Sally. Why, Mr. Jerden, are you crazy? Mother’s been dead and buried this six months.
Jarius. So she has. It’s no use asking arter her—is it? That wan’t what I was going to say. To come to the p’int, Sally, to come to the p’int, I—I—I don’t feel well.
Sally. Then you’d better go home, tie up your ears, and get to bed. It’s my opinion you’ve had a pint too much, Jarius Jerden; and if ever you show yourself here in that condition again, I’ll drown the pizen out of yer with a kittle of hot water. Ain’t ye ashamed of yourself, at your time of life making a fool of yourself in this way, Jarius Jerden? I did think you had some sense; but you’re nothing but a fool, arter all. Go home. Don’t stand there staring at me in that way. Go to bed, sleep it off, and rise in the morning a sadder and a wiser man. O, Jarius, you, of all men! Wal, I never! (Exit, L.)
Jarius. Jes’ so. Sold again. And she thinks I’m drunk! Never was drunk in all my life; but if the sensation is anything like bein’ in love without the power of tellin’ on it, then all I’ve got to say, it’s an all-fired mean feelin’. Wal, things is gittin’ on backwards mighty fast, anyhow. I’ve made a darned goose of myself, that’s sartin. Go home and sleep it off? Yes, I guess not. I’ll just hang round here a little longer, and if there’s another chance, I’ll make one mouthful of it, and say, “Sally—” O, consarn it, Jarius, you darsn’t. You’re a mean, mealy-mouthed critter, and no mistake. (Exit, C.)
Enter Mary, R.
Mary. Who’s that? Somebody just left the house. Who could it have been? It must have been Jarius, on his nightly visit. Sally’s light is still burning in the kitchen. I’ll just pick up my work, and off to bed. Can it be possible that Will forged that check? I don’t believe it. Henry Douglas must have invented that story to frighten me.
Enter Will, C., softly.
Poor boy, I wish he were safe home again!
Will. Mary—sister!
Mary. (Rushing into his arms.) O, Will, dear Will, is it you at last?