Nevada

Nevada
George Baker

George M. Baker

Nevada / or, The Lost Mine, A Drama in Three Acts

CHARACTERS

NEVADA, the Wanderer.

VERMONT, an Old Miner.

TOM CAREW, }

DANDY DICK,} Young Miners.

SILAS STEELE, Missionary of Health.

JERDEN, a Detective.

JUBE, a Black Miner.

WIN-KYE, a Chinaman.

MOTHER MERTON.

AGNES FAIRLEE.

MOSELLE, a Waif.

COSTUMES

Nevada. Long white hair and beard, gray shirt, dark pants, both ragged; boots and belt; one leg of pants in boot, the other hanging in ribbons.

Vermont. Iron-gray bald wig and beard, gray shirt, overalls tucked in boots, belt, pistol in hip-pocket, short coat, slouch hat.

Tom. Full black beard, blue shirt, dark pants tucked in long boots, black necktie, short coat, pistol in hip-pocket, slouch hat worn jauntily, red handkerchief worn for belt.

Dandy Dick. Light hair and beard, trimmed; blue shirt with red necktie, dark pants tucked in long boots, dark coat, Derby hat; dressed neatly as possible.

Jerden. Full beard, mixed suit, pistol in hip-pocket, Derby hat.

Jube. Woolly wig, black face, throat, and arms, red shirt thrown back from throat, with sleeves rolled up to elbow, overalls in boots.

Win-Kye. White pants, blue blouse, cue.

Silas. Red wig, mustache, and goatee, tourist blouse, long boots, slouch hat.

Mother. Gray wig, calico dress.

Agnes. Travelling-dress and hat.

Moselle. First Dress. Travelling-dress, hat and feather, neat and tasty. Second Dress. Short red dress, blue kerchief knotted loosely on breast, light stockings, boots, broad-brimmed straw hat, arms bare, hair free.

Act I. —Wooded and rocky flat; inclined run R., masked by rocks, leading up from a rocky platform C.; door and part of a log cabin, L., creepers and vines running over it, rocks and foliage; L. mask the remainder; R. rocks and foliage, rock for a seat R., near 2 entrance. Stump for a seat L., between platform and door; on rock masking run R. in large white letters, "Busted's Balm" to which with paint-pail in left hand, and brush in right, Silas Steele is discovered giving a finishing touch. Silas sings, —

Oh! here's to good old Busted,
Write him down;
Oh! here's to good old Busted,
Write him down;
Oh! here's to good old Busted,
For his balm is always trusted:
Write him down, write him down, write him down.

(Stands off, and looks at his work.) Again the missionary of health plants his victorious banner on a giant bowlder, that shall forever point the westward hoers to the fountain of health. (Sets down pail, and looks at his hands.) A fountain of water would be more to my taste just now: the handle of that pail is in a bad condition, but I'll fix it. (Takes a newspaper from his pocket, and wraps it round handle while speaking.) Big scheme of Busted to spread his balm all over the continent, from Switcham, Vt., to the top of the Sierra Nevadas. Such outward applications of the infallible awaken curiosity, curiosity stirs the sluggish brain to action, the active brain arouses the torpid system, and health re-animates the sinking frame. For further particulars see small bills. That M's a little shaky; I'll touch it up a little, or some of these hardy miners will take it for a bad spell: and, being so choice in their language, that would never do. (Works with brush. Sings), —

Oh! here's to good old Busted.

(Enter from cabin Mother Merton, with broom.)

Mother. Who on earth is that howling?

Silas (sings), —

Write him down,

Mother. A stranger! What's he doing to that rock?

Silas (sings), —

Oh! here's to good old Busted.

Mother. Busted! I do believe he's trying to blast it right before my door – blow us all up. (Brings broom down on his back smartly.) Here, stop that!

Silas (turning, and presenting brush like a pistol). Look out for paint. (Mother steps back.) I beg your pardon; but, if there is any thing in my personal appearance that leads you to suspect my jacket needs dusting, a gentler application of the duster might save the dustor some strength, and the dusteed much wind. Hang it! you nearly took away my breath.

Mother. Served you right. Who are you? Where did you come from? What's that daub?

Silas (aside). Daub! shade of Michael Angelo! (Aloud.) Madam, I am a missionary.

Mother. Good gracious! A parson. Why didn't you say so before? Settled?

Silas. No. (Rubs shoulders.) I thought I was just now.

Mother. Where do you hail from, parson?

Silas. Switcham, Vt. That answers your second interrogatory. The third I will save you the trouble of repeating by announcing the fact that the daub, as you are pleased to call my etching, is the good tidings I am ordained to proclaim. That's one of my sermons; and sermons in stones, though not original with me, have at least the merit of brevity to recommend them.

Mother. "Busted's Balm." Are you Busted?