Past Redemption

Kitty. Indeed! It would astonish me more if you had the chance. (Laugh.) But where's Harry Maynard?

Tom. Off gunning with Mr. Thornton. He said he'd be back in time for the husking: they must have lost their way.

Kitty. His last night at home, too.

Stub. Yas, indeed. Off in de mornin', afore de broke ob day. I's gwine to drive dem ober to de steam-jine station. Miss Jennie gwine to see him off; 'spect she'll jes cry her eyes out comin' home.

Tom. Well, I can't see the use of Harry Maynard's trottin' off to the city with this Mr. Thornton. Let well enough alone, say I. Here's a good farm, and a smart, pretty girl ready to share life with him; and yet off he goes to take risks in something he knows nothing about.

Kitty. Don't say a word against Mr. Thornton; he's just splendid.

Chorus of Girls. Oh, elegant!

Tom. There it is! Vanity and vexation! here's a man old enough to be your father. Comes up here in his fine clothes, with a big watch-chain across his chest, and a seal ring on his finger, and you girls are dead in love with him at first sight.

Kitty. Tom, you're jealous. Harry Maynard is not content to settle down here; he wants to see the world, and I like his spunk. If I was a man I would get the polish of city life.

Stub. So would I, so would I. Yas, indeed; get de polish down dar. Look at Joe Trash; he went down dar, he did. New suit ob store clo's onto him, and forty dollars in his calf-skin. He come back in free days polished right out ob his boots.

Tom. Well, I s'pose it's out of fashion not to like this Thornton, but there's something in the twist of his waxed-end mustache, and the roll of his eye, that makes me feel bad for Harry.

Kitty. You needn't fear for Harry. He won't eat him.

Stub. No, sir, he's not a connubial: he's a gemblum.

Tom. Ah! here's the last ear, and, by jingo! it's a red one.

Chorus. Good for you, Tom! good for you!

Nat. I'll give you a dollar for your chance.

Tom. No, you don't, Nat; I'm in luck. – Now, Kitty, I claim the privilege. A kiss for the finder of the red ear. (All rise.)

Kitty. Not from me, saucebox.

Nat. Run, Kitty, run! (Kitty runs in and out among the huskers, Tom in pursuit.)

Tom. It's no use, Kitty; you can't escape me. (She runs down r. corner; as Tom is about to seize her, she stoops, and runs across stage, catches Stub by the arms, and whirls him round. Tom, in pursuit, clasps Stub in his arms.)

Stub. "I'd offer thee dis cheek ob mine." If you want a smack take it. I won't struggle.

Tom (strikes his face with hand). How's that for a smack?

Stub. Dat's de hand widout de heart: takes all de bloom out ob my complexion. (Goes across stage holding on to his face, and exits r. Kitty runs through crowd again, comes r., Tom in pursuit.)

Tom. It's no use, Kitty: you must pay tribute.

Kitty. Never, never! (Runs across to l., and then up stage to back. Door opens, and enter Harry Maynard and Thornton, equipped with guns and game-bags; Kitty runs into Harry's arms.)

Harry. Hallo! just in time. You've the red ear, Tom, so, as your friend, I'll collect the tribute. (Kisses Kitty.)

Kitty (screams). How dare you, Harry Maynard!

Tom. Yes, Harry Maynard, how dare you?

(Thornton, Harry, Kitty, Tom, and Nat come down; others carry back the benches, and clear the stage; then converse in groups at back.)

Harry. Don't scold, Tom. It's the first game that has crossed my path to-day: the first shot I've made. So the corn is husked, and I not here to share your work. We've had a long tramp, and lost our way. (goes to r. with Thornton; they divest themselves of their bags, and lean their guns against bin. 2d entrance.)

Tom (l. c.). Empty bags! Well, you are smart gunners: not even a rabbit.

Harry (r. c. Thornton sits on stool, r.). No, Tom; they were particularly shy to-day, so I had to content myself with a deer, your dear, Tom. (All laugh; Nat, l., very loud, Tom threatening him.)

Kitty (c.). His dear, indeed! I'll have you to understand I'm not to be made game of.

Harry. No, dear, no one shall make game of you; but keep a sharp lookout, for there's a keen hunter on the track, and when Tom Larcom flings the matrimonial noose —

Kitty. He may be as lucky as you have been to-day, and return empty-handed.

Tom. Don't say that, Kitty; haven't I been your devoted —

Kitty. Fiddlesticks! (pushes him back, and comes to l. C.) If there is any thing I hate, it's sparking before company.

Nat (l.). And there's where you're right, Kitty. As much as I love you, I would never dare to be so outspoken before company.

Tom. Oh, you're a smart one, you are! (Enter Stub, r.)

Stub. Supper's onto de table, and Miss Maynard, she says, says she, you're to come right into de kitchen, eat all you like, drink all you like, an' smash all de dishes if you like; an' dere's fourteen kinds ob pies, an' turnobers, an' turn-unders, an' cold chicken, an' – an' – cheese —

Harry. That will do, Stub. My good mother is a bountiful provider, and needs no herald. So, neighbors, take your partners; Hanks will give you a march, and Mr. Thornton and I will join you as soon as we have removed the marks of the forlorn chase.

Stub. Yas, Massa Hanks, strike up a march: something lively. Dead march in Saul; dat's fus rate.

Tom (c.). Kitty, shall I have the pleasure? (Offers his left arm to Kitty.)

Nat (l.). Miss Corum, shall I have the honor? (Offers his right arm to Kitty.)

Kitty (between them, looks at each one, turns up her nose at Tom, and takes Nat's arm). Thank you, Mr. Harlow. I'll intrust this property to you.

Nat. For life, Kitty?

Kitty. On a short lease. (They go up c., face audience; others pair, and fall in behind them.)

Tom (c.). Cut, – a decided cut. I must lay in wait for Yardstick when this breaks up, and I think he will need about a pound of beefsteak for his eyes in the morning. (Goes l. and leans dejectedly against wing. Music strikes up, the march is made across stage once, and off r., Stub strutting behind.)

Harry (crosses l.). Why, Tom, don't you go in?

Tom. Certainly. Come, Hanks. (Goes over to Hanks.) They'll want your music in there, and I'm just in tune to play second fiddle. (They exeunt r., arm in arm.)