CHARACTERS.
| Mr. Hiram Bliss, | A Wealthy Bachelor. |
| Dick Wellington, | His Nephew and Prospective Heir. |
| Mrs. Marian Payne, | A Widow. |
| Servant. |
Scene I.—Mr. Bliss’ parlor. Mr. B. present, pacing back and forth.
Mr. Bliss (soliloquizing). Sixty years old to-day! Well, well, how time passes! It seems but yesterday since I was a lad, going to school, and making love to the girls, instead of studying the lessons which Master Winthrop gave out. It seems strange how persons change as they grow older. Then, I was a favorite with the girls, and always escorted one or more to every party, husking, or apple-bee. Now, when called upon to entertain a marriageable person of the other sex, I’m thrown into a decided flutter. It’s ridiculous for one of my age and experience, but still it is a lamentable fact. There was Minnie Warren, a blue-eyed little fairy to whom I got very much attached; in tact, we were engaged. I believe if she hadn’t left Cherryville as she did, I should have finally married her. I was indignant enough when I heard that her father had bought the Union Mills, and the family were going to leave town. She finally married, I heard, and made some man happy. (A pause.) Well, some say every one has their share of good and ill fortune; but the fact is, I believe that some are fated to be happy, and some to be miserable in this world.
Dick (entering, L.). Hallo, uncle; have you got the blues? What right have you to talk about being miserable—you, who have everything that wealth can procure to make you happy?
Mr. B. I know I have everything comfortable here, but the fact is, Dick, I’m lonely in this great house. You, who pass most of your time in a store, with people constantly coming and going, take pleasure in spending a week or two in a quiet place, and among new scenes; but there’s no novelty in it to me, who have lived here for twenty years with no one in the house but servants.
D. It must be rather lonesome to live here all the time (glancing furtively at his companion). I expect you’ll be marrying one of these days, uncle.
Mr. B. I might have done so once, but it’s too late now. I’ve got settled down in my bachelor ways, and cannot depart from them.
D. (mischievously). You may be forced to depart from them, uncle.
Mr. B. (alarmed). What do you mean, Dick?
D. You remember the widow Payne, that we have met several times lately?
Mr. B. (interested). Yes. What of her?
D. She has been heard to express a very favorable opinion of you.
Mr. B. That amounts to nothing.
D. But you know that this is leap year, when ladies are privileged to propose.
Mr. B. (startled). But you don’t think she would do such a thing?
D. (solemnly). It is impossible to say. She is a widow, and you know the race of men has been warned, by an astute observer of human nature, to beware of that class of humanity. If she has any sympathy with the “Woman’s Rights” movement, I’m afraid you’re fated, uncle.
Mr. B. I couldn’t stand that. But what shall I do, Dick? Leave town?
D. There wouldn’t be any use in that, unless you staid away the remainder of the year.
Mr. B. (nervously). I couldn’t do that.
D. Then be courageous and bear it like a man. Of course you’d refuse the honor (questioningly)?
Mr. B. Of course I should. I wouldn’t accept under any consideration.
D. Then that’s all settled. But if you should get into any kind of a scrape, just let me know, and I’ll get you out of it—trust me, uncle.
Mr. B. Well, I think I will. No doubt you know more about those things than I do.
D. (smiling). I dare say I do.
Mr. B. (rising). Well, I must go and take my morning walk. Will you go too?
D. (rising). Yes; where shall we go?
Mr. B. We might as well go and call on the widow, and take a survey of the situation, as I don’t mean to be entrapped by any of her wiles.
D. (sharply scrutinizing Mr. B.—aside). I must look out for this uncle of mine. He may himself propose to the widow, instead of her proposing to him, and that would be death to my prospects. I must look out and not lose the property. (Takes out a couple of cigars, which he offers to his uncle.—Aloud.) Have a cigar, uncle?
Mr. B.—Thank you, I don’t care if I do. (Takes one.)
(Exeunt, L. Curtain falls.)
Scene II.—The same. Time, evening. Mr. Bliss sits alone, R., with his feet resting on the table, smoking and reading the evening paper. A lady (Dick disguised as Mrs. Payne) enters L., wearing bonnet and shawl, and closely veiled. Mr. Bliss starts up in excitement and offers his hand.
Mr. B. Good-evening, Mrs. Payne. I am very happy to see you. (Leads her to a seat.) Lay aside your bonnet and shawl, won’t you?
Mrs. Payne. No, I thank you. I cannot stop long. I only came in to make a call.
Mr. B. I am afraid this smoke is offensive to you.
Mrs. P. Oh, not at all. I enjoy the fragrance of a good cigar.
(Mr. B. lays down his cigar.)
Mrs. P. It is quite cool out, this evening.
Mr. B. Yes—no—that is, it may be—but I haven’t been out this evening.
Mrs. P. I haven’t seen you at our house for several days.
Mr. B. (nervously). No—I—have been very busy and couldn’t come, but have thought of you, and meant to come.
Mrs. P. So you have thought of me. I am glad of that. I have thought of you, also.
Mr. B. (startled). Ah! Th—thank you, but—
Mrs. P. (interrupting). I dare say you couldn’t guess my errand to-night.
Mr. B. (nervously). Oh—no, of course not.
Mrs. P. I have long loved you, and have felt certain that I was not disagreeable to you—and, knowing your timidity, I have availed myself of the privileges of Leap Year to come and offer myself to you. (Rises and throws her arms around his neck.) Hiram, I love you,—do you reciprocate my affection?
Mr. B. (almost overpowered, and looking around, nervously). I—I—must take time to think of it—it is so sudden.
Mrs. P. It may be sudden—and yet why delay our happiness? (Her head droops on his shoulder.)
Mr. B. I—I need time to consider (a sound of approaching footsteps is heard)—I—I must go—let me go. I have an engagement at nine.
Mrs. P. Then give your consent to our marriage.
Mr. B. (struggling frantically to free himself). I cannot—I—(a sound is heard as of a person at the door). Let me go—let me go—(in an imploring tone) quick—somebody’s coming.
Mrs. P. Say yes, then, dearest Hiram.
Mr. B. (in an agony of fear). Yes, yes—anything, if you will only leave me. (Mrs. P. imprints an audible kiss upon his forehead and turns to leave the room. Apparently by mistake she grasps the bell-knob and pulls it vigorously. She goes out by one door, L., as servant enters by another, R.)
Servant. Did you ring, sir?
Mr. B. Ring? N—no. I don’t wish for anything.
S. That’s strange. The bell rang distinctly, and so loud that I thought you was in a hurry.
Mr. B. Well, it’s of no consequence. I don’t need anything.
(Exit Servant, R.)
Mr. B. (pacing the room and soliloquizing). What have I done? Engaged myself to this widow, notwithstanding all my resolutions to the contrary. But something must be done about it. What shall it be? I might leave town—but that would be cowardly. Besides, I shouldn’t want to shut up the house. I might write, saying I had changed my mind; but I’m afraid that wouldn’t be just the thing. (Paces back and forth a few moments without speaking.) The fact is, I shall be obliged to marry the widow. There seems to be no other way left me, after giving my promise to her. But I won’t say a word to Dick about it. (A pause.) After all, I might do a worse thing. She would be a credit to my establishment, and the presence of a woman would brighten up the house. I guess I must go there in the morning and talk the matter over.
(Curtain falls.)
Scene III.—Mrs. Payne’s sitting-room. Mrs. Payne present sewing, R. Mr. Bliss enters, L.
Mrs. P. Good-morning, Mr. Bliss.
Mr. B. Good-morning, and a charming morning it is. I came, Mrs. Payne, to speak further on the matter we were talking of last evening.
Mrs. P. Last evening? You mean a week ago.
Mr. B. No, I mean last evening.
Mrs. P. But you were not here last evening.
Mr. B. (perplexed). Certainly not; but you called on me.
Mrs. P. What do you mean, Mr. Bliss?
Mr. B. (smiling). I mean that you made a leap-year call on me last evening, and offered me your heart and hand, which I accepted.
Mrs. P. (casting down her eyes). I am sorry to dispute you, but I had a severe headache last evening, and did not leave the house.
Mr. B. (in a disappointed tone). Is that so? But certainly some one bearing your semblance called on me last evening. (A pause.) It must have been one of Dick’s harum-scarum tricks.
Mrs. P. No doubt it was. He is full of mischief.
Mr. B. Mrs. Payne—
Mrs. P. (smiling). Well, Mr. Bliss.
Mr. B. (fidgeting nervously). Couldn’t we make my vision of last evening a reality?
Mrs. P. Possibly we might, if you desired it very much. But I’m afraid you haven’t counted the cost. You have been a bachelor so long, that you might soon tire of a wife, and consider her an intruder.
Mr. B. I am satisfied it would not be so. Besides it seems as if I had known you before; where can I have met you?
Mrs. P. Why, don’t you remember? I knew you at once—I was formerly Minnie Warren.
Mr. B. Then I claim you by right of an engagement made between us forty-six years ago—when you were twelve and I was fourteen. Have you forgotten it?
Mrs. P. Oh, no, I remember it perfectly well; and how I cried when we left town because you could not go too.
Mr. B. (drawing his chair nearer and placing his arm around her). There is a good deal of change in the age and size of your lover as he was and as he is. Are you not afraid of repenting if you should marry him?
Mrs. P. (archly). Oh, no. It is a good trade to exchange a little Payne for a greater bliss. I am satisfied as far as I am concerned.
Dick (entering, L.). Hallo! What’s all this? I’m afraid I’m intruding. (Looks anxiously at his companions.)
Mr. B. Not at all. Allow me to present you to your future aunt.
Dick (bowing low—aside). There’s my inheritance gone to the dogs, and by my own act. (Aloud to uncle.) This is something new, isn’t it? How did it all come about?
Mr. B. (significantly). I had a leap-year vision last evening, and have concluded, this morning, to make it a reality.
(Curtain falls.)