Seeking His Fortune, and Other Dialogues

by Jr. Horatio Alger; O. Augusta Cheney

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Mrs. Cynthia Leland,	a Farmer’s Wife.
Mrs. Montgomery,	a Friend and former Schoolmate of Mrs. L.
Hannah Leland,	Mr. Leland’s Sister.
Obadiah Rakestraw,	a Bachelor.
Carrie Leland,	Mrs. L.’s Daughter.
Herbert Walton,	Carrie’s Lover.
Adolphus Fitz-William,	Mrs. M.’s Nephew.
Caleb Leland,	Carrie’s Brother.

Scene I.—In the field. Carrie enters, R.

Carrie (soliloquizing). So Mrs. Montgomery’s nephew is coming to-day. I hope he is agreeable. I wonder if he is engaged. It must be nice to marry a rich man, and live in the city, and go to balls, parties, and the theatre. I don’t understand why Mrs. Montgomery doesn’t feel so. She married a merchant, and can live in fine style in the city, but yet she prefers the country. And to-day her nephew is coming here. He thinks people on a farm are countrified, but I guess we can show him they are not all so. I’ve a good mind to flirt with him a little, by way of variety. I don’t believe it would be very difficult to captivate him. Perhaps, I can teach him a lesson. (Enter Herbert, L., with a rake in his hand.) Ah, Herbert—just going to work?

Herbert. Yes. Won’t you go, too?

Car. What inducement have you to offer?

H. A ride home on the hay after it is put into the wagon.

Car. That might be sufficient sometimes, but not now, for I must hurry home. Do you know, Herbert, we are to have a new-comer at our house, this afternoon?

H. No. Who is it?

Car. Mrs. Montgomery’s nephew. Adolphus Fitz-William is his name, I believe. His aunt says he has never been in the country at all, and he thinks farmers’ families are countrified to the last degree. She has his picture, and it looks very foppish.

H. And he is coming to-day, is he?

Car. Yes; he’s expected in the first afternoon train, and it’s about time for that to be here. (Hears a step, and turns toward L.) I guess that’s he now. I must go. (She hurries out, R.)

(Adolphus enters, L. He wears eye-glasses, and carries a cane; speaks affectedly.)

Adolphus. Can you tell me, aw, where Fawmer Leland lives, Jawnathan?

H. (leaning carelessly on rake—aside). I think I’ll humor him. (Aloud.) Wal, there now, who’d ’a’ thought you’d known what my name was? Who told yer?

A. (disdainfully). You’re vewy familiah. Do you know where Fawmer Leland lives?

H. (eagerly). You aint come to court his daughter, be ye?

A. Ah, has he a daughter?

H. He has that, an’ a pooty one, too. Rosy cheeks an’ bright eyes she’s got. I tell ye, she’s harnsome. I think some o’ sparkin’ her myself.

A. (contemptuously). You, aw! Impossible! She wouldn’t look at such a fellaw.

H. You dunno. Love goes whar it’s sent, an’ mebbe it’ll be sent to me.

A. But, aw, you haven’t answered my question. Can you tell me, aw, where Fawmer Leland lives?

H. Oh, yes, I remember. But, ’say, did yer come from the city to-day?

A. No, aw didn’t.

H. Is that so? I swar, I thought yer did—yer look so ’mazin’ spruce. How long be yer goin’ to stay, now?

A. No mattaw.

H. Sho, now, don’t go ter gittin’ mad over it.

A. (angrily). Will you tell me, aw, where Fawmer Leland lives or will you not, aw?

H. In course I will; but you needn’t git so mighty mad. Ye haint asked me yit.

A. (emphatically). I’ve asked you fower sevewal times.

H. It’s no sich a thing. Ye asked me if I could tell yer where he lived and ef I knowed where he lived. In course I couldn’t arnser a question ’fore ’twas put. I was eddicated to be perlite even ter my inferiors. When yer ask the question, I’ll arnser it.

A. (in a loud voice). You impertinent fellaw, where does Fawmer Leland live?

H. Don’t go to puttin’ on airs, now. D’ye see them chimblys over there? (pointing R.).

A. Yes, aw do.

H. Well, then, make a bee-line for ’em. Them’s the chimblys to Farmer Leland’s house. (Exit A., R. H., solus.) If he’d been a civil feller, I’d ’a’ shown him the path. Now he’ll have to climb four rickety stone walls, and I dunno as how he can do it safely with them tight breeches on. But I must go to work. Tempus fuggit, as the schoolmaster says.

(Exit, L., with rake on his shoulder. Curtain falls.)

Scene II.—Mrs. Leland’s sitting-room. Caleb, sitting, R. C., peeling apples. Carrie, L. C., dusting furniture. Enter Aunt Hannah, R.

Aunt Hannah (in a complaining tone). Well, I declare, haint you begun your baking yet, Car’line? It’s nigh onto noon, and you won’t get dinner ready in season.

Car. Well, you know I can’t make my pies till the apples are ready. You’ll have to talk to Caleb. I’ve been trying to hurry him.

A. H. (to Cal., severely). I should be ashamed, if I was a boy, to be so long peeling a few apples.

Cal. Oh, what’s the use in hurrying? There’s plenty of time.

A. H. (testily). In my young days things didn’t go on so. Good house-keepers got their bakin’ done by eight o’clock in the morning. They didn’t spend all day in the kitchen, as they do now.

Car. Don’t be troubled, Aunt Hannah; everything will be finished early, and dinner on the table at the usual time.

A. H. Well, I hope ’twill, but things don’t look much like it now.

(Exit A. H., L.)

Cal. Aunt Hannah is never happy except when she’s finding fault with somebody. She’s gone off mad, and I’m glad of it. I hope she’ll stay away.

(Enter Adolphus, L.)

Adolphus. I’ve been looking for you, Miss Carwy. Will you, aw, go out and walk with me this morning?

Car. I don’t think I could. Mother is away, you know, and I have all the housework to do.

A. Couldn’t I, aw, assist you, so you could go?

Car. I think not. I’m afraid there’s none of my work that you could do.

Cal. (shaking his head in a significant way). You jest make me that offer, Mr. Fitz. I’ll warrant you I won’t refuse. I know you’ll be able to do my work. And I can show you round a great deal better than Carrie can.

(A. deigns no reply to Cal., but gazes earnestly at Car.)

Car. I declare, I’m afraid my bread is burning. I nearly forgot it. (Goes out, R.)

Cal. Heigho! I don’t feel like peeling apples. I guess I’ll see what girl loves me best. (Lifts the entire skin of an apple, which he has taken off in one long strip, and swings it slowly three times round his head, then drops it on the floor behind him. He stoops and examines it eagerly, then claps his hands.) Sure’s the world, that’s an L, an’ stands for Lizy Blake. I was most sure ’twould be so. That sign always comes true.

A. (who had been looking on with interest). What are you doing, aw, Caleb?

Cal. I’ve been finding out who was my true love. Want to try your hand at it?

A. (glancing round to see that no one else is present). Well, aw, I might try.

Cal. That one’s broken, but I’ll soon make you another. (Takes an apple, peels it, and passes the skin to A. The latter swings it very awkwardly round his head, staggering as he endeavors to do so without breaking it. At last he drops it on the floor behind him.)

Cal. I declare, Mr. Fitz, you’re about as graceful as a cow.

A. (unheeding his remark, and examining the skin, which lay curled up on the floor). That’s a C, aw, plain enough.

Cal. (looking at it closely). It’s an exact H. Who can that stand for? Oh, I know. It must be that you’re going to marry Aunt Hannah.

A. What do you mean, aw, by such a fawlshood? (Attempts to strike Cal. with his cane, but Cal. leaps behind a chair, which he lifts, and uses as a protection. Enter Car.)

Car. Why, what’s the matter?

Cal. Nothing, only Mr. Fitz has been telling me who his sweetheart is, and he don’t like it ’cause I won’t promise not to tell anybody.

Car. You’d better go out in the kitchen, and finish your work. I’m in a hurry for the apples.

(Exit, Cal., R. Car. sits down, C.)

A. You must be tired, aw, with your labors.

Car. Oh no, indeed; but I am waiting for that lazy Caleb to finish the apples, so I can be making my pies.

A. (deliberately spreading his handkerchief upon the floor before her, and kneeling upon it). Miss Leland—Carwy, I have long sought, aw, this opportunity to confess, aw, my love for you. Do not deny me, aw, and doom me to dwead despair.

(A sound of approaching footsteps is heard.)

Car. (hurriedly). Mr. Fitz-William, rise, I beseech you.

A. Not until you give me a favorable answer to my suit.

Car. I cannot—I—(Enter Cal., R. A. rises.)

Cal. (laughs quite loud). Ha! ha! ha! (Enter Mrs. Montgomery and Aunt Hannah, L.)

Mrs. Montgomery. What can be the matter?

A. H. What’s all this noise about? Anybody’d think the house was afire, to hear such a racket.

A. It’s that impertinent young wascal, aw, who’s been scweaming like a locomotive whistle.

Cal. Who wouldn’t ’a’ laughed, if they’d come in, as I did, and seen Mr. Fitz-William on his knees asking Carrie to marry him?

Mrs. M. Why, Adolphus, I thought you were engaged to Helen Lindsay, who lives in the city.

Cal. And ’twarn’t more’n ten minutes ago that he spoke about marryin’ Aunt Hannah. (The spinster smiles benignantly.)

A. I did not, aw. I’d sooner marwy Beelzebub’s daughtaw than such a she-dwagon.

A. H. (seizing a broom and chasing him around the stage.) You would, would ye? Then, you just git out o’ this house. You shan’t stay in it a minute longer.

Cal. (waving his hand). That’s it, Aunt Hannah. Pitch into him lively. Go ahead, an’ I’ll help yer.

(Exit A., L., followed by A. H. and Caleb.)

(Curtain falls.)

Scene III.—The same. Time, six months later. Mrs. Leland, sitting at table, R. C., and Caleb, L. C. Enter Aunt Hannah, R.

A. H. (going to Mrs. L.). Is this stockin’ goin’ to be large enough for Calup?

Mrs. Leland (examining stocking). I guess so. It is larger than the last pair.

Cal. Aunt Hannah thinks my understanding is increasing pretty fast.

A. H. (bluntly). It’s a pity ’taint your politeness instid o’ your feet that’s agrowin’.

Mrs. L. (looking up). Take another chair, Caleb, and let your aunt have the rocking-chair.

Cal. (rising and taking another chair). Of course—age before good looks.

A. H. (sinking down into rocking-chair). In my day, children warn’t allowed to make fun of their relations.

Mrs. L. Caleb doesn’t mean anything, Aunt Hannah, but he ought not to speak so.

A. H. (severely). P’r’aps he don’t. This aint the fust time he’s been sassy to me.

Cal. Well, why can’t you be jolly, like other folks? I have to make fun so’s to make up for your lookin’ an’ talkin’ so dismal.

A. H. (sighing). Well, I shan’t always be here to trouble you with my looks. When I’m gone, maybe you’ll wish you hadn’t laughed at me as you have. (Bell rings.)

Cal. (eagerly). There’s the door-bell. Shall I go, mother?

Mrs. L. Yes, for I must go upstairs to get some pieces to mend this coat with.

(Exit, R.)

(Cal. goes out, L., and immediately returns with a letter. He pretends to be studying the address.)

Cal. M-m-iss Lel-land.

A. H. Calup, that letter’s for me. Give it to me this minute.

Cal. (holding it behind him). It aint a letter; it’s a valentine. It’s got all sorts of pretty figures on the envelope. Promise, Aunt Hannah, that you’ll let me see the inside of it, and I’ll give it to you right off.

A. H. (rising, and laying knitting on the table). I shan’t make any promises. Give me that letter, Calup. (Cal. runs round stage with letter. His aunt, running after him, tries in vain to catch him.)

Mrs. L. (from outside). Ca-leb! Ca-leb!

Cal. (darting across the room in a tantalizing way, lays letter on the table). By the time you get it read, Aunt Hannah, I’ll be back all ready to see it.

(Exit, R.)

A. H. (takes letter eagerly, and sits down, L. C.). It is a valentine, as sure as I’m alive. Who could have sent it? (Reads.)

“My dearest One: This is St. Valentine’s, the day when every person is privileged to write tender epistles to their loved ones. So I have seated myself to write to you. I did think of asking you a question which my past attentions have, no doubt, led you to expect. But, on second thoughts, I have concluded to call on you and ask the question in person. I am sure you will have no difficulty in recognizing

“Your Devoted Valentine.”

A. H. (laying valentine on table, sits back in chair, clasps her hands together, rocking, and apparently meditating). Well, there’s a perspective proposal, and I’m sure it couldn’t come from anybody but Obadiah Rakestraw. His mother’s just died, and he used to go to singing school with me when I was a girl (complacently), and he’ll be here to-night. I guess I’ll go and fix up a little, as long as he’s sent me word he’s coming.

(Exit A. H., R. Enter Carrie by same door.)

Car. (soliloquizing). Oh, dear, how unhappy I am! it is six months since Herbert went away, and I know it was because he thought I liked that popinjay Adolphus. Of course, he doesn’t know that it was nothing but a flirtation, and that I couldn’t endure the sight of Adolphus afterwards. I didn’t think Herbert would have gone off so suddenly, without even writing me a note to say he was going. Six months ago, and I’ve been so miserable all this weary time! (Suddenly sees the letter.) What’s this, a valentine, addressed to Miss Leland? Why, that’s my name, and, of course, I have a right to read it. (Opens it, and notices contents.) Yes, it was intended for me, and is in Herbert’s handwriting (joyfully), and he is to be here this evening! But how came it opened? (With sudden thought.) It must be that Aunt Hannah has opened and read it, thinking it was intended for her. I guess I’ll place the letter where I found it (lays it down), and leave the room till the time comes for Herbert to arrive.

(Exit Carrie, L., and enter Caleb, R.)

Cal. Well, that’s pretty treatment, for Aunt Hannah to go off when I told her partic’larly I was coming right back; and most likely she has carried the valentine with her. (Looking round, his gaze falls on the letter.) No, she hasn’t, either. By George! she was quite good, for her. (Takes letter, which he opens and reads. Looks up with ludicrous expression.) So Aunt Hannah has really got a beau! Who can he be? I guess he don’t know her as well as some folks do. Let’s see (Consulting the letter.) He’s coming here to-night to ask her that question. It’ll be worth a great deal to see anybody making love to Aunt Hannah. How can I manage to be round to see how it’s done? (Looks around.) Oh, this is just the thing. (Goes behind a curtain, which he draws, thereby concealing himself. A. H., dressed in black silk and wearing a gay headdress, enters, R.)

A. H. (taking letter, which she puts in her pocket). Well, there, I was rather ventur’som in leaving this valentine on the table. It’s a wonder that Calup didn’t come in an’ get hold of it. If he had, I’d never have heard the last of it. (A knock at the door, L. A. H. opens it, and ushers in Obadiah Rakestraw.)

A. H. Good evening, Mr. Rakestraw.

Obadiah Rakestraw. Good-evening, Miss Leland. So you’re all alone this evening. (They sit down with their backs to Caleb’s place of concealment.)

A. H. Yes, I happen to be just now, but I suppose the rest of the folks will be in soon. (Aside.) I wonder if he won’t take the hint.

Cal. (aside.) Oh, my! aint she sly?

O. R. I thought I’d just come in and make a neighborly call this evening.

A. H. Just so. I’m glad the spirit took ye. It be kind o’ lonesome for you at home.

O. R. Wall, ’tis so sometimes.

A. H. Ye ought to get married.

O. R. I’m afraid nobody’d have me.

A. H. Oh, you’re too shy. There’s nothin’ like tryin’. To-night is St. Valentine’s, and there aint no time like the present. All ye’ve got to do is jest ask the question. I’ll warrant you’ll get a favorable answer.

Cal. (aside). Don’t she drive business?

O. R. Wall, I’ve a good mind to take your advice. As you say, ’tis kind o’ lonesome, an’ I can’t more’n get refused (rising); so I’ll jest go over an’ ask Hitty Trumbull if she’ll marry me.

A. H. (indignantly, rising). Mehitable Trumbull! You don’t mean you’re going to offer yourself to her.

O. R. That’s jest what I mean.

A. H. Well, it’s downright dishonorable treatment, after the letter you sent me to-day.

O. R. (surprised). I haven’t sent you any letter.

A. H. (taking it from pocket). Didn’t you write that valentine?

O. R. (glancing over it). I never saw it before; and, between you and me, I don’t think it was intended for you.

A. H. Do you mean to insult me by saying I open other folks’ letters?

O. R. Not exactly, but I think this was written to your niece. It aint the kind o’ valentine one would be likely to send to a person of your age.

A. H. (in a high tone). You mean to twit me about my age, do you? I’ll just let you know that I’m six years younger than Mehitable Trumbull. But I won’t listen to any more of your insultin’ remarks; so just leave this house, or I’ll call somebody to help you.

O. R. It’s lucky I didn’t offer to marry you, as you asked me to. I see your temper hasn’t improved any since we used to go to singing-school together.

(Exit O. R., L. A. H., almost frantic, paces back and forth.)

A. H. The villain! to treat me so. But it’s lucky none of the folks know anything about it. I must change my dress before any of them come in.

(Exit A. H., R.)

Cal. (coming forward). Wasn’t that rich? To think of Aunt Hannah, who “wouldn’t marry the best man living,” offering herself, and then, after all, that her love should be refused. (Voices outside.) But who’s that? Perhaps, she’s coming back again. She mustn’t find me here. (Hides behind the curtain. Enter Herbert and Carrie, talking earnestly.)

Car. It was only by accident that I happened to see your letter at all. Aunt Hannah received and read it, and thought it was sent to her.

H. Who could she have supposed sent it?

Car. I don’t know, I’m sure.

Cal. (peeping out, aside). I know all about it.

H. But you haven’t answered the question it contained.

Car. (demurely). Did it contain one? I thought the note said you intended to ask a question; but, as you didn’t do so, I supposed you’d changed your mind.

H. You needn’t pretend ignorance. I can’t propose with the same grace that Adolphus did, but you can’t help knowing that I meant to ask you to marry me. (Taking her hand.) Will you be my wife, Carrie?

Car. (archly). I suppose it wouldn’t do to say anything but “Yes,” especially as, if I refuse, I couldn’t return your letter, since Aunt Hannah has taken possession of it.

H. I shouldn’t be satisfied with any other answer. Now, let’s go and tell your mother about it, and then we’ll set the wedding day.

(Exeunt, arm in arm.)

Cal. (coming forward). Well that was a little addition I didn’t expect. I’ve always wondered how folks popped the question, but I’ve found out all about it, and now I can do it like a book. I guess I’ll go down and see ’Lizy Blake before I forget how it’s done. If she says “Yes” we’ll have a loaf of wedding-cake as big as our new school-house. (With sudden thought) I don’t know though, but I ought to write a valentine, and send to her, first, to let her know I’m coming. That’s the way Herbert did. But then, just as likely as not, her aunt Lizy’d get it, thinking ’twas for her. She’s cross-eyed, an’ wears false hair an’ store teeth, an’ I couldn’t have her on my hands. No, I guess I’ll go right down, an’ do my sparkin’ in good style, an’ wind up by askin’ ’Lizy if I shan’t be her Valentine.

(Exit L. Curtain falls.)