Little Brown Jug

by George M. Baker

Mary. Douglas’s deceit again! Will, for a year he has not left the house. That blow with the jug, a year ago, nearly killed him.

Will. What! And I knew nothing of it? O, this is terrible! That man is a fiend! He has tried to keep from me all knowledge of you and my family, for what reason I cannot guess. But I will know. Ned Hartshorn nearly killed, and by my hand! I am accursed! Let me fly from this place!

Mary. No, no, Will; not now, not now!

Will. I will! I must! What right have I to stand beneath this roof? I have defied my father, chosen my own path in life, turned my back upon you all, and have no right to claim kindred here. Let me go, Mary. ’Tis better for all. There’s a curse upon me, a bitter curse. Let me go! let me go!

Mary. No, no, brother. (Clings about his neck.) I will not release you. We love you dearly.

Will. Then pray for me, think of me kindly if you can; but part we must. (Kisses her.) Mary, sister, Heaven bless you! (Rushes out, C.)

Mary. Gone. Poor boy! I tremble for him, swayed by every impulse of his wayward nature, in the midst of temptation; his young life already poisoned by the love of drink, what must be his fate! O, brother, may Heaven send some good angel to reclaim you, and hear a mother’s and a sister’s prayers in your behalf. (Takes light from table, and exits, R.)

Door opens, softly. Enter Will, C.

Will. Homeless and friendless! She little knows it has come to that. She little knows that my threat to acquaint my father with his wild doings parted Douglas and I. He marry her! Not if I can prevent it. But what power have I with my stubborn father? Douglas has trumped up his charge of forgery to frighten me and intimidate her. How can I alarm her and father? I came to tell her, and have not spoken a word against him. But I will find a way. Just now I must care for myself. I haven’t had a morsel to eat to-day, so my good mother’s cupboard must provide. If I could only have one good pull at the little brown jug! I forgot. ’Tis now put to better use. Better? There’s money in it; and money will provide both food and shelter. Why not? Haven’t I a right to put my fingers in it? Yes, you have put it to a better use, father, and, with your good leave, I’ll have a pull at it, as in former days. Egad, it’s a capital joke. There’s no crime about it, for it’s all in the family, and one member mustn’t starve while others hoard wealth. I’ll creep into father’s room, secure the jug, help myself, and nobody shall be the wiser. Softly, my boy, softly. (Creeps out, L.)