A Rough Diamond

    LADY PLATO goes up the Stage as if uncertain which way to go, till she hurries off by the R.H. door, followed by BLENHEIM.

MAR. Well, I say nothing, but if aunt really wants to find her husband she’s gone quite the wrong way, and I’m to say nothing about it. Well, I’m no tell-tale, but I don’t like it. (goes to the flower-stand, L.H., and trims the flowers) Lord bless us! what a deal o’ trouble people get themselves into when once they begin having secrets from one another.

COUSIN JOE appears at the back

JOE. This must be the house – I found the gate open, and the Nag’s Head told me this was Sir William’s, and he’s the gentleman that married my cousin, and – What, Margery! lord bless us!

MAR. What, Joe, is it you? how d’ye do, Joe? Well, I am glad to see you! (shakes hands heartily with JOE) More old friends meeting, but this is the best of all. Well, and how are you, cousin Joe?

JOE. Oh, I’m very well, thank ye!

MAR. What’s brought you here? come to see me?

JOE. Yes.

MAR. That’s right.

JOE. I’m going up to a place in London. You see, mother knows somebody there, and as I didn’t care much about farming, and always had a kind o’ sort o’ notion of being a bit of a gentleman, why, they said I was cut out for sarvice, and the end of it is, I’m going to London to be page to a fine lady.

MAR. Lord, Joe!

JOE. The very thing for a genteel youth like me, they say. I ain’t to wear these clothes then. No, I’m to be all over buttons, and have a hat with gold lace, and my hair is to be curled every morning, and I’m to carry letters in to missus on a silver plate, and walk arter her with the lap-dog in the street, and take care nobody’s sarcy to her.

MAR. Can’t you stop here a day or two before you go to your place? we would have such fun – for though my husband has often said that none of my family must come here, as he wanted me to forget all their ways, yet as you are here, I think I could coax him to let you stop. Sit down, Joe – here’s a chair. Well, and so – and how’s your mother?

JOE. Hearty.

MAR. And what’s the news? – tell me all you can think of. Has Tom Dixon married Lizzey Turvey yet?

JOE. No; they were going to be married only a week ago, and when they got to the church Tom took fright and ran all the way home again, and left Lizzey Turvey crying her eyes out at the porch door.

MAR. You don’t say so! Well, I always said Tom was a fool. Come close, Joe, don’t be shy – and, oh Joe! how comfortable this is, to have somebody to talk to in one’s own fashion! I do feel so free and easy again! Well, and tell me, Joe, is Dame Willows living?

JOE. No – died six months ago.

MAR. Did she leave all her money to her nephew, Jem Porter?

JOE. No, bless your life! Oh, there’s such work!

MAR. Come quite close – quite close, and tell me.

JOE. You see, Jem made sure of the money, and lived in such style – bought a horse and shay, and went to races, and played nine-pins – when, lo and behold! the old lady died and he found it was all left to a smooth-faced fellow that nobody never heard on, that got somehow or other into the old lady’s good books and she had it writ down. It was all because Jem one day kicked her favorite dog, that used to fly at everybody’s legs – now the dog’s gone to live with a baker, and Jem’s in prison for debt.

MAR. And Harry Bacon, what’s become of him?

JOE. Gone to sea, because Mary Brown took up with a tailor what opened a shop from London. And you recollect Tom Hammer the blacksmith?

MAR. Yes.

JOE. Well, if he ain’t gone and bought all Merryweather’s pigs I’m a Dutchman! And Merryweather’s gone to America, and the eldest daughter’s married Sam Holloway the cutler, and folks say it ain’t a good match, because he was a widow with three children all ready and she might have had Master Pollard the schoolmaster, and he’s gone and turned serious and won’t let the boys play at no games, and so they’re all going away to a new man that’ll let ’em do just what they like; and Will Twig has been found out stealing chickens, and he’s in prison; and Johnny Trotter the postman has opened a grocer’s shop; and they’ve pulled down the old parsonage and are building a new ’un; and the doctor’s got a large lamp over his door with big blue and red bull’s eyes; and there’s a new beadle, and all the parish children have got the hooping-cough, and Mrs. Jenkins’ cow’s dead, and – that’s all!

MAR. Oh, Joe! I can shut my eyes and see everything and everybody you’ve been talking about, oh so plain! and to see you again does seem so like old times.

JOE. And didn’t we have games? when you used to climb up the cherry-tree, and call out to me, “Joe, come and help me, or I shall tumble down and break something!”

MAR. Yes! and Joe, when my father used to take you and I to market, and we used to sit at the bottom of the cart and eat apples!

JOE. And when sometimes I used to try to give you a kiss, what knocks on my nose you used to give me!

MAR. Ah! didn’t I?

JOE. And when I got savage how I used to kick you wi’ my hob-nail shoes! Oh! how friendly we was – wasn’t we?

MAR. And how we did sing!

JOE. And dance!

MAR. And were so happy!

JOE. Oh, Margery!

MAR. Oh, Joe!

    JOE catches her in his arms and kisses her – At the same moment, SIR WILLIAM and LORD PLATO appear at the back, and stand in astonishment.

SIR W. Heavens!

PLATO. Sir William!

MAR. (to JOE) Don’t go away – it’s only my husband.

SIR W. Who is this fellow, and what is he doing here?

    JOE, still seated, stares at SIR WILLIAM and makes him a bow —SIR WILLIAM repeats the question.

MAR. It’s my cousin Joe. He was only giving me a kiss just now – and I was so glad to see him, and he was so glad to see me, that we – we couldn’t help it.

JOE. No, we couldn’t help it.

PLATO. Exceedingly ingenious!

SIR W. (to MARGERY) Oblige me by retiring to your room – and you, fellow, leave this place immediately.

MAR. Don’t send him away yet – we haven’t had half a talk together.

JOE. No, we haven’t had half a talk together.

MAR. Don’t you go, Joe.