Jessie. You will not forget me?
Harry. Oh, we are getting melancholy. (Smiles.) Why should I not fear a rival?
Jessie. Now you are jesting, Harry. Do I not owe my life to you?
Harry. Hush, hush! that is a forbidden subject, and all you owe to me has been paid with interest in the gift of your true, loving heart. (They pass off, r. Enter Capt. Bragg, c.)
Capt. Bragg. Well, I never—no, never. If Parson Broadnose himself, in full black, with all his theological prognostications to back him, had said to me, Capt. Bragg, did you ever? I should have fixed my penetrating eyes upon him, and answered boldly, No, never. Slighted, absolutely, undeniably, unquestionably slighted! I, Capt. Nathan Bragg, distinguished for my martial deportment, my profound knowledge, my ready wit, yes, every thing that adds a charm to merrymaking; I, ex-commander of that illustrious corps, the Lawless Rangers, that rivals the grandest European regiments in drill and parade,—slighted at a mean, contemptible little husking. Fact, by jingo! But I'm not to be slighted: I won't be slighted. I am here to testify my profound contempt for a slight. If John Maynard has a husking, and forgets to invite the grand central figure on such occasions, it is the duty of the grand central figure to overlook the little breach of etiquette, and appear to contribute to the happiness of its fellow townsmen. There is an air of gloom about this place, all owing to my absence. They're in to supper: I'll join them, to cheer the dull hearts and (going r.)— Hallo! guns, guns. (Takes up one.) There's a beauty. This reminds me of my warlike days at country muster, and the Lawless Rangers. Ah, those rangers! every man with a Roman nose, six feet high, and a dead shot: not a man would miss the dead eye at one hundred paces,—if he could help it. Ah! I can see 'em now as I gave the order: ready—aim—fire (raising gun and firing as he speaks.) Murder! the blasted thing was loaded. (Drops it, and staggers across stage to l., trembling. A fowl drops from r., at the shot. Enter r., Mr. Maynard, Stub, Harry, Jessie, Tom, and Mrs. Maynard.)
Maynard. Who fired that gun? Ah, Capt. Bragg, what's the matter?
Stub (taking up fowl). Dat ar poor ole rooster am a gone goose. Dat's what's de matter.
Harry (taking up gun). Captain, have you been meddling with my gun?