHELIA:
Only by adoption. She is my adopted daughter.
DEACON:
O—oh! (Aside.)
I breathe again.
TOPSY:
By Golly! dat old man's eyes stick out of 'um head dre'ful. Guess
he never seed anything like me afore.
OPHELIA:
Deacon, won't you step into the house and refresh yourself after
your walk?
DEACON:
I accept your polite invitation. (Offers his arm.)
Allow me.
OPHELIA:
As gallant as ever, Deacon. I declare, you grow younger every
day.
DEACON:
You can never grow old, madam.
OPHELIA:
Ah, you flatterer! (Exeunt.)
TOPSY:
Dar dey go, like an old goose and gander. Guess dat ole
gemblemun feels kind of confectionary—rather sweet on my old missis. By Gol-
ly! she's been dre'ful kind to me ever since I come away from de South; and I
loves her, I does, 'cause she takes such car' on me and gives me dese fine clothes.
I tries to be good too, and I's gettin 'long 'mazin' fast. I's not so wicked as I used
to was. (Looks out.)
Holloa! dar's some one comin' here. I wonder what he
wants now. (Retires, observing.)
(Enter Gumption Cute, very shabby, a small bundle, on a stick, over his shoulder.)
[Description: 916EAF. Page 118.]
By chowder, here I am again. Phew, it's a pretty considerable tall
piece of walking between here and New Orleans, not to mention the wear of
shoe-leather. I guess I'm about done up. If this streak of bad luck lasts much
longer, I'll borrow sixpence to buy a rope, and hang myself right straight up!
When I went to call on Miss Ophelia, I swow if I didn't find out that she had left
for Vermont; so I kind of concluded to make tracks in that direction myself and
as I didn't have any money left, why I had to foot it, and here I am in old Var-
mount once more. They told me Miss Ophelia lived up here. I wonder if she will
remember the relationship. (Sees Topsy.)
By chowder, there's a darkey. Look
here, Charcoal!
TOPSY:
(Comes forward.)
My name isn't Charcoal—it's Topsy.
CUTE:
Oh! your name is Topsy, is it, you juvenile specimen of Day
& Martin?
TOPSY:
Tell you I don't know nothin' 'bout Day & Martin. I's Topsy and I
belong to Miss Feely St..Clare.
CUTE:
I'm much obleeged to you, you small extract of Japan, for your
information. So Miss Ophelia lives up there in the white house, does she?
TOPSY:
Well, she don't do nothin' else.
CUTE:
Well, then, just locomote your pins.
TOPSY:
What—what's dat?
CUTE:
Walk your chalks!
TOPSY:
By Golly! dere ain't no chalk 'bout me.
CUTE:
Move your trotters.
TOPSY:
How you does spoke! What you mean by trotters?
CUTE:
Why, your feet, Stove Polish.
TOPSY:
What does you want me to move my feet for?
CUTE:
To tell your mistress, you ebony angel, that a gentleman wishes to
see her.
TOPSY:
Does you call yourself a gentleman! By Golly! you look more like a
scar'crow.
CUTE:
Now look here, you Charcoal, don't you be sassy. I'm a gentleman
in distress; a done-up speculator; one that has seen better days—long time
ago—and better clothes too, by chowder! My creditors are like my
boots—they've no soles. I'm a victim to circumstances. I've been through much
and survived it. I've taken walking exercise for the benefit of my health; but as I
was trying to live on air at the same time, it was a losing speculation, 'cause it
gave me such a dreadful appetite.
TOPSY:
Golly! you look as if you could eat an ox, horns and all.
CUTE:
Well, I calculate I could, if he was roasted—it's a speculation I should
like to engage in. I have returned like the fellow that run away in Scripture; and
if anybody's got a fatted calf they want to kill, all they got to do is to fetch him
along. Do you know, Charcoal, that your mistress is a relation of mine?
TOPSY:
Is she your uncle?
CUTE:
No, no, not quite so near as that. My second cousin married her
niece.
TOPSY:
And does you want to see Miss Feely?
CUTE:
I do. I have come to seek a home beneath her roof, and take care of
all the spare change she don't want to use.
TOPSY:
Den just you follow me, mas'r.
CUTE:
Stop! By chowder, I've got a great idee. Say, you Day & Martin,
[Description: 916EAF. Page 119.]
TOPSY:
Golly! I doesn't know what a spec—spec—cu—what-do-you-call-
'um am.
CUTE:
Well, now, I calculate I've hit upon about the right thing. Why
should I degrade the manly dignity of the Cutes by becoming a beggar—expose
myself to the chance of receiving the cold shoulder as a poor relation? By
chowder, my blood biles as I think of it! Topsy, you can make my fortune, and
your own, too. I've an idee in my head that is worth a million of dollars.
TOPSY:
Golly! is your head worth dat? Guess you wouldn't bring dat out
South for de whole of you.
CUTE:
Don't you be too severe, now, Charcoal; I'm a man of genius. Did
you ever hear of Barnum?
TOPSY:
Barnum! Barnum! Does he live out South?
CUTE:
No, he lives in New York. Do you know how he made his fortin?
TOPSY:
What is him fortin, hey? Is it something he wears?
CUTE:
Chowder, how green you are!
TOPSY:
(Indignantly.)
Sar, I hab you to know I's not green; I's brack.
CUTE:
To be sure you are, Day & Martin. I calculate, when a person says
another has a fortune, he means he's got plenty of money, Charcoal.
TOPSY:
And did he make the money?
CUTE:
Sartin sure, and no mistake.
TOPSY:
Golly! now I thought money always growed.
CUTE:
Oh, git out! You are too cute—you are cuterer than I am—and I'm
Cute by name and cute by nature. Well, as I was saying, Barnum made his
money by exhibiting a woolly horse; now wouldn't it be an all-fired speculation
to show you as the woolly gal?
TOPSY:
You want to make a sight of me?
CUTE:
I'll give you half the receipts, by chowder!
TOPSY:
Should I have to leave Miss Feely?
CUTE:
To be sure you would.
TOPSY:
Den you hab to get a woolly gal somewhere else, Mas'r Cute. (Runs
off.)
CUTE:
There's another speculation gone to smash, by chowder! (Exit.)
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