THE UNWELCOME GUEST.

Characters:

SCENE.—A room in Edward Simpson’s house. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson discovered.

Mrs. S.

Edward, I may just as well say plainly that I think we must do something to get your brother off our hands. He has been here now over two weeks, and he stays and stays just as if this was his home, and as if he hadn’t the slightest idea of ever going away.

Mr. S. You are quite right, wife; we must get him away. I thought it possible, when he came here, that he had plenty of money; but that idea has vanished entirely. If he had money, he would not go around so shabbily dressed. He had the audacity to hint to me yesterday that I might buy him a new coat; just as if I hadn’t enough to do to buy new coats for myself and my children.

Mrs. S. Oh! the impudence of some people! I am sure we have done very well in keeping him these two weeks, and not charging him a cent for his boarding. And now he wants a new coat, does he? I wonder he didn’t ask for a full suit; he certainly has need of it; but he needn’t expect to get it here. But are you sure, Edward, that he didn’t bring any money home with him?

Mr. S. Yes, quite sure. I didn’t say anything to him about it, but John was never the man to go in rags if he had any money in his pocket. He has been away for fifteen years, you know, and he might have made plenty of money in that time; but it is my impression, that if he did make anything, he spent it all before he started for home.

Mrs. S. Well, what are we to do with him?

Mr. S. Send him to the poor-house, I suppose. I don’t quite like to do that, either; for people will talk, and they will say that I ought to have kept him in his old days.

Mrs. S. Let them talk. It’s nobody’s business but our own, and it will all blow over in a week or two. Of course we can’t have him on our hands as long as he lives, merely because the neighbors will talk a little about our sending him to the poor-house.

Mr. S. No, of course not. Here he comes now; we must inform him of our decision.

Enter John Simpson, shabbily dressed.

Mr. S. John, we have been talking about you.

John. So I supposed. I thought I heard my name mentioned. You were considering that matter about the coat, were you? I hope you will think favorably of it.

Mrs. S. (bridling up.) No, sir; we were not thinking of buying you a coat, but we were speaking of your audacity in making such a request.

John. Ah! were you? Don’t you see I am old now, and dreadfully crippled with rheumatism? And, of course I am not able to work to buy myself clothes. If my brother will not take care of me now, who will?

Mrs. S. That’s just what we are going to talk about.

Mr. S. Wife, allow me to speak to John about the matter. (To John.) It may sound a little harsh and unpleasant, but we have come to the conclusion that we cannot keep you any longer. You know that we are not very well off in this world’s goods; we have not much house-room, and we have three children that demand our attention. We have kept you two weeks and we think we have done very well. We feel that you would be considerably in our road here, and we have concluded to send you to the poor-house.

John. The poor-house! I always did hate the poor-house. It must be so lonesome there; and then, I don’t think the boarding will be good. Must I go to the poor-house?

Mr. S. Yes, we have decided. We cannot keep you.

John. I thought, when I was away, that if I could only get home again, I would find my brother willing to take me under his roof, and allow me to end my days there. But I was mistaken. When must I go?

Mr. S. I will have the papers made out, and be ready to take you to-morrow afternoon.

John. Send for Eliza Jones and her husband. They will not want to keep me either, I suppose—how can I expect them, when they are a great deal poorer than you? But send for them. I want to see them, and say good-bye, before I go away.

Mrs. S. Emeline, tell Parker to run across Jones’ for his Uncle Martin and Aunt Eliza.

[Exit Mrs. S.

John. If they do not treat me well at the poor-house, what shall I do? Cut stick and run off, or sue them for breach of promise?

Mr. S. (aside.) It seems to me, he takes it exceedingly cool. But it is better he should do so, than to make a noise about it. (To John.) I think you will be well treated. The Superintendent is very kind to all under his care, and is considered a perfect gentleman.

John. A gentleman! I’m glad of that. (Sarcastically.) Ah! Edward, it is a great thing to be a gentleman.

Mr. S. I am glad you are willing to go without making any fuss about it. You know people will talk; and they would talk a great deal more, if you should be opposed to going. I hope you will not think unkindly of us, because we have concluded to take this step; you see that we can not well keep you here; and as you are getting old, and are greatly afflicted with rheumatism, you will be better attended to there than you could be here.

John. Yes, yes, I understand. Don’t fret about me, Edward. I suppose it isn’t much difference where I live, and where I end my days. But, Edward, I think I would not have treated you so. However, one hardly knows what one will do when one comes to the pinch. If I had brought home a market-basket full of ninety-dollar gold pieces, perhaps I would not have taken up so much room in your house, nor crowded your children so dreadfully.

Enter Mrs. Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

Mrs. J. (running to John.) O John, my brother, they want to send you to the poor-house! You shall not go! you shall not go!

Mr. J. No, John, you shall not go. While we have a crust of bread, you shall share it with us.

John. But I never did like to eat crusts.

Mrs. S. That’s him, for you! He doesn’t want to pay anything for his board, but he wants to have the best.

John. And he doesn’t like to eat dirt.

Mrs. S. Do you mean to say I am a dirty cook?

John (whistles “Yankee Doodle.”) Come, if I am to go to the poor-house, let me be off.

Mrs. J. You shall not go. We are poor, but you shall stay with us. We can find room for you, and we will be provided for, I’ll warrant, some way.

Mrs. S. People oughtn’t to be rash about taking on a load they can’t carry.

Mr. S. Emeline, if Martin and Eliza want to keep John, let them do so; don’t say a word. Of course, I think they have quite enough to do to keep their own heads above water; but if they want to keep John, it is their own business.

John. Yes, it is their own business; and if they were on the point of sinking, would you raise a finger to keep their heads above water? No! Edward.—I cannot call you brother,—I know you now. I leave your house to-day, but I do not go to the poor-house. I have money enough to buy and keep a hundred such little farms as yours, and a hundred such little men. I do not need your coats nor your cringing sympathies; I wanted to know what kind of a man you were, and I know. When I came home, I determined to find out, in some way, whether you or the Jones family were most deserving of my money. I have found that out; and I go with them, to make my home there.

Mrs. S. But we didn’t know——

John. Ay, I know it. You thought I was a beggar; you thought I had no money and no clothes. If you had believed otherwise, you would have received me with open arms. Come (to Mr. and Mrs. Jones), we will go. I shall not forget you for your kindness. I will make my home with you; and if it is true that you have hard enough work to keep your heads above water it shall be so no longer. (To Mr. and Mrs. Simpson.) I had almost forgotten. Here are twenty dollars, for my two weeks’ board (throwing down the bills). You see that although I may have a shabby appearance, I am yet able to pay my way in the world. Good-day, Mr. and Mrs. Simpson.

(Exit John Simpson, and Mr. and Mrs. Jones.)

Mrs. S. Isn’t this dreadful! (Rushes out at one side of the stage.)

Mr. S. Confound the luck! (Rushes out at the other side of the stage.)

[Curtain falls.

H. Elliot McBride.