CHARACTERS.
| Deacon Jonathan Robinson, | Delegate to Political Convention. |
| Mrs. Irene Robinson, | His Wife. |
| Doctor Lewis Cummings, | Physician of Rossville. |
| Mr. Chas. Herbert Fitz Howard, | A Young Exquisite. |
| Landlord. | |
| John. | |
| Two Policemen. |
(Deacon Robinson is attired in a blue suit. The coat is short-waisted, old-fashioned, and ornamented with brass buttons. He wears a broad-brimmed beaver, far from new. Charles Herbert Fitz Howard is dressed in the height of fashion, wearing a jaunty little hat on the side of his head, and a suit of clothes cut in the most fashionable style.)
Scene I.—Office of a hotel. Table, C. Landlord present, R. C. Enter Deacon Robinson, L.
Landlord. Good-evening, deacon.
Dea. Robinson. Good-evening. I’ve come down from Morristown to ’tend the convention. I may be here two or three days. Can you give me a room?
L. (suavely). Oh, yes, certainly; a nice room, too. Will you order supper before going up stairs?
Dea. R. Supper! No, indeed! It’s nine o’clock, and I’m going to bed. Besides, I took supper afore I left home.
L. But you’ll register your name, first? (Passes pen to him.)
Dea. R. (takes from his pocket a tin case, which he opens, takes therefrom a pair of spectacles, which he adjusts upon his nose). Wal, yes, I hain’t no objection. (Writes.)
L. Here, John, take this lamp and show the gentleman up to Number 33.
John. Yes, sir. (Takes lamp and goes out, followed by the Deacon.)
(Enter Charles Herbert Fitz Howard, L.)
Fitz Howard. Aw—I say—aw—can you give me a good room?
L. Yes sir, directly. But, beg pardon, sir; perhaps you’d like some supper first?
F. H. Aw—yes, but I’ll go to my room first—aw, and make my toilet—remove the dust and travel—aw.
L. Your name, sir! (Offers pen.)
F. H. Aw—yes—I had forgotten. (Looking at pen—tries it.) What a deuced poor pen! (Enter John, R.)
L. Here is another. (Offers it.)
F. H. (takes it; gazes at book before him). Deacon Jonathan Robinson—aw. What a name! Not much like the next one. (Writes.) Charles Herbert Fitz Howard—aw.
J. Ain’t he a swell, though?
L. (in a warning tone). John.
J. Yes, sir.
L. Show this gentleman up to number 35.
J. Yes, sir. (To Fitz Howard.) This way, sir.
(Exeunt, R. Curtain falls.)
Scene II.—A bed-chamber. Deacon Robinson is seen, C., dressed in ruffled shirt and tightly fitting pants. He surveys them meditatively.
Dea. R. I don’t see but I’ve got to wear these clothes, as long as the others are gone, for the convention meets at nine, and I shan’t have much more’n time to eat my breakfast. But it beats all where them other clothes went to, and where these come from. I declare, I never heard o’ such a thing in my born days. (He thinks a moment—his face brightens.) Yes, it must be—there’s no other way. Some of my friends here in Rossville must ha’ clubbed together, and bought me this new suit, knowing I was to be here to the convention. But when could they ha’ brought them in, and taken my others away, for I’ve had my door locked ever since I came into the room? Oh, I remember now, last night, when there was an alarm of fire, I slipped on my overcoat, and went into the entry to see where ’twas; but findin’ ’twas a false alarm, I came back in less than ten minutes. They must ha’ been dreadful spry to ha’ made the change so quick. (Apprehensively—taking up the coat.) I’m afraid they’re too gay for me, but I seem to be ’bleeged to wear ’em. (Puts on the vest.) I wonder if the coat fits as well as the rest. (Puts it on and stands up before the glass, R. Complacently.) Well, it’s a complete fit, and it does really improve me amazin’ly—makes me look a good deal younger. The cloth seems good too. They must ha’ cost a good deal. Really, my friends have been very kind, but I do wish they’d brought a different hat. (Puts on the hat, which looks very jaunty for one of his years.) Perhaps I can exchange it to-morrow, but I’ve got to wear it to-day, at any rate. There’s one thing I haven’t thought of afore (feeling in pockets). I wonder whether they thought to change things in the pockets from the old to the new. There aint a single thing in any of ’em. (Irresolutely.) And what shall I do without money? (Goes quickly to overcoat, and puts his hand in pocket.) Ah, here is the old wallet. (With a sigh of relief.) Lucky for me I bought a newspaper last evening, or that pocket-book would ha’ been gone too. I must go down and see if I can hear anything about the rest of the things.
(Exit, L. Curtain falls.)
Scene III.—The same. Fitz Howard is seen, L. C., sitting disconsolately with Deacon’s home-made shirt and pants on.
F. H. Well—aw—I’m sure, I don’t see what I’m going to do. I never can go out on the street—aw—wearing such wretched-looking clothes. (Standing up suddenly and gazing upon them.) Why, they’re absolutely horwid. It’s strange—aw—how anybody could have been quick enough—aw—to change those clothes in the five minutes I was out—aw—last night at the alarm of fire. I should just like to get hold of the thief—aw—that’s all. I guess—aw—he’d never steal anything else. (A pause. Emphatically.) I won’t wear this horwid-looking coat (lifting it up.) What would Dick Hayes or Harwy Nichols say—aw—to see me dressed in this style! I won’t wear the shabby ole thing. (Throws it to the other end of the room, R.) I should feel—aw—as if I was my own grandfather. And this horwid old hat. (Takes it in his hand, and with a kick sends it after the coat.) Aw—I’ll ring for the landlord. (Rings furiously. John enters, R.)
F. H. Aw—where’s the landlord—aw?
J. He’s gone away.
F. H. When he comes back—aw—I want to see him.
J. Yes, sir; but he may not be back till noon, but I’ll tell him when he comes.
(Exit John, R.)
F. H. (solus). Well—aw—there’s no help from that quarter. I don’t see but I’ve got to come to it, for if I don’t wear these clothes—aw—what shall I wear? There isn’t any shop that sells ready-made clothing that I’d be willing to wear—aw—and if there was I haven’t money enough to spare to buy another suit. (Groaning.) I don’t see but I must wear it. (Puts on vest and coat—looks in mirror.) Oh, dear! Aw—what a fright! And I was going to call on Arabella Meade this morning. (Puts on hat, which, being a little too large for him, settles down on the back side of his head. He paces back and forth, looking down.) But there’s no use in my going there to-day. The servants would take me—aw—for a ragamuffin, and thrust me out of the house—aw—if I attempted to enter it. I suppose I shall have to go down in this costume—aw—and see if I cannot find some clue to my own clothes—aw.
(Exit, L. Curtain falls.)
Scene IV.—Parlor of the hotel. Deacon Robinson, C., looking over morning paper. Enter Dr. Cummings, L., who does not recognize the occupant of the room. Deacon Robinson advances to meet him warmly.
Dea. R. (cordially). How do you do, Dr. Cummings?
Dr. C. (distantly). Really, sir, you have the advantage of me!
Dea. R. What, don’t you recognize me? You’ve known me for the last twenty-five years. I’m Deacon Jonathan Robinson, of Morristown.
Dr. C. Why, bless my soul, so you are! But, good gracious, deacon, what possessed you to dress in this strange way?
Dea. R. Strange?
Dr. C. (sternly). Yes. I consider it discreditable to one of your years, sobriety, and position in the community, to make such a popinjay of yourself.
Dea. R. (uncomfortably). But it isn’t my doings.
Dr. C. Isn’t your doings? Then whose is it? I don’t understand it. Surely Mrs. Robinson doesn’t countenance such folly!
Dea. R. She doesn’t know anything about it.
Dr. C. No; I thought not.
Dea. R. (a little vexed). If you won’t be in such a hurry, Dr. Cummings, I’ll explain it all. You see I came over to Rossville last evening and put up here. I went to bed early, but about midnight there was a cry of fire. I slipped on my overcoat, and went into the entry to learn whether it was near by. In a few minutes I heard that it was a false alarm. I hurried back to my room, which I couldn’t have been out of more’n ten minutes, and locked my door. Then I went to bed and to sleep. When I waked in the morning my old clothes, which have done me such faithful service, were gone, and these were left in their place.
Dr. C. How do you suppose they came there?
Dea. R. It is my opinion that my friends in Rossville, knowing that I was to attend a convention, took this way of presenting me with a new and fashionable suit of clothes.
Dr. C. (shaking his head). It’s a strange story.
(Enter Mrs. R. R. She starts back, surprised at the appearance of her husband.)
Mrs. Robinson (sharply). I should like to know, Deacon Robinson, what has put it into your head to dress in this ridiculous style; you, a man most sixty years old!
Dea. R. I’m only fifty-eight.
Mrs. R. And you dress as if you were eighteen. You refuse me a silk dress, and then go and squander your money on this foolish rig. I should think you had gone stark, staring mad.
Dea. R. (anxiously). Stop, Reeny, I’ll explain it all. My friends in Rossville came and brought me this suit in the night.
Mrs. R. (contemptuously). Fiddlestick! Do you expect me to believe that ridiculous story? I’m really afraid you’ve been drinking. Nothing else could ha’ brought you to make such a fool of yourself.
Dea. R. (excitedly). Mrs. Robinson, I command you to be silent. It’s you that are makin’ a fool o’ yourself, I’d have you to know. It’s enough for you to think of your own dress, and not interfere with mine.
Mrs. R. (wringing her hands). O Jonathan, is this the way you speak to me, who’ve been a faithful wife to you for more than thirty years?
(Fitz Howard, clad in the Deacon’s old-fashioned garments, bursts into the room, L., and rushes up to Dea. R., assuming a belligerent attitude.)
F. H. So you’re the thief—aw—you rascal—
Dr. C. (rising and coming forward). What does this mean?
F. H. (gesticulating violently). It means—aw—that this fellah has run off with my clothes—a hundred-dollar suit, and left—aw—this worthless rubbish (extending his arms as if to show the clothes) in its place. (In a loud tone.) Help! Police—aw—where’s the police?
Mrs. R. (indignantly). O Jonathan, have you brought disgrace upon your innocent wife and family by this strange conduct?
Dr. C. (in tones of horror). O Deacon!
Dea. R. Hear me; hear me. There’s some strange mistake.
F. H. There’s no mistake about it. Bring the police.
(Police enter, L., and endeavor to handcuff him. Dea. R. struggles furiously.)
Dea. R. I won’t go to jail. Call the landlord.
Mrs. R. (earnestly). Yes; call the landlord. Perhaps he can explain about it.
(One of the policemen goes out, R., and immediately returns with the Landlord.)
F. H. This man—aw—has stolen my clothes, and I demand his arrest.
Dea. R. Well, landlord, you’ve known me a good many years. Do you think I should be likely to steal now—at my age?
L. Impossible; there must be some mistake.
F. H. But there can’t be any mistake; don’t you see—aw—he’s got on my clothes, and I his?
L. (smiling). Yes; but if he intended to steal them he wouldn’t come in, and sit quietly in the parlor with the garments on. But I haven’t heard how it came about. Did either of you leave your room last night?
F. H. I only left it for five minutes—aw—when the alarm of fire was raised—aw—and this morning when I waked—aw—my new suit was changed into these horwid things. (Glances with contempt upon them.)
L. (to Deacon). And did you leave your room, too?
Dea. R. Yes; but only long enough to go into the entry and back again.
L. I see how it is; your rooms were side by side. You both left them, and when you returned, you each went into the other’s room. That accounts for the change of clothing. (One policeman beckons to the other, and they go out, L.)
Dea. R. By George, that must ha’ been the way ’twas done. But I declare to goodness, I never should ha’ thought about it. (To Landlord.) Thank you, landlord, for gettin’ me out o’ this scrape. (To Fitz Howard.) And look here, young man, suppose we just go up stairs and swap clothes again. I guess these aint any more becomin’ to me than them are to you.
F. H. You’re right there—aw—old man. (Exeunt Dea. R. and F. H., L.)
Mrs. R. Well, I thank goodness things have turned out as they have. I wouldn’t ha’ had Jonathan gone to the convention in that rig for nothin’ in the world.
Dr. C. (sarcastically). Not even if they had been a present to him from his friends in Rossville!
(Curtain falls.)