Poison

Charles. But I’ve just come from the post, sir.

Twitters. What’s that to me? (Looking up.) Dear me, Charles, I thought you were my man. Seen the paper?

Charles. I’ve brought it in, sir.

Twitters (seizing it). How’s Harshaw this morning?

Charles. Why, I never thought of looking, sir. If it had occurred to me that you’d have liked to know —

Twitters. 38 7-8! Three per cent. rise! I’m six thousand in pocket! (With a sigh.) You’re a lucky dog, Charles; you don’t tremble whenever you look at a stock-list.

Charles. No, sir; I don’t seem to look at one, often. (Nervous.) You’re surprised to see me at this hour, I suppose?

Twitters. Hadn’t been – but now you mention it, I am.

Charles. You see, I happened in at the post-office, and I saw your mail, and I thought that you might like to have me leave it at your house on my way home.

Twitters (laughing). You’re a sly dog, Charles. What time do I go to town?

Charles. Why, 9-20 I ’spose, sir.

Twitters (pointing to watch). At this moment it’s 9-25, you young rascal, and you have the impudence to say that you came to see me. (Enter Mary Jane.)

Mary Jane. Did you ring, sir?

Twitters. Yes. Take this letter to the post, and look sharp (handing letter which he has written); and, I say, tell Miss Clara that there’s a gentleman here that wants to see her. (Exit Mary Jane.)

Charles. Here are your letters, Mr. Twitters. I assure you —

Twitters. I like your little game, Charles, I like it. Perhaps Clara’ll like it, too, you young Machiavelli. Now don’t pretend you didn’t come to see her. Six thousand in, by Jove. I must sell out Harshaw as soon as I get to town. Bottom’s sure to fall out of it. (Enter Clara with watering pot.)

Clara. Good morning, papa dear, (kisses him.) Why, Dr. Squillcox, are you here?

Twitters. As if you didn’t expect him.

Clara. How can you say such things, papa?

Charles. Yes, Mr. Twitters, it’s most unjust —

Clara. If I had expected anybody, should I have brought in this great, heavy watering-pot?

Charles. Can’t I hold it Miss Clara? (takes it.)

Clara. I was going to water my flowers in the garden.

Twitters. Go along, my dear: and go along with her, you rascal. (Laughs. Exeunt Charles and Clara laughing.)

Twitters (rubbing his hands). There they go. It does my heart good to think that my little Clara has such a good fellow to look after her; and that I can act as the ways and means committee. I’ll take care that their love shan’t fly out of the window. (Opens letter.) Here’s the plumber’s bill. Old Faucet will be rolling in his carriage soon. If Charles gets tired of medicine I’ll set him up as a plumber. (Opens another letter.) Clara’s milliner’s bill. Egad! how Charles’ eyes would open, if they tried love in a cottage on his professional outcome. Hollo! What’s this? Shabby looking letter addressed in a shabby hand. Another bill, I suppose. No. What’s this? (Reads.) “Theophilus Twitters, Bloated Bond-holder. I am a foe to capital and the Grand-master of a secret society organized to cripple said capital, to muzzle monopolists, and to elevate the horny-handed son of toil.” You have a good-sized contract, my friend. “When the copartnership of Tollgate & Twitters engaged in their corner in sugar, and robbed the poor of the luxuries of a free breakfast-table, our society determined to foil you. As their agent, I secretly entered the warehouse in which your hoard of sugar was stored, and secreted in various spots amidst the innocent condiment no less than twelve pounds of arsenic. After having done this, I notified your partner, the aforesaid diabolical Tollgate, of my action, and apprised him that all the sugar must be destroyed, – else poison would be thrown broadcast upon the world. You, as his partner, are affected with notice of this. (As a foe to capital, I have incidentally been trained as a lawyer.) The aforesaid diabolical Tollgate, with your connivance,” – Damn law words. I hate ’em – “With your connivance sold the sugar. Through secret channels the deadly grains of arsenic are distilled into the veins of society. The blushing damsel, receiving taffy from her lover, curls up and dies. The fond mother, pouring out her children’s cambric tea, gives them the black wine of death. Candy-shops are charnel-houses! Society gatherings are volcanos! Ice-cream leads to the grave! And all through you, most miserable of mortals, who lie soft and count your ill-gotten wealth.” (Enter Mary Jane with coffee. He starts to drink.) “But even you are not exempt from the insidious enemy. The very cup of coffee that you may now be raising to your lips may call you to judgment.” (Drops coffee cup.) What sinful nonsense. I shouldn’t give it a thought if it didn’t charge my poor dead partner with such villany. And Tollgate was a Sunday-school superintendent. (Enter Mary Jane with breakfast.)

Mary Jane. The letter’s mailed, sir.

Twitters. Letter? What do you know about the letter?

Mary Jane. Sure, you gave it to me, sir.

Twitters. No such thing. Ah, to be sure! How absurd to be so discomposed. So breakfast’s ready?

Mary Jane (arranging table). Yes, sir.

Twitters (after a short pause, during which he has fidgeted). By the way, Mary Jane, you haven’t happened to hear much illness about of late. Have you?

Mary Jane. Why, sir, there has been folks go off sudden.

Twitters. You don’t say so? Who?

Mary Jane. Well, sir; there was poor Mr. Tollgate.

Twitters. Apoplexy – apoplexy, beyond all doubt. Caused by the success of our corner.

Mary Jane. Then, sir, there was my grandmother, only last week, sir.

Twitters. Yes, I remember. But I’ve remarked that that melancholy event has happened twenty-seven times in the course of the year. I infer that your grandfather was a Mormon.

Mary Jane. Which I consider that remark most unfeeling, sir. And what with waiting on the mother of the late Mrs. Twitters, sir, and getting two breakfasts for you, and having my own grandfather abused, sir, I cannot submit to it, sir.

Twitters. Leave the room, girl.

Mary Jane. Which I shall take pleasure in leaving, sir, this day week, sir. (Exit.)

Twitters (playing with breakfast things). All right. It’s absurd to think of this matter. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred an anonymous letter is a lie, but if this should turn out to be the hundredth I should be a Borgia. Heavens. What a situation. Why, even my poor daughter would be blighted. I could never permit her to marry and to perpetuate a crime-stained race. I wonder what the effect of arsenic is. Happy thought. I’ll look it up in my encyclopædia. Glad to put the thing to some use. (Takes down the volume.) A-r-t – a-r-s-e-n-i-c. That’s it. (Reads.) “Arsenic is one of the most violent of the acrid poisons. Its use in medicine and toxicological properties are treated under medical jurisprudence.” Damn it. Just my luck. (Looks at bookcase again.) My set stops at “Lam.” Pooh! Pooh! Why, even if the whole thing were true, twelve pounds. (Looks at letter.) Yes, he says twelve pounds – in a whole warehouse full of sugar wouldn’t do more than improve the complexion of the public. I should be a benefactor. (Enter Charles and Clara.)

Clara. Is breakfast all ready, papa, dear? I’m dreadfully hungry.

Twitters. Quite ready, dear.

Charles. Where shall I put this? It’s very heavy.

Twitters. Heavy?

Charles. Yes, you see it is quite full of water. I’m afraid of wetting the carpet, you see.

Clara. Why! Sure enough! We forgot to water the flowers!

Twitters. Forgot it, eh? Young people have queer memories, nowadays. Put that confounded thing in the hall, Charles. You are a medical man. How do you account for the curious prevalence of sudden death?

Charles (returning from hall door). Why, I haven’t thought much about it.

Twitters. The newspapers talk about arsenic in wall papers. Nonsense, don’t you think so?