Sally. You needn’t trouble yourself, Mr. Jerden. I can pick for myself when I git ready. Better be lookin’ out for yourself. You do want slicking up, and a wife would soon reduce that crop of hair to its proper dimensions, mend that hole in your elbow, iron out that ruffled, seedy-looking hat, and find a blacking-brush for those rusty boots. If I wasn’t so busy, Jarius—Mr. Jerden—I’d look round and find you a wife, for you do need one awfully. (Exit, C.)
Jarius. Jes’ so. Neow there’s a gal I’ve been hankerin’ arter for five years, and never so much as dared ask her to lecter or singin’-school. Consarn it, Jarius, you’re a mealy-mouthed critter among the gals, smart as you are at tradin’ and swappin’. It’s no sorter use; the minute that gal comes a-near me, there’s a sinkin’ at my stomach that no end of vittles can’t fill up. Smart? Why, she beats all nater; and I kinder think she likes me, and gin those chaps the go-by on my account. Come, come, Jarius, spunk up! Don’t be a fool! Say the word, and she’s yourn for better or for wus. I’ll put arter her, and spit it out to once. (Goes to door, C.)
Enter Sally, C.
Sally. Here, Ned; I forgot to pay for the boots. (Gives money.)
Ned. One dollar. All right. Thank you, Sally.
Sally. Was you going my way, Mr. Jerden?
Jarius. Yes—no—no. I was going to see Joe Bristles’ hog.
Sally. O, yes. “Birds of a feather,” you know. (Exit, C. to R.)
Jarius. Jes’ so. Consarn it, Jarius, you are a hog, and no mistake. (Exit, C. to L.)
Ned. Hen Douglas marry Mary Nutter! O, Heaven forbid! What a dear good girl she is! The sound of her voice, as she merrily sings at her work, sets my hammer flying glibly, and my heart beating quickly, too. ’Twill be called a good match, for he has money, and she is the most capable girl in the place. She would grace the handsomest house that his money could furnish. But could he make her happy? He, with his foppish airs, his love of display, delight in reckless dissipation! No, no. He would tire of her in a week, and then, with some new fancy luring him, turn coldly from her, perhaps abuse her, and break her heart. Break her heart! O, Mary, Mary! For the first time in my life I long for wealth, for then I should have the power to enter the field, and, if I could not win you for myself, at least save you from a heartless man.