Scene II.—A bed-chamber. Deacon Robinson is seen, C., dressed in ruffled shirt and tightly fitting pants. He surveys them meditatively.
Dea. R. I don’t see but I’ve got to wear these clothes, as long as the others are gone, for the convention meets at nine, and I shan’t have much more’n time to eat my breakfast. But it beats all where them other clothes went to, and where these come from. I declare, I never heard o’ such a thing in my born days. (He thinks a moment—his face brightens.) Yes, it must be—there’s no other way. Some of my friends here in Rossville must ha’ clubbed together, and bought me this new suit, knowing I was to be here to the convention. But when could they ha’ brought them in, and taken my others away, for I’ve had my door locked ever since I came into the room? Oh, I remember now, last night, when there was an alarm of fire, I slipped on my overcoat, and went into the entry to see where ’twas; but findin’ ’twas a false alarm, I came back in less than ten minutes. They must ha’ been dreadful spry to ha’ made the change so quick. (Apprehensively—taking up the coat.) I’m afraid they’re too gay for me, but I seem to be ’bleeged to wear ’em. (Puts on the vest.) I wonder if the coat fits as well as the rest. (Puts it on and stands up before the glass, R. Complacently.) Well, it’s a complete fit, and it does really improve me amazin’ly—makes me look a good deal younger. The cloth seems good too. They must ha’ cost a good deal. Really, my friends have been very kind, but I do wish they’d brought a different hat. (Puts on the hat, which looks very jaunty for one of his years.) Perhaps I can exchange it to-morrow, but I’ve got to wear it to-day, at any rate. There’s one thing I haven’t thought of afore (feeling in pockets). I wonder whether they thought to change things in the pockets from the old to the new. There aint a single thing in any of ’em. (Irresolutely.) And what shall I do without money? (Goes quickly to overcoat, and puts his hand in pocket.) Ah, here is the old wallet. (With a sigh of relief.) Lucky for me I bought a newspaper last evening, or that pocket-book would ha’ been gone too. I must go down and see if I can hear anything about the rest of the things.
(Exit, L. Curtain falls.)
Scene III.—The same. Fitz Howard is seen, L. C., sitting disconsolately with Deacon’s home-made shirt and pants on.
F. H. Well—aw—I’m sure, I don’t see what I’m going to do. I never can go out on the street—aw—wearing such wretched-looking clothes. (Standing up suddenly and gazing upon them.) Why, they’re absolutely horwid. It’s strange—aw—how anybody could have been quick enough—aw—to change those clothes in the five minutes I was out—aw—last night at the alarm of fire. I should just like to get hold of the thief—aw—that’s all. I guess—aw—he’d never steal anything else. (A pause. Emphatically.) I won’t wear this horwid-looking coat (lifting it up.) What would Dick Hayes or Harwy Nichols say—aw—to see me dressed in this style! I won’t wear the shabby ole thing. (Throws it to the other end of the room, R.) I should feel—aw—as if I was my own grandfather. And this horwid old hat. (Takes it in his hand, and with a kick sends it after the coat.) Aw—I’ll ring for the landlord. (Rings furiously. John enters, R.)
F. H. Aw—where’s the landlord—aw?
J. He’s gone away.
F. H. When he comes back—aw—I want to see him.
J. Yes, sir; but he may not be back till noon, but I’ll tell him when he comes.
(Exit John, R.)