This is Wilson J. Vance and John Philip Sousa’s comic operetta Katherine, transcribed and edited by Arthur O’Dwyer (2025).

The dialogue and lyrics are mostly as they appear in the libretto printed by R. O. Polkinhorn in 1881, a copy of which resides in the Vance Family Papers at Bowling Green State University (MS 1184, box 2). Manuscript lyrics are found in the Sousa Archives at UIUC (box 241 folders 1–3).

Many small corrections, especially to punctuation, have been made quietly. Larger corrections, issues, and notes are marked in the text like this, with further details in the mouseover text.

The typographical presentation is inspired by Asimov’s Annotated Gilbert & Sullivan (1988).

See also Katherine’s entry in Paul E. Bierley’s The Works of John Philip Sousa (1984), and a significantly different 1879 version of Katherine.

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Katherine

Book and lyrics by Wilson J. Vance

Music by John Philip Sousa

(Never produced)

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Dramatis Personæ

Kate Wyvern, a schoolgirl
Frederick G. Wyvern, Kate’s father; a New York merchant retired from business and retiring in disposition—in point of fact, a modest man
Lucius Quintus Curtius Jones, a young man from Ohio who toils with his brain
Mrs. Mary J. Brown, better known to this history as Madame Clothilde Le Brun; apparently a soft, gushing young widow, with no friend in all the wide world; no manly arm to lean upon; no heart to throb responsive to her own and all that
John B. Brown, an eminent citizen; better known to this history as Jacques-Pierre, a French Canadian, proprietor of a dancing bear of some ability; as Yung-ti Wung-to, a three-button Mandarin, sent from China to represent his Imperial Highness the Brother of the Sun, etc., at Washington; and as plain Brown, a detective
Lottie Lamprey, a poor young person dependent upon her uncle Wyvern
John H. Smith, a young gentleman with no remarkable characteristics
Bill, an improper person
An August Master of Ceremonies
Chorus of Tourists, Chinese Ambassadors, and Thieves

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Act I

Scene.—Lawn in front of a hotel in the White Mountains. Wild mountain scenery. Enter Wyvern, Clothilde, and Smith among a Chorus of Tourists, divided into Pessimists (sopranos and tenors) and Optimists (altos and basses).

[Enter Brown convincingly costumed as Jacques-Pierre, a French-Canadian showman, accompanied by Bill convincingly costumed as a dancing bear. The crowd separates. Women and children frightened.]

[Jacques-Pierre dances with the bear.]

[At end of dance, bear makes a rush at the crowd, and rudely pushes up against Clothilde, who, intending to fall in Wyvern’s arms, feigns to faint—but is caught by Lucius, who comes down center.]

Wyv. [snatching her from Lucius] Unhand that lady, you impertinent young monkey! [Turning to Jacques] See what you’ve done, you infernal ruffian! How dare you persecute the lady with your dirty bear!

Luc. What’s the matter with the old gobbler?

Wyv. Gobbler—! [Very much enraged] Gobbler! I’ll teach you, sir, to—!

Clo. [reviving, speaking faintly to Wyvern] Oh! my preserver! My heroic defender! How can I thank you for rescuing me from that horrid monster?

Wyv. [magniloquently] Don’t mention it, I beg of you, madam; it was nothing. I would dare any danger for a lovely woman. [Bows] As for this beast with a bear, I’ll—

Clo. Oh! my dear, good, brave sir! do not, I beg of you, again peril your life for me! Restrain your anger and allow this horrid fellow to get away with his life—

Jac. [mockingly] Oui! Eef you please, sir, do not a-keel me!

Clo. Oh! think of your wife, sir!

Wyv. But I have no wife.

Clo. Then you love—think of her—

Smith Certainly, if he has no wife, he must love. Otherwise—

Jac. Oui! zat is so! [Mockingly] But you will not a-keel me? Oh, sair!

Luc. [tapping Wyvern familiarly on the shoulder; he has tablets and pencil] Excuse me. I’m a lawyer. Suit will lie here for trespass quære clausum fregit et blada asportavit—have the fellow hung, if you say so. Your name is—?

Wyv. Get out, you impudent—

Luc. And the lady’s name is—?

Wyv. Really, this is too much! If you don’t go away, I’ll thrash you, even in the presence of the ladies. [Bowing apologetically to them]

Luc. [coolly] Don’t—don’t. I wouldn’t. [Turning to Jacques] And your name is—?

Jac. Jacques-Pierre; and ze bear is Jules Capot. He haf not eat a lady for more zan a week, and he ees ’ongry!

Smith Poor fellow, he must be nearly starved. Doubtless has as strong a thirst for blood as my respected friend in the brown wig.

Clo. [faintly] Oh, sir, may I ask you to assist me to my hotel? I feel as if I would faint again. That horrid monster—!

[Wyvern and Smith take an arm each, and ladies gather about offering smelling-salts, etc. All go off, sympathizing with and following Clothilde; while Jacques and bear sing and dance off. Lucius saunters off in direction opposite to hotel, lighting and smoking cigar.

[Enter Kate, walking slowly down the mountain, singing.]

[While she is singing the last few words, Wyvern and Clothilde come on at back. Clothilde sits and Wyvern talks to her, gesticulating passionately. Kate looks off L.]

Kate I wonder who that handsome fellow is over there with the cigar? I wish he’d look at me! Maybe he would—for, you know, [earnestly] love is born in a moment. I believe that all true love comes at first sight. Maybe he’s a poet—he looks like it—and I dote on poets. Ahem! Ahem!

[As Kate moves about, attempting to attract the attention of Lucius (who remains off stage), she perceives Clothilde and Wyvern, who have not observed her.]

Kate Why, pa!

[Wyvern scrambles hastily to his feet, as does Clothilde.]

Wyv. [very much confused and embarrassed] Oh! ah! hum! Why, you see—

Kate Why, pa, who’s your friend?

Wyv. Why, you see— Never mind, Katie dear! Run along and play. You can’t understand—

Kate No, I don’t believe I can!

Wyv. Why, you see, Katie, I rescued this young lady—

Clo. Yes indeed! Your noble father— but tell me, is it true that this young gentleman [Wyvern pulls up his collar, etc.] is really your father?

Kate Yes indeedy!

Clo. Oh, most fortunate daughter, to have so brave and noble a papa!

Kate You mean me?

Clo. Yes. Oh,—

Kate What’s he been doing now? [With some asperity] Where did you meet my paw? Who introduced you?

Wyv. You see, daughter, I—

Clo. [fondly] Oh! my hero—my prince—my—

Kate Who’s a hero?

Clo. Your father, blessed girl.

Kate My pa? [Impatiently] Tell me what you mean.

[During the preceding the Chorus and all principals have returned; Jacques, appearing with bear at rear, grins at the proceedings and soon disappears.]

Clo. Do you see that great horrid bear? [Excitedly]

Kate [enthusiastically] Oh! the dear, lovely thing!

[Exit all but Lucius, singing “By his awful tail,” etc. All but Clothilde and Wyvern are laughing and joking, enjoying the absurdity of the situation. Lucius remains, sitting on a rock and smoking. After all are gone, he throws down his cigar and comes forward.]

Luc. That was a long tail—in at least three volumes, I should say, and bids fair to be continued. Quite a tale for a bear! [Catching sight of Kate] Ah, there old Gobbler’s daughter. Why not, Lucius, my boy? Things are dull here, and a little affair wouldn’t be bad! She looks sentimental. Suppose I carol her a love ditty, sad and strong?— I’ll try it.

[While he is singing, enter Kate at back. She listens sympathetically.]

Kate [aside] The poor fellow! How he seems to feel it! I’m sure I’m awfully sorry for him.

Luc. [aside] She seems to like it! Good enough. I must get acquainted with her. “Faint heart never won fair lady.” Here goes. [Aloud] Beg pardon, but I’ve lost something. I’ve lost— Maybe you’ve found it. Have you?

Kate Indeed, sir—!

Luc. [briskly] Beg pardon, you know—but I’m— I’m— well, in short, I am, you know, and—

Kate Oh! Tell me, are you a poet?

Luc. [loftily] Well, to tell the truth, I flatter myself I can turn out a little poetry quite equal to the best of them. I’m a lawyer, you know; just graduated, you know; and then—and then—I’m from Ohio!

Kate Oh! Isn’t that nice!

Luc. Yes, I’m from Ohio. I toil with my brain, you know—a brain-toiler! That song I just sung I wrote myself. That shows the stuff I’m made of. Wrote that in fifteen minutes by the watch. [Aside] Now I’ll make love to her. [Aloud] Lovely being—

Kate [aside] Oh my—I really believe he’s going to—!

Luc. Fairest one! I can no longer restrain the feelings pent up within my—my—what-dy’e-call-it. I feel—

Kate Oh, sir! You are so—

Luc. Yes, I know I am; but I was always so. I must ease my o’ercharged bosom of the “perilous stuff.” [Aside] That’s Shakespeare; I’m not sure that it is in quite the right place; but I must impress her at all hazards. [Aloud] But you see—you see—

Kate Oh, sir! Go on, sir! Don’t you feel well?

Luc. Then let me now, fairest one, most peerless of thy sex— [Aside] Bad grammar, but that ought to fetch her. [Aloud] In short, to see thee was to love thee!

Kate Oh, has it come at last?

Luc. Indeed I don’t know. Has what come at last?

Kate Oh, do you know, I’ve so long pined for “some one to love—”

Luc. “—Some one to caress”? Then take me! Here I am, “free-born and of full age,” twenty-one years old, a young man from Ohio; a member of the grand aristocracy of intellect, a brain-toiler, warranted not to cut in the eye, nor run down at the heel—that is—I don’t mean—I mean—

Kate I see! You don’t exactly find words—

Luc. No, I don’t! But accept it, “heavenly maid,” as one of Love’s delicious incoherencies that mean more than volumes, for “when first I saw thy sweet face—”

Kate Oh, isn’t it nice?

Luc. What? Your face? Well, I should say so.

Kate No, I mean to love, and be loved!

Luc. Then you do—oh, repeat the fond word—you do love me?

Kate I do!

Luc. [dramatically] Kind heaven, I thank thee! Now do I understand why I live! Now do I comprehend the great mystery of existence! Now do I see why it was that I was “sent into this breathing world,” you know, “scarce half made up, and that so lamely”—no, I mean—I don’t mean that—but—

Kate Oh, George, go on.

Luc. But my name’s not George. Permit me— [Hands her his card]

Kate [reads] “Lucius Quintus Curtius Jones, Attorney and Counselor-at-Law, Arcadia, Ohio. Mercantile collections and constitutional questions a specialty.” What a lovely name! So high-toned, so romantic, so— so—

Luc. Exactly so! And then the line of business—!

Kate But you were saying that at last you understood the great mystery—?

Luc. It was to love thee, sweetest one! to love thee, my own sweet! By the way, what is your name?

Kate Oh, call me Katie—my name’s Katie! I-E, please, not K-A-T-Y; and my name’s not Katherine, either. Ugh! Isn’t that a horrid ugly name?

Luc. Oh, Katie, my darling—!

Kate That sounds so nice. Say it again.

Luc. Then, Katie, my darling, are you sure you love me? How long have you loved me, precious one?

Kate Oh, Lucius Quintus Curtius Jones, I have—

Luc. Ahem! “Lucius” will do, for short, to save breath. I’m not particular about having it hurled at me all at once, you know.

Kate I have yearned for someone to love for oh, ever so long—

Luc. Poor thing!

Kate Yes, every girl in school except me had a sweetheart—some of them two or three at once—and—

Luc. The mean things!

Kate Weren’t they? And then I saw you; and the moment I laid eyes on you, dearest Lucius Quint— I mean, Lucius— I experienced an undefinable— a—

Luc. Exactly! I’ve had it myself; had it bad, I may say. I know what you mean. Go on.

Kate And then I knew that I loved you, and would always love you, for ever and ever and ever, and would never part from you, and would never love anybody else! But you’ll always call me Katie, won’t you?

Luc. Indeed I will.

Kate For Pa, you know, says I was christened Katherine, when I wasn’t; for I guess I know, for wasn’t I there?

Luc. Must have been. But never fear, I’ll always call thee Katie, for though by any other name you’d— no, I mean— I never will cease to love thee!

Kate When we calmly look back at it, isn’t it strange?

Luc. Undoubtedly. To what do you refer? What has struck you as peculiarly strange?

Kate How we love each other so deeply, truly, and fondly—and to think I was wanting a sweetheart so badly, and all at once I saw you, and then— Oh my, isn’t it nice?

Luc. Rather!

Kate Oh, there comes my cousin Lottie! [Dramatically] Fly, or we will be betrayed!

Luc. And must I part from thee, my loved one? Must I tear myself away? Must I—

Kate Oh, this agony!

Luc. Adieu! Good night! only it isn’t night, you know. “A thousand times good-night!” “Good night! Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good-night till it be morrow.” “Good-night, a thous—”

[Lucius retires hastily as Lottie enters.]

Lot. Well, Katherine! So you have a sweetheart at last!

Kate Why, what do you mean?

Lot. Oh, I see it all. Haven’t I eyes? You’ve been crazy for a year to have a sweetheart. You’ve lived on slate-pencils and pickles, and Tennyson, and the moon, and all that—and at last you’ve got a sweetheart.

Kate Well, Lottie, since you have divined my secret—

Lot. Divined your fiddle-stick! Talk sensibly, Kate!

Kate Well, I might as well confess. Oh, Lottie, it’s awfully nice! He loves me, and he’s just too sweet, and I love him, and will forever and ever.

Lot. Yes, I know; I see; spare me the rest! “She is his’n and he is her’n—”

Kate Don’t make fun of me, Lottie! But oh! what will Pa say?

Lot. He will put his foot down on your love affair in a jiffy. Don’t you know he fairly despises that young gentleman—threatened to break his bones? You’ll have a fine time.

Kate [sobbing] Oh, Lottie, what will I do? I’ll die if Pa don’t let me love him, and I know he will drive him away. What will I do? The course of true love never did run smooth.

Lot. The course of true nonsense! Your true love won’t last a week.

Kate How can you be so cruel? [Weeping violently] It was so awfully nice, and now Pa will spoil it all.

Lot. Well, and why should you allow him to?

Kate Allow him to? Why, Lottie, how can I help it?

Lot. I would help it if I were in your place. I’d like to see my father separate me from the man I love.

Kate But he is so awful when he’s angry—and he’ll send me back to school. What can I do? How can I get his consent to love my Lucius?

Lot. I have an idea, Kate. I’ll tell you how to do it. You know he is dead in love with that Madame Le Brun, that widow.

Kate My pa, with that horrid painted thing?

Lot. Yes indeed. You’ve been very blind if you haven’t seen it. Why, it’s the talk of the whole house.

Kate But how will that help me?

Lot. Why, if you make a fuss and worry him about his love affair, he will be glad to do something to please you; and then you can make your consent conditional upon his.

Kate Oh, Lottie, do you think—?

Lot. If he won’t let you love your sweetheart, don’t let him love his! That will bring him to terms. But you’ll have to have a scene, and you must be very firm and unyielding. It’s a game two can play at.

Kate Oh, Lottie! [Embracing her] What a dear good girl you are. I will try it. But suppose I fail? Suppose he don’t love that horrid thing enough to be willing?

Lot. Never fear about that! He’s completely addled. When a man is in love he’s a fool, and an old fool is the worst of all fools.

Kate Well, I’ll try it, Lottie. I’ve been trying to get in love for so long, and now that I am, I won’t give up without a struggle. And to think of that painted old woman—!

Lot. You will win if only you are firm. —And here they all come, your father with them. Now is your chance. Strike while the iron’s hot.

Kate Oh Lottie!

[Enter Wyvern and Clothilde. Kate timidly draws her father to one side.]

Wyv. Katherine, I am informed that you have been seen talking with that young man from Ohio—that impudent young Jones. Now I wish never to hear of this happening again. I—

Kate But, Pa—

Wyv. Not a word! He is an impertinent puppy, and if you allow him to speak to you again—

Kate But, Pa, I love him, and I wanted to—

Wyv. [screaming] Love him! You— you—

Kate Yes, I love him, and I mean to love him just as much as I please.

Wyv. Listen to that, listen to that, listen to that! She braves me to my very face. A girl not out of short dresses talking of being in love! Was there ever—! Let me hear no more of this. [He turns about and joins Clothilde] Ah, madam, I see that you too, are a lover of nature. What grandeur is this about us!

Kate [calling, imperiously] Pa!

Wyv. Presently, Katie. I’m busy just now. As I was saying, madam: to gaze upon this grand handiwork of nature, to come in contact with her sublime moods, fills me with—

Kate [loudly and emphatically] Pa, come here!

Luc. Enough, kind friends! Forbear! Your appeals fall on the flinty rock! Yon monster bears the semblance of a man, but within, I venture to say—I say, I venture to say that within he is— he is— well, to put it mildly, he is a moral monstrosity, and I’ll put up money on it! Go! Leave this young heart— [clutching his breast] —crushed and bleeding, to corrode and crumble away in its own agony and grief! Go! For me there is nothing more in life! And as for this gentle flower—this turtle-dove—whose love for me has brought so much woe upon her head, may she learn to forget—but she won’t! I may— but she never can! There’s nothing left for me but my grief. “Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!”

[Lucius stalks about with an affectation of grief and despair, while Kate eyes her father savagely.

[Wyvern turns again to Clothilde.]

Wyv. At this moment I feel that influence ennobling—

Kate Pa, who is that person?

Wyv. [with great dignity] Katie, my darling, you forget yourself. You must not use such a tone as that to me.

Kate [dramatically] Again I ask: who is that per-r-r-son?

Wyv. [angrily] This lady, Miss Pert, is a friend—

Kate [with hauteur] But not of mine, sir!

Wyv. What do you mean?

Kate I mean that I wish never to see you in her company again!

Wyv. [gasping] Why, Katie, what do you mean? What is the matter?

Kate The matter is that you are falling a victim to the arts and wiles—

Wyv. [sternly] Katherine—!

Kate —of a designing woman, and I won’t have it!

Wyv. Are you crazy? Do you know who you are talking to?

Kate I’m not crazy; and I’m talking to a poor old man who is the victim of a designing woman, who—

Clo. Oh, Mr. Wyvern, I’m afraid—

Kate Silence! If I ever see you again in company with that— thing—

Wyv. [sarcastically] Well, what will you do?

Kate If I can’t love, you shan’t! If I ever see you with her again, I’ll—

Wyv. [furiously] What? What? What will you do?

Kate [dramatically] I will— I swear it here, I’ll—

Wyv. Speak, girl! Will what?

Kate [with great intensity of expression] I’ll disown you!

[Wyvern staggers back, astonished.]

End of Act I

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Act II

Scene.—At the seashore. Starlight. Exterior of a seaside cottage or hotel with three practicable windows.

[Enter Lucius with guitar. He goes carefully about to see that no one is near.]

Luc. [recitative] Oh! Katherine, Katherine, if you have ears to hear—!

[At the close of the serenade Wyvern and Smith appear at the windows and elaborately acknowledge the compliment, throwing kisses, etc.]

Smith [from window] Bravely sung, i’faith! And where gattest thou yon ballad, gentle troubadour? By Saint Cupid, ’twere a soft and touching one, and sweetly warbled! In good sooth, it went to my heart like a healing balm and melted my obdurate hardness even as the warm rays of the sun melt and dissolve the icy fetters of the singing streamlet in the springtime! Where gattest thou it, sad minstrel?

Wyv. [likewise] Indeed, Mr. Jones, I feel that my poor words can but feebly show my thanks for a compliment as beautiful as it was unexpected and unmerited! What poor return my small abilities may make is yours! I thank you!

Smith I, too, soft songster, feel the inadequacy of my power to fitly acknowledge thy delightful courtesy. Yet all that I have, fair youth, I hasten to set forth to do thee honor. Words, noble warbler, are but idle wind. I would fain do more. Will’t please thee enter mine humble hostlery and beer a beer with me?

Wyv. Or would you deign to accept from me a neat but inexpensive Limberger lunch? I need not say that there’s nothing small about me, and, fragrant as your song is, I would be pleased to recompense you, odor for odor.

Smith Sure, never since the melancholy Montague swore soft oaths in the willing Capulet’s drinking ear were love’s perjuries so sweetly sung nor warmly welcomed. Now, by my halidom, I do love thee! That last stave—couldst thou not sing the strain again?

Wyv. By all means, Mr. Jones! Just throw back your little head and swell out your little throat, and sing your little heart right out, do!

Smith Ah, I do beseech thee, valiant knight—

[Lucius, upon realizing his mistake, has placed his back to a rock or a tree and listened quietly.]

Luc. When you fellows get through monkeyin’ around up there, suppose you come out here? I acknowledge the corn. The joke’s on me. Spare me any more of your incomparable wit.

[Wyvern and Smith start down.]

Luc. [aside] I’ve made a nice mess of it, haven’t I?

[Enter Smith and Wyvern. They shake Lucius warmly by the hand.]

Wyv. Indeed, sir, I’m quite certain that had Katherine heard your song she—being now but badly smitten—would be wildly mad with love for a singer so accomplished.

Luc. [dryly and coolly] Thank you, sir. You’re too kind.

Smith I say, Jonesy, teach me that song, and while I may not hope to rival you in voice, I’ll wager my patrimony I’ll gain my hard-hearted mistress before the end of the second verse. And the ravishing plaintiveness of it all— by Jove, it would melt the heart of a marble Venus.

Luc. Wouldn’t it, though?

Smith Teach me the lesson, that I, too, may— but here come the ladies.

Luc. Umph! If either of you lets drop a syllable to hint of this delightful piece of business, I’ll tear him limb from limb.

[Enter Clothilde, Kate, and Lottie.]

Clo. What dreadful words are these? Who has incurred your displeasure, Mr. Jones?

Luc. Nobody, madame. It was but a suppositious case. Here we sat, a jury, charged to inquire whether the world had ever before contained so fair a widow as one we wot of. [Clothilde bridles with coy confusion] We summed the case up, and brought in a verdict.

Lot. And it was—?

Luc. It, undoubtedly, was. —Then, you see, madame, I was just saying that any man who would dispute the verdict I would r-r-rend him limb from limb! D’ye see?

Clo. Oh! Mr. Wyvern—I’m sure you’re very kind, Mr. Jones—isn’t he, Mr. Wyvern?

Wyv. [testily] Oh, yes, he’s— he’s remarkably kind, Jones is. [Aside] —The confounded impertinent puppy! Does he propose to have every woman on the beach in love with him?

Kate How beautiful the moonlight aglow the rippling waters.

Lot. And what a delicious, balmy breeze!

Smith And how useful, too! Coming from the huts of the hardy fisherman of whom we heard but now— [looking at Lucius, who scowls and, in pantomime, threatens to brain Smith with his guitar] —it takes away the appetite while it fans the fevered brow.

Clo. Oh! you horrid, unromantic man!

Smith Ah, ’tis sad, and yet ’tis so. [To Lucius] Stand forth, my romantic one! Now, here is he can appreciate the scene. When he feels the moonlight on the waters, and sees the odorous breeze, his soul goes forth in harmony with all that’s beautiful in nature.

Luc. How sorry I am for you poor mortals made of common clay. So lost to all the finer touches of a— of a—

Wyv. Speaking of touches, Mr.— ah— Jones, won’t you touch your guitar and sing us something suggested by this lovely, soul-elevating scene?

Kate Oh, do, Lu— that is, Mr. Jones!

Luc. Bidden by thee, even though I were a fog-horn I’d sing thee as ravishingly as Luna’s sweetest nightingale. Only ’twere better for all to join, in inspired reverie.

[Lucius touches his guitar, and they all sing.]

Wyv. And now, kind friends, difficult as it is to leave this enchanting spot, let us repair to the ball-room, where a giddy scene of revelry awaits us. As I hear the squeaking of the fiddle, and the chaste solicitation of the bassoon, I feel my youth renewed, and—

Luc. Wouldst lead yon fair lady a brave measure? We follow thee, volatile creature—we follow.

[Exeunt omnes.

[Scene changes to a ball-room.

[A Chorus of Tourists is being led in song and dance by the Master of Ceremonies. Also present are Wyvern and Clothilde.]

[At end of waltz, all promenade, chatting in subdued tones, while Wyvern and Clothilde come down to C.]

Wyv. No, no, madame, I am as young as I ever was. Age cannot wither me, nor custom stale my infinite variety. While I feel just as strong and young as ever, I know a great deal more. I have therefore larger capacity for enjoyment of life—and, may I say, love!

Clo. Why, Mr. Wyvern—well, Frederick, then, if you will insist upon my calling you so—why, Frederick, you talk as if you were awfully, awfully old. I’m sure you don’t look old, nor act old. I think that you are of just the right age—neither a giddy boy, nor a worn-out old man.

Wyv. You have it right, Clothilde. I didn’t realize till I met you a few days ago, however, how young I really am. Why, madame, I love like a three-year-old! You have taught me the lesson.

Clo. But you loved once before; you have been married.

Wyv. Yes, I loved; but not with that fierce all-absorbing passion that I feel for you, lovely one. I was too young; for I married at twenty; lived so for five years when my wife died; and for the last fifteen years I have led the lonely unblessed life of a widower, with no thought of loving again till I met you. [Aside] Lord! Lord! How a man will lie to a pretty woman! I’m fairly surprised at myself.

Clo. You love your daughter—

Wyv. My darling, spoiled, fiery little Katie! The poor child was left motherless at the age of twelve months; she is now but fourteen—

Clo. [aside] She says sixteen.

Wyv. [aside] Great heavens! If she catches me in that—! What an ass I am, to tell her my wife has been dead for fifteen years and that Kate is only fourteen! What a fool as well as liar a man is, when he’s in love. But possibly she hasn’t seen it. Her face looks unsuspecting. [Aloud] I do love my little Katie, although this fiery change that has come over her perplexes me. She used to tremble at my frown, and now she cares for it less than for the sighing of the evening breeze.

Clo. Ah, sir, Love is a wizard, and works wonderful changes with a touch of his wand.

Wyv. But what right has she, a school-girl in short dresses, to be thinking of love? It’s preposterous!

Clo. But how old were you when you first fell in love, Frederick dear?

Wyv. I was— well, I scarcely think we need go into that. But I have told you of myself; can you not give me a page from your life history, Clothilde?

Clo. Ah, sir, it can be told in a few brief words. Two years ago I married one of the noblest of men—young, ardent, and generous to a fault. He doted on me, and, I fear, spoiled me and made me unfit to face the cold world. It was not a love match, for he was not handsome and distingué as—as you are, Frederick; it was a match arranged between our parents while I was yet at school. But he loved me passionately, was wealthy and indulged my every wish, and I was happy; but not happy as I am now in the knowledge of your love! But evil days came. He lost all his property: and from grief, which sprung alone, I am sure, from a feeling that he would have to deprive me of some of the luxuries he was so fond of bestowing upon me, he faded away. He died a year ago! And I am left a poor, lone widow, with no friends, no manly arm to lean upon, no fond heart to cherish me, no dear sympathy to brighten and soften my hard lot— Oh! You will not think me foolish if I weep? I cannot help it!

Wyv. [enfolding her in his arms] Weep on, my stricken one! In point of fact, weep on this manly breast, and let the throbbing of this heart of mine assure you that you are no longer alone and friendless.

Clo. Oh, thank you, sir!

Wyv. For the sake of peace, I must let Katie have her way—the absurd child—I suppose.

Clo. Oh, Frederick, my own, in our great happiness, would it not be almost impious in us to stand between her and her love?

Wyv. Perhaps. But ere we go again to mingle with the gay and thoughtless throng about us, tell me once more that you love me!

Clo. Oh, my preserver, can you ask me—? Ought I not, rather, to ask you to assure me of your love?

Wyv. [kneeling] Here I swear—

[Enter Smith, who, seeing what is going on, starts out again; but returns as company, generally, come in. Enter also the Master of Ceremonies.]

M. C. Ladies and gentlemen! I have the honor to announce to you the arrival in our midst of the great three-button mandarin Yung-ti Wung-to, Minister Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary, from his Imperial Highness, the Brother of the Sun, and Father of the Moon, and Guardian of the Stars, who reigns over the Celestial Kingdom, who never sleeps, whose days have no end and who sheds beneficent light upon an otherwise darkened world! Room for His Highness!

[Enter Brown costumed as Yung-ti Wung-to, with his suite (which includes a disguised Bill). They process solemnly down to the front.]

[The embassy are placed at C., and as the march plays, the company come forward and are presented. After all the presentations are made, Kate and Lucius converse with Yung-ti Wung-to.]

Kate Oh, isn’t this splendid! But are you really a Chinaman?

Yung. [amused] A three-button mandarin.

Kate Indeed! [Aside] Whatever is that, I wonder? [Aloud] And do you keep a tea-store? [Yung-ti looks dignified and surprised]

Luc. No, my love, the gentleman don’t keep a tea-store. Common Celestials do that. This is a number-wonner! He’s one of your high-rank parties, you know, like a member of the legislature or an alderman in this country, you know, who by patient effort has elevated himself from his native gin-mill to a proud place—something of that sort, you know. You must be very careful with him!

Kate [to Yung-ti] Don’t be offended, please! [Yung-ti bows] I want to talk to you. It seems so strange that you are from China—the country I’ve read about, and yet have such vague notions of. I am intensely ignorant of your habits and customs.

Luc. [aside] Didn’t I warn you to be careful, Katie? How do you know that they have any habits and customs in China? If they haven’t, the gentleman might be very much offended, you know. You can’t tell anything about these foreigners.

Kate [aside] Why, Lucius, how ridiculous you are! Don’t you know everybody must have habits and customs? How absurd you are! [To Yung-ti] I suppose you eat and drink as other people do; and sleep, and all that sort of thing.

Luc. And are born, and die.

Kate Be quiet, you great goose! Of course they are born and die. How else could they be? You are so simple about some things! [To Yung-ti] Do you fall in love in China?

Yung. Sometimes.

Kate Dear me! I wonder how they feel when they are in love! [To Yung-ti] Can you tell me how you feel when you are in love?

Yung. Confucius himself couldn’t answer that, pretty lady.

Kate Do you think you could fall in love with an American girl?

Luc. Really, Katie, I don’t know that you ought to press the gentleman on that point. Your curiosity might take another direction!

Kate Don’t bother, please! [To Yung-ti] Do you, now?

Yung. Almost, my pretty lady. Almost, but not quite.

Kate How thoroughly characteristic of a Chinaman that funny answer is, isn’t it? Why do you think you couldn’t quite fall in love with an American girl?

Yung. Feet too big!

Kate Feet—! why, the horrid—!

Luc. You see, my soul’s idol, he means no harm—no reflection on you. In China, my queen, the women have small feet.

Kate Oh!

Luc. They are pressed— squeezed—

Kate Ah!

Luc. —Their feet, I mean; from the time they are quite young, my angel; and that which we would consider a deformity, they esteem a mark of great beauty.

Kate Now I understand. Perfectly horrid, isn’t it, to squeeze their feet. [To Yung-ti] Do your ladies have accomplishments? Do they sing?

Yung. Not as American ladies sing; not like the birds. Will you not sing for me, that I may think I am in Heaven?

Kate But I have a dreadful cold—

Luc. Sing, my darling. Sing like the birds, so that the gentleman may think he is in Heaven.

Kate [aside] I wonder if he would like it. He isn’t so bad looking. I wonder how it would feel to have a Chinese sweetheart. [Aloud] Well, I’ll try; but really—!

[When Kate begins to sing, Lucius, Wyvern, and Bill go out arm in arm. At close of song, they re-enter, having been to the supper-room, where they tarried at the wine-cup. They are not intoxicated, but somewhat exhilarated. Wyvern and Lucius come down to the front, while Bill remains in the background. Through the following dialogue, Clothilde also remains visible up stage.]

Wyv. And it is good wine, too! Egad! Did ye see how that Chinaman enjoyed it?

Luc. Liked it, didn’t he?

Wyv. Rapidly becoming civilized, eh? Hospitable party, too. D’ye notice how he pressed us to drink with him?

Luc. Oh, he’s one of the Order, he is!

Wyv. One of the Order? You’re right, you’re right, my boy. One of the Order! [He laughs—Lucius laughs—they laugh together] Say, d’ye know, after all, I like you pretty well.

Luc. I knew you’d only have to know me to like me. I’m not such a bad fellow.

Wyv. No, you’re not, by George.

Luc. And I like you, too.

Wyv. Do you, though?

Luc. Yes, indeed!

Wyv. Well, that’s good. Let’s shake hands. Two good fellows ought to like each other, oughtn’t they? [Poking Lucius in the ribs] Oh, you’re a sly one! You’re a keen bird! Ha, ha! D’ye know when I first saw you I didn’t like you? Thought you were a presuming young upstart of a puppy, you know. [Laughs]

Luc. And, d’ye know, I didn’t like you at first. I had summed you up as about the worst case of vain, pompous, conceited old idiot I ever met. [Laughs. Wyvern laughs faintly] But we understand each other better now!

Wyv. Of course we do. Oh, you sly dog! [Poking Lucius again in the ribs] Regular lady-killer, eh?

Luc. Can’t expect to rival you, sir, in that line, eh?

Wyv. Well, I’m not so bad, am I?

Luc. I should say not!

Wyv. You’re right! You’re exactly right! You see, we middle-aged fellows have had practice, you know! [Both laugh] Whoop—! We middle-aged fellows—look here, you wouldn’t believe that I am forty-five, now, would you?

Luc. Not a day over thirty-five. Scarcely that, if it wasn’t that you have a daughter.

Wyv. Now, would you believe it? Figure erect, hey?

Luc. Look like a military man—

Wyv. Straight as a ramrod, by George! Walk like a boy!

Luc. Indeed you do! Chest like a grenadier—

Wyv. And a leg— [slapping his leg] —what a leg, eh?

Luc. Yes, indeed! And as fine a head of hair—not a white hair in it!

Wyv. What was that?

Luc. Not a gray hair in your head, I say!

Wyv. No sir, not one!

Luc. And teeth like a ten-year-old! [Both laugh, slapping each other on the shoulder] I’d trade places with you in a minute!

Wyv. Would you, though? Don’t you wish you could! [Drawing Lucius to him] I say, Jones, I don’t suppose you’ve noticed it, but the young widow, you know—magnificent woman, isn’t she?

Luc. Splendid.

Wyv. Well, of course nobody suspects it, for she is so dignified and careful, and I’m too old a bird to betray myself in a thing of that sort; but, sir, I give you my word that that woman is wild after me. Clear gone. Fairly worships the ground I walk on. Fact—but all between us, you know!

Luc. Is that so?

Wyv. True as gospel, my boy! [Both laugh]

Luc. I never would have dreamed it!

Wyv. Fact! And I don’t mind telling you that if you and Kate agree— d’ye see? Lonely life—eh?—lovely woman—d’ye see?— ha, ha, ha!

Luc. You’re right, old fellow. Mighty good thing. [Both laugh]

Wyv. I say, Jonesy, you sing a love-song very well, but in point of fact I believe I could give you a touch in that line myself.

Luc. Ah, you’re the sly one! [Wyvern pokes him in the ribs] I haven’t a doubt of it.

Wyv. I’ve a mind to try it now.

Luc. Do! The best time in the world!

Wyv. Now, just keep your eye on me and watch her; I’ll show you how to sing a love song. Now, this [taking fan and striking attitude] is my guitar!

[Company promenade. Kate stands somewhat dejected and downcast in appearance. Lucius approaches her with an air of tenderness.]

Luc. Katie, dear, your sweet soul looks sadly forth!

Kate Well, sir, it’s my soul, isn’t it?

Luc. Yes, dear. But why—?

Kate And it may look as it chooses, mayn’t it?

Luc. Certainly, darling, but—

Kate Then I cannot understand that you have any reason to bother yourself about it at all. Besides, I’m sure that it don’t trouble you so much as you would have me believe.

Luc. Why, Katie—!

Kate You don’t care whether I’m sad or glad.

Luc. [trying to take her hand] What is the matter with my own little—

Kate Don’t make yourself ridiculous, sir! Leave my hand alone! You’ll have everybody laughing at you next.

Luc. I can’t understand all this! A fortnight ago we met and loved—loved! Did anybody ever love before? Even this morning you were so sweet and so beautiful and so happy in our love, and— and—

Kate And you, sir. How did you behave yourself? After we had met in “Lover’s Walk” and had renewed our vows in sight of the bright blue heavens, and you had sworn that even if I were a star you’d pluck me down and wear me in your inmost heart of hearts—after you had vowed that for you there was no other love in all the wide world, and that if Pa didn’t let us get married right off you’d p-p-poison yourself with P-P-Paris green—and after you had c-c-carved our initials in a t-t-true lover’s knot on the b-b-back of the b-b-birchen tree— Oh! what did you do then?

Luc. Why, Katie, my own true love—my own darling—! Don’t weep so! What—

Kate Th-th-then you went right off and hunted for shells with that hor-hor-horrid pink and white S-S-S-Smith girl—that’s what you did, and left your own d-d-darling to grieve her s-s-sweet young life out all by herself—that’s what you did, and you know you did, and my heart is broken, and you don’t care a fig for me, and I don’t care if you don’t, and I’m going to die anyhow, and you know I am, and you don’t care, and you just wish I would, and you know you do, and— and— I wish I’d never been born, so I do! Don’t you?

Luc. Well, bless my soul! Don’t I wish you’d never been born? Why, Katie, there’s something the matter with you. You’re not well. You can’t be. Why, it must be that this delirium of bliss, this wild joy of loving me for the past two weeks, has been too much for you; and you’re going to have the brain-fever, or something—

Kate You— you— you’ll never have the brain-fever.

Luc. I hope not; but why won’t I, Katie?

Kate Because you don’t love me enough, in the first place; you haven’t had the d-d-delirium of bliss half so bad as I have, nor the wild joy, nor anything—and b-b-besides, you haven’t g-g-got the b-b-brains!

Luc. [aside] Ahem! I’ll have to reason with her. [Aloud] Now, Katie, just let me show you how unjust and unreasonable you are! Let us look at this thing calmly. Suppose—not that I want to, for when I begin to suppose that you had never been born, the sun seems to go out—to stop shining, as it were—the breeze comes no more laden with sweet perfumes to fan my fevered brow and to cool my wildly working— ahem!— brains. The calm bright sea becomes as a desert waste of arid sand, and the sweet flowers are as noxious weeds. Yon beauteous moon sailing majestically through the heavens becomes a tallow dip, flickering and sputtering in— in— in something or other; and the stars—the stars? why, there are no stars! Unable to look upon and wink at such misery as they see filling my heart, unable to witness my agony, for very pity and in self-defense they have crept back into their holes and— and pulled the holes in after them. But it is too much! I cannot consent to even imagine that you had never been born! I would do anything in the world to oblige you—anything but that. Do not ask me. It is too much! I would go wild!

Kate [softly and gently] Do you really feel that way, Lucius?

Luc. Do I? No, no, no! For you have gathered from my words but a faint idea of the overwhelming agony that fills my bosom at the thought— distracting thought! Multiply your conception of what I feel by a million times a million, and then you will but dimly comprehend the very beginning of the shadow of that which I would feel, even countless ages hence, at such a thought.

Kate Then I guess m-m-maybe you’d better not try to think it.

Luc. No, I guess I’d b-b-better not!

Kate B-b-but Lucius, my soul’s emperor, don’t you love that huh-huh-hideous Smith girl a bit? Even a l-l-little bit?

Luc. Love the Smith girl—that pink-and-white party with the carroty hair and the pug nose? My bosom’s empress, listen! Will you believe your Lucius?

Kate Oh, Lucius, I want to believe you so much.

Luc. Think of loving Miss Smith—! May I be—

Kate [opening her arms] Enough! enough! My Lucius! You have convinced me. Your burning words have brought back to me the wild delirium of bliss just as bad as it ever was.

Luc. Ah, I thought so. To doubt your own—! But, darling, you oughtn’t to say that you have the wild delirium just as bad as ever, because, you see, it isn’t bad.

Kate Oh!

Luc. Don’t you see?

Kate Yes. But what ought I to say, precious?

Luc. Say “just as good,” or “just as strongly,” or— or— “just as completely, overpoweringly, overwhelmingly, immensely much as ever.”

Kate Say no more, Lucius. I’m cured. I’ll never be jealous again. I’ll nestle me down contented in your heart, and reck nothing of the storms that blow outside.

Luc. I should say not. And to think that I ever should be fool enough to think, when gazing on her, that I see Heaven in Miss Smith’s eyes!

Kate I’m ashamed of myself.

Luc. Do you suppose that I could ever delude myself into imagining that her carroty hair was sunlit gold?

Kate Oh, Lucius! It makes me feel so nice.

Luc. Or that I saw the rosy tint of the dawn upon her cheek, or that she would ever remind me of a garden of roses?

Kate Then promise me one thing, Lucius!

Luc. Only one thing?

Kate Oh, but it will comprise everything, and is all I ask. Promise me that you will be very polite but very cold and distant with Miss Smith.

Luc. Miss Smith will think when she meets me that she has got into a whole school of gorgeously beautiful but frigidly frozen ice-bergs.

Kate And you won’t dance with her?

Luc. Never! I’ll not encourage her in any way. I swear it before high Heaven!

Kate Oh, Lucius! I think you’re awfully nice.

[Kate and Lucius join the promenaders, till Lucius leaves Kate and, joining Wyvern, goes out again. Yung-Ti and Bill come down to C.]

Yung. [in an undertone] Do you strike anything?

Bill Not the value of a brass pin! I never see such a tea party! Have you gathered anything in?

Yung. No. Nothing but an idea.

Bill Hullo! Didn’t s’pose there was such a thing in the house. Who’d you crib it from? Unfortunate that you can’t put it up for nothin’!

Yung. Fill the old man up—the sooner the better, for we must catch the two o’clock express if we can. Fill him up and bring him around to the rocks. When he gets there—!

Bill Well, I’m blest if I see what you’re drivin’ at. Ye don’t mean ter take the old man in?

Yung. That is my idea.

Bill What on earth can ye do with that old fool? Ye can’t sell him for sassidge like he was a dog!

Yung. You idiot! How much d’ye suppose he’d give to get out of our little sub-cellar parlor? He’s worth a million, at least.

Bill I begin to tremble! [Thoughtfully] A little risky, but it will pay if we succeed.

Yung. Well, do you begin to understand?

Bill I think I do. It’s a good idea. A little desperate.

Yung. The more money when we win.

Bill But that young feller: he’s fastened on the old man like a poor man’s plaster.

Yung. Shake him if you can. If not, fill him up, too. If that don’t work, why, settle him in another way. You sabe?

Bill All right. How soon will you be ready?

Yung. In fifteen minutes. We can steal off unobserved while you entertain the old man. Make no mistakes.

Bill Don’t worry about me.

[They join the promenaders.

[Enter Wyvern and Lucius from the supper table, much worse for wine. Clothilde goes to Wyvern, who smiles and chuckles tipsily, and tries to embrace her, in which Lucius endeavors to assist him. She breaks away from him and regards him with dismay, as Kate does Lucius, who, in a maudlin way, attempts to address her. Wyvern and Lucius come down to the footlights and sing.]

[Waltz.

[During the waltz Wyvern and Lucius go tipsily about, endeavoring to participate. Finding, however, that no one cares to dance with them, they become offended and look on with much solemn dignity. Finally they are joined by Bill, with whom they go off. Transparent scene showing exterior descents. Bill, Wyvern, and Lucius come on front, the two latter very drunk. Waltz heard softly.]

Bill The night air will do you good, you see. You’ve had a little too much wine.

Luc. [lurching about] Lesh go back ’n have some more—!

Bill No, it’s better you should stay here for a little while. You are not fit to go back to see the ladies.

Wyv. [violently] Who says I’m not fit to go back to see er ladies? I’m all right! ’Smatter with me?

Bill Presently! presently! This night air will do you good. Don’t you feel better now?

Wyv. Feel better? Feel all right! Don’t say word, or I’ll pound you. I can whip a regiment, I can. Always feel that way when I get a few bottles under my belt. Shows what I’m made of. D’ye wanter fight? Shows I’m true fighting man. Grandfather fought in Revolution. In vino veritas! You, Chinaman, don’ understan’. That’s Latin. Means when you’re drunk show jus’ what you are. Always wan’ to fight when I’m little full. Don’ wonter when I’m sober. Sing’ler, ain’t it?

Bill Well, not very. I’ve seen that sort of people before. [Aside] Pot-valiant. [Lucius tumbles in a heap on the ground and falls asleep] Good riddance to you. Never saw a feller get full so quick in all my life. [Pushes him with his foot] Dead drunk, for a ducat!

Wyv. [yelling] Gimme a drink! I’m dry! Gimme a drink!

Bill In a minute, governor.

[Bill steps back and strips off his Chinese costume. He comes forward with a flask.]

Wyv. Gimme brandy! No more your wine. Milk for babes! Brandy for men, an’ I’m a man!

Bill Here you are, old man. Best French Cognac. Drink hearty, drink hearty.

Wyv. [courteously] After you, sir.

Bill All right. Here’s to you. May you pan out rich. [Pretends to drink; Lucius, who is merely pretending to sleep, cautiously watches him] Now take a pull yourself. You’ll find that prime.

Wyv. [drinks] Ah-h-h. That is good. A number-one— a— number-one— a— num— ber— one— [The moon, coming out, shows his face growing haggard and filled with horror] Why, what’s the matter with me? Something wrong. It creeps along my veins— like— what is it? I’m getting sleepy— getting sleepy— sleepy.

[Bill gives a low whistle. Brown and the members of his Gang of Thieves, now in ordinary dress, silently rise from rocks and surround Wyvern.]

Brown What about that young fellow? Is he safe? If not, we’ll fix him!

Bill Oh, he’s safe enough. Beastly drunk. Blind drunk. What an awful warnin’ to the risin’ generation! If my Sunday School class could only see him now—!

Brown [impatiently] Let up! We’ve all we care to do to catch the train. These clothes won’t do. Here, old man, trade with me. [Takes Wyvern’s coat hurriedly off him and replaces it with loose, long sack from one of the Thieves, who puts on Wyvern’s coat, ditto hat] There you are! Now hurry up!

[Brown and Bill go off rapidly but quietly, Brown returning once or twice to see if Lucius is stirring. As their footsteps pass out of hearing, Lucius rouses and returns to the ball-room, where he is seen, entirely sober, through transparent scene, trying to make the company understand what has happened; but he is unable to do so. The dancers sing a waltz, while the abductors, as they carry Wyvern off, sing:]

[Curtain.]

End of Act II

---

Act III

Scene.—A dive in New York, inhabited by Brown and his confederates. Not filthy, but a low place, evidently a place of refuge from the police—well guarded, capable of resistance and defense, and having means of escape. Brown, Bill, and his Chorus of Thieves are discovered smoking pipes and drinking. Wyvern lying on a cot, still asleep. One of the company on guard watching Wyvern and the door.

Brown The old fellow sleeps well. He ought to rouse soon. You are sure you didn’t drug him too heavily, Bill?

Bill No, I think not. I gave him only enough, as I supposed, to keep him in the stupid condition that the drink left him in, till we got him here. He’ll wake soon; let’s sing a song. All’s quiet, and the cops haven’t tumbled to our racket. Fill up, boys, and let us have the “Jolly Jack Tar.”

[During the song Wyvern begins to toss about uneasily. Finally, while they sing the last verse and chorus, he sits bolt upright, gazing at them and his surroundings in utter astonishment, his wig awry, his clothing disordered and his eyes popping out of his head.]

Brown [addressing Wyvern] Well, precious one, darlin’ tootsey-wootsey, has it had a nice nap? Would it like to see its darling Clothilde?

Wyv. Where am I, sir? What does this mean?

Bill [assuming a confidential tone and air] You see, the fact is, governor, you got a little full last night and had to be assisted, as you may say. Not to put too fine a point on it, you were so disgracefully tight that we couldn’t think of leaving you.

Wyv. [impatiently and imperiously] How came I here, sir? What does this mean?

Bill [soothingly] That’s just what I was a-comin’ to, sir, when you interrupted me. Try to be calm and I’ll make it all plain to you. As I was a-sayin’, you were in such a lamentably disgraceful condition of intoxication as would have broke your own Clothilde’s heart to see you.

Wyv. How dare you speak so familiarly of—

Bill Go easy, go easy! Don’t get excited; you might say something that you didn’t mean to say, you know. Least said, soonest mended. As I was sayin’, we brought you here to keep you till you got all sobered up comfortable and nice.

Wyv. Will you tell me—

Bill In course I will. Seein’s we didn’t want you to disgrace yourself, bein’ friends of your’n—

Wyv. Friends of mine—! I never saw you before in my life!

Bill Oh, come now; yes, you have. Think a little. Can’t you remember me, for instance? or my friend the Reverend Mr. Brown, as sets over there a-smokin’ and a-smilin’ and a-overlookin’ your disgraceful conduct just as friendly-like as—

Brown The fact, is, governor, I reckon you don’t remember much about last night’s performances, do you?

Wyv. [very much bewildered] I remember nothing but the ball; and after supper I— I don’t, somehow—

Brown No, I thought you didn’t. Fact is, you were in a very bad shape; so we played the good Samaritan on you, you see—for fear harm might come to you.

Bill Precisely. Just as the Reverend Mr. Brown says. Why, think of it. If it hadn’t been for us old friends a-lookin’ after you, you might have fallen into the hands of wicked, bad, designing men, who might have robbed you, you see.

Wyv. Enough! If you have cared for me so kindly, I will be glad to remunerate you and take my leave.

Bill Now, that’s what I call handsome. Didn’t I tell you, brother Brown, says I, “Here’s a man that will appreciate our thoughtful care and act accordin’.”

Brown All right; but where do you propose to go to?

Wyv. After my conduct of last night, which you very properly characterize as disgraceful, I think I’d better get right back to New York, and—

Bill —And you’ll be delighted to know that that’s just where you are now!

Wyv. What, in New York? How—?

Bill Precisely so! A gentleman always knows how to feel for another gentleman, and so—

Brown We saw how your feelings would worry you, and so we just brought you over on the two A.M. express; and here you are—

Bill “Right side up, with care,” sound ’s a dollar, and all comfortable.

Wyv. [rising to go, and handing Brown a bank-note] Very well, my good fellow. This, I trust, will reimburse and remunerate you; and with many thanks for your kindness, I will go.

Brown [looking at the money] Ye-e-es. Don’t you think, governor, that you are squandering too much money on the cause? Ten dollars is a good deal in these times to a poor man, and maybe you can’t really afford to be so lavish.

Wyv. Oh, never mind that, sir! That’s all right. I don’t think it’s too much, for you really seem to be a worthy set of fellows.

Bill Poor, but respectable an’ honest an’ deservin’. You’ve hit it about right, governor; but, as the Reverend Mr. Brown says, ten dollars seems to be quite princely.

Wyv. Don’t say any more; and—ah!—good day, gentlemen.

[Wyvern goes to the door, where he is confronted by Bill.]

Bill But really, governor, we couldn’t think o’ lettin’ you go and deprive us of your society in that way.

Wyv. [nervously] What do you mean?

Brown And don’t you think yourself it’s rather hard on us, to go and tear yourself away from kind friends and comrades, as one might say?

Wyv. But really, my friend, I must go.

Brown And not even leave us a lock of your hair to remember you by?

Wyv. It strikes me that this is nonsense. I have had enough of it. Be kind enough to let me go.

Bill Couldn’t think of it just yet, governor. We’re too fond of you.

Brown We might as well get down to business, sir, and have done with this child’s play. We want money; and the sooner it is forthcoming, the sooner you can go to your home.

Wyv. Am I to understand that you will not release me unless I pay you money?

Bill You struck it that time, governor. A fellow can easy see that you’ve been a business man all your life! Just think how he gets right at the marrow of the thing, quick as a flash.

Wyv. How dare you attempt such a thing as this? I’ll not stand it. I’ll alarm the neighborhood—call the police—

Brown I wouldn’t do that, if I were in your place. You see that there are several of us here; and we want money, want it bad, and intend to have it. When we undertook this little speculation, we counted the cost.

Wyv. [badly frightened] But I have no money with me.

Brown Never mind about that. Your order is good for the money. You sit down here and write a letter that I will dictate.

Wyv. To whom?

Brown To your daughter Katie, to be sure.

Wyv. But she’s not in town. She is at the sea-shore.

Brown No, she isn’t. Why, do you know what time it is, governor?

Wyv. What time is it?

Brown Just twenty minutes to four.

Wyv. In the afternoon?

Brown In the afternoon. There was a high old time at the beach this morning when your absence was discovered. Miss Katie went into hysterics; your sweet Clothilde had quite a succession of fainting fits; and Miss Lottie went distracted. The only sensible person about was that young jackanapes Jones. They all came to town before noon. The police have been notified and are searching high and low for you; but you needn’t hope! They’ll never find you here. There is only one way for you to get out of this, and that is by paying over the sugar. Now, you sit right down here and write what I tell you.

Wyv. Four o’clock! And I’ve been here—

Brown Since three o’clock this morning.

Wyv. I begin to see it. Out in the moonlight some one gave me something to drink. I was drugged!

Brown Never mind about what was the matter with you. Write the letter as I tell you, if you want to get out of this place alive.

Wyv. Oh! Of course I’ll write it. [Takes paper, etc.] What shall I say?

Brown Head it 13397 Broadway, August 15th.

Wyv. But there is no such number!

Brown Never you mind. Put it down. [Wyvern writes] Now, go on:

“My dear Katie: I was suddenly called away from the beach last night to consummate a purchase of real estate which I have long been negotiating. I hope you suffered no serious annoyance at my hasty departure, and am sorry to learn that you have come back to the city, as I contemplated returning to the beach this evening. But since you are at home, you can save me a little trouble. The bearer is a trusty friend. I need money to close the bargain I have mentioned. Go to the library, and in my desk—you will find the key in the tray of my trunk—you will observe a small drawer to the left of the pigeon-holes: a drawer with a small ebony knob.” [At this Wyvern drops the pen and gazes at Brown] Well, what’s the matter with you? Go on!

“Take the drawer out entirely. Place your hand in the vacancy, and in the lower right-hand corner you will find a spring.”

Wyv. In Heaven’s name, who are you?

Brown No matter. Go on!

Wyv. How did you know—?

Brown I know more than you would imagine, perhaps. Go on!

“Touch the spring and a panel will open. You will find there some bank bills. Seal them up in a large envelope, and address the envelope to me, and give it to the bearer. I will be home by nine o’clock at the latest. Invite such of our neighbors as may be in the city—be sure Madame Le Brun is there—and we will have an impromptu little party to celebrate the successful accomplishment of this speculation, which I have long had my heart on.

“With a kiss and a blessing for my good little daughter, I am, your loving Papa, Frederick G. Wyvern.”

That’s all right. Now, would you like to know how I knew about your desk and the secret drawer?

Wyv. Indeed I would. I can’t imagine—I supposed no one knew anything about it but me. How did you know it?

Brown To tell the truth, I didn’t know it. I only guessed at it—but I struck it. When I told you that it was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon I merely lied to you. It isn’t two o’clock yet. I could have taken your check; but it wouldn’t be safe, with the police on the watch, to present it at the bank. When I dictated the sentence about the desk I did it at a venture. When I saw you start, I knew I had you. If you had not started, I would have had you instruct Miss Katie to send your check-book from the desk, and would have had to take the risk of the police at the bank. Do you see? Now I will do myself the honor to call on Miss Katie at 1927 Gramercy Park. Address this envelope—

Wyv. I’ll not do it! I’ll not be robbed in this shameless way! I’ll die first! [Springs up from the table]

Brown If you attempt to make any noise, I’ll kill you. Sit down and address the envelope! [Wyvern nervously complies] And now, good-bye for a while. You will be home at nine o’clock, and will find your friends ready to welcome you. Good-bye!

[Exit Brown.]

Bill What a head for business my reverend friend has got, now, hasn’t he?

Wyv. Very well. I’m at your mercy and must do whatever you say.

Bill Now, that is business! And then you can hie thee to thine own sweet Clothilde! Think of that! Think of the rapture of that meeting! Think of enfolding her onc’t more in one long embrace! Oh, ecstasy! While we’re waiting, couldn’t you give us a song, governor, something good and sentimental?

Wyv. [faintly] No; I can’t sing. Oh! this dreadful place! Please do not ask it.

Bill Couldn’t think of it, governor. Must have a song. And we must have a good sentimental one, too. None o’ your comic songs, for we are regular out-and-out sentimental fellows.

Wyv. But I tell you I can’t sing now—and I won’t, that’s all!

Bill Oh, yes, you will! [Threateningly] When a bird can sing and won’t sing, why, he must be made to sing, you know. Do you want us to go to use harsh means to make you sing? —I guess not! What, won’t sing for your friends as has been so kind to you? Of course you’ll sing. And in order that you may appear to the best advantage, we’ll ask you to get up on this here table and assume the proper attitude—it’ll be all the more imposin’, you know. [The table is placed in the middle of the room and the gang gather around] Come, governor—or do you want us to put you on the table? [Wyvern groans and mounts the table] Now, assume your attitude—like you did last night, you know. You had a fan for a guitar last night, you know; but we ain’t got no fan. Let me see. Oh! the broom will do. [Hands him the broom. Wyvern protests in dumb-show] You won’t? Do you want us to proceed to extreme measures, as it were? [Wyvern groans again and takes attitude] Now, then.

Bill That tetches me deeply, that does; it tetches us all most deeply, governor, it does, that song does; and we’re all quite thankful, I’m sure, that you’ve sung it to us. It was kind o’ you, and we’ll never forgit it. It sort o’ gives utterance for us—rude, uncouth, but strictly honest and rigidly moral fellers as we are, whose early education’s been neglected—it gives words to the thoughts with which we all are struggling most o’ the time; ain’t we, pards? [The company signify their assent. Enter One of the Gang hastily] Well, what’s the row now?

One of etc. Mizzle’s the word! Brown just passed, an’ he sez, sez he, “Tell the boys to mizzle; the cops is down on us!” And then he went on rapidly. Then I saw the cops quietly gathering in, and if you don’t hurry they’ll—

[Noise heard of Police demanding admission.]

Bill Mizzle! Every man for himself an’ the old one take the hindmost!

[They scatter and all escape, leaving Wyvern, just as the Police batter down the door and enter, seizing Wyvern.

[Scene changes to street outside, where Smith and Lucius meet.]

Smith Well, what news?

Luc. Not much of anything. Haven’t found Wyvern yet, although the police think he is concealed here somewhere by that gang.

Smith What could be their object?

Luc. Money. A little while ago a fellow came to 1927 with a letter from the old man to Miss Katie, asking her to send him some money from the desk in the library, saying that he wanted it for some real estate purchase he was about to make. She brought it to me and I saw at once it was a fraud. She was going to get the money but I stopped her and told her to wait till I could speak with the man who brought the note; but when I got to the door he had disappeared.

Smith Well, this is most extraordinary.

Luc. Yes; but it does no good to stand here talking about it. We had better go back to the house and see if there is any more news. The police promised to report there every half hour. Miss Katie is frantic.

Smith We can at least cheer them up a little. To think that such a thing should happen right here in New York!

Luc. The old fool ought to have a guardian. What with his vanity and his love of wine, he is too weak to be allowed at large.

Smith Do you know, I have an idea that that bleached blonde of a widow has something to do with this.

Luc. I haven’t a doubt of it. I begged Miss Katie not to bring her along; but she thinks maybe she has done her a wrong, and in her remorse—now that the old man’s missing—she has brought her in and installed her right in the house. Another thing: if that French Canadian, with the dancing bear, you know, up in the mountains, wasn’t the high cockalorum of that Chinese gang, then I’m mistaken.

Smith Why do you think so?

Luc. The same voice, build, and size. You know, I saw the fellow when they carried the old man off.

Smith It may be. But let us go to 1927; we may be needed.

Luc. If something is not developed soon, Miss Katie will go crazy.

[Exeunt Smith and Lucius.

[Scene changes to Wyvern’s parlor. All are discovered but Wyvern and Brown.]

[Enter Wyvern. He embraces Kate.]

[Wyvern embraces Clothilde.]

[Enter Brown, convincingly disguised as a detective.]

Brown Ah, sir, I congratulate you on your escape. I am Detective Brown— [shows badge] —and have come up to inquire after you.

Wyv. Many thanks, sir. You shall be rewarded.

Luc. [aside to Smith] Keep still. That is the fellow—that is the leader of the gang. Keep your eye on him.

Brown [aside to Clothilde] Where is the library? [She indicates by pantomime] Keep them excited. I’ll have that money yet, or I’ll hang for it.

[During the following scene Brown constantly tries to leave the room unobserved, but Lucius and Smith manage to keep so near him that he does not succeed.]

Clo. But oh, my hero, you are alive and well!

Wyv. I am, thanks to a cool head and a strong arm.

Brown It certainly is a wonderful story. In all my long experience on the force I never heard anything to equal it.

Luc. I imagine not! [Aside] The question is, ought I to allow such a liar to go undetected and unpunished? How comes it that such a man has such a daughter?

Smith I say, Mr. Jones, where were you when Mr. Wyvern was kidnapped?

Luc. About four feet from him, I should say.

Wyv. About w-w-where?

Luc. About four feet from you.

Wyv. And didn’t help me? Allowed me to be carried off without raising a finger?

Luc. In the midst of all that terrific hand-to-hand combat with that mob of dastards I lay very quietly, being persuaded thereto by a dagger which one of those heathen Chinee held at my throat.

Omnes [in great astonishment] Heathen Chinee?

Luc. Precisely! Our venerable, accurate, and highly courageous friend was kidnapped by the Chinese Embassy. He made a desperate resistance!

[Wyvern, Clothilde, and Brown display great uneasiness.]

Smith [stepping to the door] And now, Detective Brown, will you not give us the rest of the story? [Brown tries to reach the door] Don’t go. You are so versatile and so entertaining that we couldn’t think of sparing you just yet.

Brown What do you mean?

Luc. Drop it, Brown. If you had Bill with you now, you could entertain us vastly with your dancing bear—“mon brav’ bear.” Then you might favor us with your Chinese song—that’s a good song, and you really sing it well.

Brown I will not be treated in this manner. What do I know of a dancing bear or a Chinese song?

Smith Possibly your wife there [indicating Clothilde] could help you refresh your memory. I know that Mrs. Brown, with that beautiful fidelity which characterizes the sex, would not desert you in your hour of distress. [Bows elaborately to Clothilde, who trembles]

Kate What on earth does all this mean?

Luc. It’s plain as a pikestaff. Your respected parent has been duped by the wife and robbed by the husband!

Wyv. [fiercely, to Clothilde] Are you this man’s wife?

Brown She ’ave ze honair to be ze wife of Jacques-Pierre!

Wyv. And who are you?

Brown I seem to be Brown just now. These two young fellows have been too much for me, I must confess.

Wyv. Merciful heavens, what an egregious ass they have made of me!

Luc. And yet, you are not proud.

Wyv. Young man, beware! You may go a step too far. Don’t rouse the sleeping lion in my—

Luc. All right, old gentleman.

Smith Shall I call the police and have this scoundrel—I may say these two scoundrels—arrested, Mr. Wyvern?

Brown No, I wouldn’t, if I were you.

Smith Silence!

Brown [sneeringly] It would be rather an awkward story to get in the papers, wouldn’t it, Mr. Wyvern?

Smith [aside to Brown] Another word from you and I’ll break every bone in your body.

Wyv. No, Mr. Smith. The first duty of a Christian—ahem!—is to forgive his enemies. I asked the police—who detained me several hours this evening till I could prove that I was not a member of Mr. Brown’s gang—to say nothing about the matter. I forgive the Browns; they have taught me a lesson. Katie and Lucius—for such, my dear boy, shall be your name henceforth with me—may you be happy and make your papa happy during the few years he yet has to live.

[The company congratulate Lucius and Kate, and then saunter about or break into groups, talking, while Kate and Lucius are left at C.]

Luc. My soul’s empress, I never felt my love so strongly as now. Your father’s sanction crowns my supreme bliss. I never loved so much before. Did you, Katie, dear?

Kate Why— why, really, Mister Jones—

Luc. Mister Jones? What is this?

Kate [aside] Now I’m going to break his heart. I know he’ll suffer awfully, but that’s the way. And it must be done. I really pity him, but I must do it.

Luc. Katie, will you be kind enough, perhaps, to tell me what this sudden change means—why you stand there mumbling inarticulately—why you just called me “Mister Jones”?

Kate Yes, I will tell you. I call you Mr. Jones because it wouldn’t be proper for me to call you anything else now. I must be frank with you. To be kind, I must be cruel.

Luc. Yes? You grow interesting. May I ask you to proceed, Miss Wyvern?

Kate Frankly, it cannot be. The dream is over and past. The unwelcome truth that I no longer love you forces itself upon me. I assure you, Mr. Jones, that it is not pleasant to have to say this.

Luc. No? Do you seem to suffer much?

Kate Indeed, nothing but a sense of duty wrings the confession from me. It gives me great pain.

Luc. Then, candidly, I wouldn’t confess it.

Kate A sense of duty impels me! It gives me great pain, because I know that you will be deeply hurt.

Luc. Oh!

Kate Because I know that, this sweet dream of happiness dispelled, you will probably be driven almost insane and will suffer terribly.

Luc. Ah.

Kate Because I feel that, this cup of bliss dashed from your lips, you may be stricken down by a serious illness and possibly toss upon a bed of anguish for long, long weary months.

Luc. That isn’t a cheerful outlook.

Kate Or it may be that, to drown your sorrow, you will fly to dissipation and almost wreck your bright and beautiful manhood by terrible excesses.

Luc. I see—rum. “Rum” being a generic term, you know, under which is comprehended all intoxicating drinks.

Kate Alas, yes!

Luc. Have you any choice as to which particular poison you would rather have me ruin myself with? Now, there’s beer—I confess I’m rather partial to beer—

Kate Oh, no, Lu— that is, Mr. Jones! Beer wouldn’t do at all. There’s nothing romantic in beer!

Luc. No, you’re right in that. Beer wouldn’t do. And champagne—?

Kate That’s it! The wine-cup! The enticing, fascinating, irresistible wine-cup! That’s romantic.

Luc. And expressive, too. It seems to me that since you insist that I should sink into dissipated despair, you ought, in all fairness, to allow me to nominate my own poison. Now, beer is comparatively inexpensive, and therefore much better adapted to the purpose in the present case. Now, couldn’t you drop a little, and let me go to ruin on beer?

Kate No, I could never consent to that! And oh, when I picture to myself a meeting with you some time when I am strolling home from the opera, leaning on the arm of— of— say, Count Rudolph; and you pass me by, your handsome face bearing the terrible marks of dissipation—your attire still rich and gentlemanly, but disordered and in elegant, expressive negligé—your step unsteady and your hand tremulous—and when, in passing, I see the look of haunting despair in your lily-white eyes—no, I mean your bloodshot eyes—then I know that I will say to myself: “Unhappy I, to cause such ruin”; and I will be sad all the rest of the way home. Oh, it will be splendidly sad!

Luc. So it will—and what will I say to myself?

Kate Oh, poor thing, you will say to yourself: “There is the only human being I ever did or ever can love! For her I gave up all the brilliant promise of my life. For her I yielded up and sacrificed my manhood. For her, and on account of her, I became the miserable wreck that I am. But I love her still! Oh, ye gods, how I love her still! And the memory of this fleeting glimpse of her will live and burn in my heart for ages!”

Luc. That’s what I’ll say?

Kate Yes.

Luc. Well, that isn’t so bad. And what will the Count Rudolph say?

Kate Oh, he won’t say anything, because he won’t know anything about it, you know.

Luc. Oh, he won’t know anything about it?

Kate No. At most, he may feel the tremor of my hand on his arm as I nervously clutch it as you pass, and will look down into my face with his aristocratic dark eyes and say: “Is the night air chill, my Katie?” That will be all. And I will retunr a careless answer, although my heart will be beating like a frightened bird’s! Indeed, it will be dreadfully sad!

Luc. Very sad indeed, I should think. And do you know what Count Rudolph will say to himself the next day while he shaves me?

Kate While he shaves you?

Luc. Yes. When I go into the shop the next day—the shop where he is employed—as he lathers my face, he will suddenly recognize me and give a start, and will say, “Mein Gott in Himmel! Wass is doss? Dot is dot veller wat make leetle Katerina yump ven I wass tookin’ a walluk by her yesterday! Could it been dot he wass an olt schweedheart by her?” And when he begins to shave me, when he gets his razor down about my jugular, the awful demon of jealousy will seize him and he will say, “Yust so goot dot I slice dot drunken hett off”; and while he is gathering courage to do so, I will look him calmly in the eye, and by sheer superiority of optic bulldozing will break him down with fear till he fairly trembles; and then I will say aloud, “See here, Dutchy—if you cut me, I’ll break every bone in your body!” Oh, it will be splendidly sad!

Kate Why, what do you mean?

Luc. What do you mean? Three days ago you loved me so much that you couldn’t bear me out of your sight. Now you say you don’t love me. Will you explain?

Kate Why, don’t you see that it must be so? What kind of love would that be that didn’t have despair and all that in it?

Luc. Oh. I see.

Kate Yes! And then you see, Mr. Jones, so long as Pa wouldn’t let me love you, I did love you to distraction. Then, when he said I might love you, and became even anxious that I should—why, somehow I didn’t seem to love you so much; and finally I grew indifferent; and, at last, the chains of your affection became galling, and— and— in short, it is all over between us. We must part.

Luc. And do you feel no remorse that you have thus trifled with my sweet young affections?

Kate Oh, I do, I do! I know that, in my dreams, I will be haunted by visions of your pale, sad, reproachful face. I know it will be just dreadful, but I can’t help it.

Luc. Because you don’t love me.

Kate Y-y-yes!

Luc. Isn’t it too bad! And you don’t seem to have that wild delirium of bliss quite so bad as you did.

Kate N-n-no!

Luc. Poor thing. Shall I leave you now to revel in your remorse?

Kate Please do! And, oh, Mr. Jones, believe me that while our sweet dream can never be realized, I will always think of you as a very, very dear friend.

Luc. Thank you. I’m sure you’re very kind.

Kate Yes! As a b-b-brother!

Luc. Don’t you think that would be unwise? Wouldn’t that be almost, so to speak, too much bliss for me?

Kate Leave me, pray, leave me, Reginald— I mean, Mr. Jones! May Heaven bless you and soften this dreadful blow to your lacerated, broken heart.

Luc. Sort o’ temper the wind to this shorn lamb? Thank you, Imogene— I mean, Miss Wyvern— for this kind thoughtfulness; I thank you.

[Company have gathered.]

Curtain