Poison

Charles (soaring to professional fluency). Not a bit of it. Arsenic is the most deadly of drugs.

Twitters. Oh, you don’t say so?

Clara. What a disagreeable subject! Come to breakfast, papa dear. (At table.)

Twitters. Stop, Clara, we are not ready for food; I am interested in this matter. How deadly is arsenic – how much would kill?

Charles. Well, in wall-papers it’s one thing; in the stomach, it is another.

Twitters. Take stomachs. I’m interested.

Charles. It’s only common prudence to have your wall-paper tested (looking at paper); I don’t like that green.

Twitters. Confound it, sir; I’m talking about stomachs.

Clara. Papa dear, aren’t you ready?

Twitters. Don’t interrupt us. Charles – how much arsenic will kill?

Charles. A deadly dose for an adult is five grains.

Twitters. How do you weigh it? How many grains to the pound?

Charles. Twenty grains make a scruple – there are three scruples in a dram – that’s sixty grains – in an ounce there are eight drams – that makes four hundred and eighty – and in a pound there are twelve ounces – twelve times four hundred and eighty are five thousand seven hundred and sixty.

Twitters. Then a pound will kill – ?

Charles. Five into five once – into seven, once and two over – into twenty-six, five times and one over – and into ten twice. A pound would kill about eleven hundred and fifty-two able-bodied men.

Twitters (to himself). Twelve times eleven hundred and – good heavens. (Sinks into chair.)

Clara. Charles is going to breakfast with us, papa dear.

Twitters. Charles! What do you mean by speaking of Dr. Squillcox by his Christian name?

Clara. Why —you do, papa dear.

Twitters. Yes; but I’m not a marriageable young woman.

Clara (to Charles). You had better speak, dear.

Charles. Mr. Twitters – the fact is —

Clara. Yes, papa; the fact is —

Twitters. The fact is, young man, that you have come here before cock-crow, pretending to bring the mail to me – gauzy pretext —

Charles. I assure you, Mr. Twitters, I did nothing of the sort.

Clara. By no means, papa dear. He came to see me; and he is going to ask you —

Twitters. I see what he’s at. I consider your behavior surreptitious, sir. What have you to recommend you?

Clara. He has my love, papa dear. That’s all you have but a little money. Now be a dear, good, sweet papa.

Twitters. Sweet! Oh – 42,000 grains – I have your love, then?

Clara. Why, yes, papa.

Twitters. Very good. I don’t choose to share it. Your conduct is little better than robbery, sir. You ought to blush redder than the bottles that conceal the poverty of your stock in trade.

Charles. My calling is respectable, sir.

Twitters. Then follow its example in your conduct, sir.

Charles. I shall, sir. (Going.)

Clara. Charles, are you going away?

Charles. Naturally.

Twitters. And naturally, sir, you won’t expect to return?

Charles. Naturally not, sir. (Exit.)

Twitters (aside). There he goes; worthy young fellow. But while this arsenic is hanging over my head there must be no thought of love or marriage in this fated home. Clara, dear, don’t let this trouble you.

Clara. O, papa, I don’t know which of you troubles me most. You are so harsh and Charles was so – so —

Twitters. Pusillanimous, Clara. A single rebuff was enough for him.

Clara (crying). O, dear! O, dear!

Twitters (patting her shoulder). There, dear, there! Remember, as long as I live you have some one to love you.

Clara. But it isn’t the same thing.

Twitters. No, the honest love of a father is lasting – come to breakfast.

Clara (going to table sobbing). T-two lumps in your coffee, papa?

Twitters (with emphasis). Great Heavens! No! (Recovering himself.) That has been my usual dose.

Clara. Dose! (Sobbing again.) O dear! Poor Charles!

Twitters (aside). A deadly dose for an adult is five grains – twelve times eleven hundred and fifty-two – enough to kill twenty-five thousand women and children. The board of water commissioners are a choir of white-robed angels beside my partner if this is true. Why will you put so much sugar in your coffee, dear? You make it a perfect liqueur!

Clara. I always had a sweet tooth.