Poison

Twitters. I must yield.

Hunker. All right, Twitters. You’re more intelligent than you look.

Twitters. I have a good back room.

Hunker. I prefer a front one.

Twitters. The front one is mine.

Hunker. Sorry to inconvenience you, I’m sure, but I can’t put up with a back one.

Twitters (aside). Crimes do come home to roost with a vengeance! (Aloud.) Where is your trunk?

Hunker. Would you believe it, Twitters, I’ve shoved up every thundering rag that ain’t on my back. I’ll borrow of you.

Twitters. This passes patience.

Hunker. It’s hard to bear; but your clothes are good, if they aint handsome. I aint proud. But proud or not, I want a bath. If you’ll believe it, Twitters, I’ve not bathed since – but we won’t be unpleasant and vulgar, will we?

Twitters. The servant will show you to the bath-room.

Hunker. You’d better do it yourself, Twitters; I don’t like to lose sight of you – not that you’re so awful handsome to look at, but – you twig? Thanks, I’ll sample your strong waters (pouring brandy from decanter to goblet and drinking). Where’s the bath-room?

Twitters. This way.

Hunker. All right. Now you treat me fair, and I’ll treat you fair. (Smacking his lips.) I’m square. That’s prime tipple. (Exeunt.)

Charles (appearing at window). Nobody’s here. I must see Clara! (Door opens.) I wouldn’t be seen. Twitters is capable of setting dogs on me. (Dodges down. Enter Clara.)

Clara. Papa! Is that horrid man gone? Papa?

Charles (appearing again). Hush!

Clara (starting and turning). Oh! – It’s you, and crawling through the window. Dr. Squillcox.

Charles. “Dr. Squillcox.” O, Clara – come here.

Clara (approaching window). I hate you. If you had really loved me you would have shown more courage with papa.

Charles. It was insane of me to ask a man for his daughter’s hand before he had eaten his breakfast. (Takes her hand.) But it’s all serene, little girl. I’ll make it well. (Kisses her.)

Clara. It doesn’t make it well at all.

Charles. I have such an immense plan. You must be taken very ill, this afternoon. Your father will forget his dyspepsia in worrying over you. All remedies they give you must fail. Old Dr. Parkinson is away, and —

Clara (clapping her hands). And papa will have to send for you. At your first powder – you mustn’t give me pills – I can’t take them – I’ll get well immediately.

Charles. And your papa, delighted at my skill, will give your hand to your preserver.

Clara. How clever you are, Charles! (Noise without.) Go away. Somebody’s coming. (Charles disappears.)

(Enter Twitters.)

Twitters (advancing thoughtfully, aside). I wonder if the brand of Cain is perceptible upon my brow. To think that I should be the cause of all this suffering! That no day may pass without a death which proper investigation might lay at my door! That all my life must be passed with this terrible man. I cannot endure it! (Sits down.)

Clara (approaching him). Why, papa, you look ill.

Twitters. Ill! Yes, this is a wicked world, Clara. I meant to strew your path with roses, to hide from you the villainy —

Hunker (without, shouting). Towels, Twitters.

Clara. O, dear! What is that?

Twitters (rising). It is the voice of fate. (Calling.) Coming, sir.

Clara. What do you mean?

Hunker (without). Found ’em! No matter!

Twitters. A gentleman is come to stay with me, dear; and while he is here, we shall have so much business together that I have been thinking that it might be well for you to visit your kind grandmother.

Clara. But I don’t want to. Grandma has horrid things to eat. Who is this gentleman?

Twitters. You saw him here, this morning.

Clara. That horrid, dirty man!

Twitters. An old friend of my boyhood, Clara – a worthy man, whom the world has dog’s-eared by hard usage. I am superior to prejudice, but I cannot expect you to be.

Clara. I should hope not.

Twitters. So you had better go at once, dear. I’ll send your things. He is rough, I know, but he has a gentle, kind heart —

Hunker (without). I say, Twitters! Where are you? Damn you!

Twitters (calling). Here, sir. (To Clara.) Go away, dear, quickly.

(Clara goes toward door. As she reaches it, Hunker appears and meets her, face to face. He is showily dressed in clothes of Twitters’, somewhat too small.)

Hunker (bowing). Much obliged, miss; you were coming to show me the way, I ’spose. I’ve found it, you see. I heard your lovely voice.

Twitters. My daughter was going out, Mr. Hunker.

Hunker. I guess she’d better not. It ain’t a nice day out.

Clara. I beg your pardon, sir.

Hunker. Twitters, this young woman mustn’t go out. Do you twig?