The next scene was gorgeous. Solomon John, as a Turk, reclined on John Osborne’s army-blanket. He had on a turban, and a long beard, and all the family shawls. Ann Maria and Elizabeth Eliza were brought in to him, veiled, by the little boys in their Hindoo costumes.
This was considered the great scene of the evening, though Elizabeth Eliza was sure she did not know what to do,—whether to kneel or sit down; she did not know whether Turkish women did sit down, and she could not help laughing whenever she looked at Solomon John. He, however, kept his solemnity. “I suppose I need not say much,” he had said, “for I shall be the ‘Turk who was dreaming of the hour.’” But he did order the little boys to bring sherbet, and when they brought it without ice insisted they must have their heads cut off, and Ann Maria fainted, and the scene closed.
“What are we to do now?” asked John Osborne, warming up to the occasion.
“We must have an ‘inn’ scene,” said Elizabeth Eliza, consulting her letter; “two inns, if we can.”
“We will have some travellers disgusted with one inn, and going to another,” said John Osborne.
“Now is the time for the bandboxes,” said Solomon John, who, since his Turk scene was over, could give his attention to the rest of the charade.
Elizabeth Eliza and Ann Maria went on as rival hostesses, trying to draw Solomon John, Agamemnon, and John Osborne into their several inns. The little boys carried valises, hand-bags, umbrellas, and bandboxes. Bandbox after bandbox appeared, and when Agamemnon sat down upon his the applause was immense. At last the curtain fell.
“Now for the whole,” said John Osborne, as he made his way off the stage over a heap of umbrellas.
“I can’t think why the lady from Philadelphia did not send me the whole,” said Elizabeth Eliza, musing over the letter.
“Listen, they are guessing,” said John Osborne. “‘D-ice-box.’ I don’t wonder they get it wrong.”