University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV

Plain Chamber. Enter Ophelia, followed by Topsy.

OPHELIA:

A person inquiring for me, did you say, Topsy?

TOPSY:

Yes, missis.

OPHELIA:

What kind of a looking man is he?

TOPSY:

By golly! he's very queer looking man, anyway; and den he talks so
dre'ful funny. What does you think?—yah! yah! he wanted to 'zibite me as de
woolly gal! yah! yah!

OPHELIA:

Oh! I understand. Some cute Yankee, who wants to purchase
you, to make a show of—the heartless wretch!

TOPSY:

Dat's just him, missis; dat's just his name. He tole me dat it was
Cute—Mr. Cute Speculashum—dat's him.

OPHELIA:

What did you say to him, Topsy?

TOPSY:

Well, I didn't say much, it was brief and to the point—I tole him I
wouldn't leave you, Miss Feely, no how.

OPHELIA:

That's right, Topsy; you know you are very comfortable here—
you wouldn't fare quite so well if you went away among strangers.

TOPSY:

By golly! I know dat; you takes care on me, and makes me good. I
don't steal any now, and I don't swar, and I don't dance breakdowns. Oh! I isn't
so wicked as I used to was.

OPHELIA:

That's right, Topsy; now show the gentleman, or whatever he
is, up.

TOPSY:

By golly! I guess he won't make much out of Miss Feely. (Crosses
and exits.)

OPHELIA:

I wonder who this person can be? Perhaps it is some old acquain-
tance, who has heard of my arrival, and who comes on a social visit.

(Enter Cute.)

CUTE:

Aunt, how do ye do? Well, I swan, the sight of you is good for weak
eyes. (Offers his hand.)

OPHELIA:

(Coldly drawing back.)
Really, sir, I can't say that I ever had the
pleasure of seeing you before.

CUTE:

Well, it's a fact that you never did. You see I never happened to be
in your neighborhood afore now. Of course you've heard of me? I'm one of the
Cutes—Gumption Cute, the first and only son of Josiah and Maria Cute, of
Oniontown, on the Onion river in the north part of this ere State of Varmount.

OPHELIA:

Can't say I ever heard the name before.

CUTE:

Well then, I calculate your memory must be a little ricketty. I'm a
relation of yours.

OPHELIA:

A relation of mine! Why, I never heard of any Cutes in our fami-
ly.

CUTE:

Well, I shouldn't wonder if you never did. Don't you remember
your niece, Mary?

OPHELIA:

Of course I do. What a shiftless question!

CUTES:

Well, you see my second cousin, Abijah Blake, married her. So
you see that makes me a relation of yours.

OPHELIA:

Rather a distant one, I should say.

CUTE:

By chowder! I'm near enough, just at present.

OPHELIA:

Well, you certainly are a sort of connection of mine.

CUTE:

Yes, kind of sort of.

OPHELIA:

And of course you are welcome to my house, as long as you wish
to make it your home.

CUTE:

By chowder! I'm booked for the next six months—this isn't a bad
speculation.

OPHELIA:

I hope you left all your folks well at home?

CUTE:

Well, yes, they're pretty comfortably disposed of. Father and
mother's dead, and Uncle Josh has gone to California. I am the only represen-
tative of the Cutes left.

OPHELIA:

There doesn't seem to be a great deal of you left. I declare, you
are positively in rags.

CUTE:

Well, you see, the fact is, I've been speculating—trying to get bank-
notes—specie-rags, as they say—but I calculate I've turned out rags of another
sort.

OPHELIA:

I'm sorry for your ill luck, but I am afraid you have been shiftless.

CUTE:

By chowder! I've done all that a fellow could do. You see, somehow,
everything I take hold of kind of bursts up.

OPHELIA:

Well, well, perhaps you'll do better for the future; make yourself
at home. I have got to see to some house-hold matters, so excuse me for a short
time. (Aside.)
Impudent and shiftless. (Exit.)

CUTE:

By chowder! I rather guess that this speculation will hitch. She's a
good-natured old critter; I reckon I'll be a son to her while she lives, and take
care of her valuables arter she's a defunct departed. I wonder if they keep the
vittles in this ere room? Guess not. I've got extensive accommodations for all
sorts of eatables. I'm a regular vacuum, throughout—pockets and all. I'm chuck
full of emptiness. (Looks out.)
Holloa! who's this elderly individual coming up
stairs? He looks like a compound essence of starch and dignity. I wonder if he
isn't another relation of mine. I should like a rich old fellow now for an uncle.

(Enter Deacon Perry.)

DEACON:

Ha! a stranger here!

CUTE:

How d'ye do?

DEACON:

You are a friend to Miss Ophelia, I presume?

CUTE:

Well, I rather calculate that I am a leetle more than a friend.

DEACON:

(Aside.)
Bless me! what can he mean by those mysterious words?
Can he be her—no I don't think he can. She said she wasn't—well, at all events,

it's very suspicious.

CUTE:

The old fellow seems kind of stuck up.

DEACON:

You are a particular friend to Miss Ophelia, you say?

CUTE:

Well, I calculate I am.

DEACON:

Bound to her by any tender tie?

CUTE:

It's something more than a tie—it's a regular double-twisted knot.

DEACON:

Ah! just as I suspected. (Aside.)
Might I inquire the nature of that
tie?

CUTE:

Well, it's the natural tie of relationship.

DEACON:

A relation—what relation?

CUTE:

Why, you see, my second cousin, Abijah Blake, married her niece,
Mary.

DEACON:

Oh! is that all?

CUTE:

By chowder, ain't that enough?

DEACON:

Then you are not her husband?

CUTE:

To be sure I ain't. What put that ere idee into your cranium?

DEACON:

(Shaking him vigorously by the hand.)
My dear sir, I'm delighted to
see you.

CUTE:

Holloa! you ain't going slightly insane, are you?

DEACON:

No, no fear of that; I'm only happy, that's all.

CUTE:

I wonder if he's been taking a nipper?

DEACON:

As you are a relation of Miss Ophelia's, I think it proper that I
should make you my confidant; in fact, let you into a little scheme that I have
lately conceived.

CUTE:

Is it a speculation?

DEACON:

Well, it is, just at present; but I trust before many hours to make
it a surety.

CUTE:

By chowder! I hope it won't serve you the way my speculations have
served me. But fire away, old boy, and give us the prospectus.

DEACON:

Well, then, my young friend, I have been thinking, ever since
Miss Ophelia returned to Vermont, that she was just the person to fill the place
of my lamented Molly.

CUTE:

Say, you, you couldn't tell us who your lamented Molly was, could
you?

DEACON:

Why, the late Mrs. Perry, to be sure.

CUTE:

Oh! then the lamented Molly was your wife?

DEACON:

She was.

CUTE:

And now you wish to marry Miss Ophelia?

DEACON:

Exactly.

CUTE:

(Aside.)
Consarn this old porpoise! if I let him do that he'll Jew me
out of my living. By chowder! I'll put a spoke in his wheel.

DEACON:

Well, what do you say? will you intercede for me with your aunt?

CUTE:

No! bust me up if I do!

DEACON:

No?

CUTE:

No, I tell you. I forbid the bans. Now, ain't you a purty individual,
to talk about getting married, you old superannuated Methuselah specimen of
humanity! Why, you've got one foot in etarnity already, and t'other ain't fit to
stand on. Go home and go to bed! have your head shaved, and send for a lawyer
to make your will, leave your property to your heirs—if you hain't got any, why
leave it to me—I'll take care of it, and charge nothing for the trouble.

DEACON:

Really, sir, this language to one of my standing, is highly in-
decorous—it's more, sir, than I feel willing to endure, sir. I shall expect an ex-
planation, sir.

CUTE:

Now, you see, old gouty toes, you're losing your temper.

DEACON:

Sir, I'm a deacon; I never lost my temper in all my life, sir.

CUTE:

Now, you see, you're getting excited; you had better go; we can't
have a disturbance here!

DEACON:

No, sir! I shall not go, sir! I shall not go until I have seen Miss
Ophelia. I wish to know if she will countenance this insult.

CUTE:

Now keep cool, old stick-in-the-mud! Draw it mild, old timber-toes!

DEACON:

Damn it all, sir, what—

CUTE:

Oh! only think, now, what would people say to hear a deacon
swearing like a trooper?

DEACON:

Sir—I—you—this is too much, sir.

CUTE:

Well, now, I calculate that's just about my opinion, so we'll have no
more of it. Get out of this! start your boots, or by chowder! I'll pitch you from
one end of the stairs to the other.

(Enter Ophelia)

OPHELIA:

Hoity toity! What's the meaning of all these loud words?

CUTE:

(Together.)
Well, you see, Aunt—

DEACON:

Miss Ophelia, I beg—

CUTE:

Now, look here, you just hush your yap! How can I fix up matters if
you keep jabbering?

OPHELIA:

Silence! for shame, Mr. Cute. Is that the way you speak to the
deacon?

CUTE:

Darn the deacon!

OPHELIA:

Deacon Perry, what is all this?

DEACON:

Madam, a few words will explain everything. Hearing from this
person that he was your nephew, I ventured to tell him that I cherished hopes of
making you my wife, where upon he flew into a violent passion, and ordered me
out of the house.

OPHELIA:

Does this house belong to you or me, Mr. Cute?

CUTE:

Well, to you, I reckon.

OPHELIA:

Then how dare you give orders in it?

CUTE:

Well, I calculated that you wouldn't care about marrying old half
a century there.

OPHELIA:

That's enough; I will marry him; and as for you, (Points.)
get
out.

CUTE:

Get out?

OPHELIA:

Yes; the sooner the better.

CUTE:

Darned if I don't serve him out first though.

(Music. Cute makes a dash at Deacon, who gets behind Ophelia. Topsy enters,
with a broom and beats Cute around stage. Ophelia faints in Deacon's arms. Cute
falls, and Topsy butts him kneeling over him. Quick drop.)