Standard Selections Part 69

RIP. Well, I say it dis time, and I mean it.

GRETCHEN. Oh, Rip! if I could only trust you.

RIP. You mustn't suspect me. Can't you see repentance in my eye?

GRETCHEN. Rip, if you will only keep your word, I shall be the happiest woman in the world.

RIP. You can believe it. I nefer drink anoder drop so long what I live, if you don'd cry.

GRETCHEN. Oh, Rip, how happy we shall be! And you'll get back all the village, Rip, just as you used to have it; and you'll fix up our little house so nicely; and you and I, and our little darling Meenie, here--how happy we shall be!

RIP. Dere, now! you can be just so happy what you like. Go in de odder room, go along mit you; I come in dere pooty quick. [_Exit_ GRETCHEN and MEENIE.] My! I swore off from drinkin' so many, many times, and I never kept my word yet. [_Taking out bottle._] I don'd believe dere is more as one good drink in dat bottle, anyway. It's a pity to waste it! You goin'

to drink dat? Well, now, if you do, it is de last one, remember dat, old feller. Well, here is your goot held, und--

_Enter_ GRETCHEN, _suddenly, who s.n.a.t.c.hes the bottle from him_.

GRETCHEN. Oh, you brute! you paltry thief!

RIP. Hold on dere, my dear, you will spill de liquor.

GRETCHEN. Yes, I will spill it, you drunken scoundrel. [_Throwing away the bottle._] That's the last drop you ever drink under this roof.

RIP [_slowly, after a moment's silence, as if stunned by her severity_].

Eh! what?

GRETCHEN. Out, I say! you drink no more here.

RIP. What? Gretchen, are you goin' to drive me away?

GRETCHEN. Yes! Acre by acre, foot by foot, you have sold everything that ever belonged to you for liquor. Thank Heaven, this house is mine, and you can't sell it.

RIP [_rapidly sobering, as he begins to realize the gravity of the situation_]. Yours? Yours? Ya, you are right--it is yours; I have got no home. [_In broken tones, almost sobbing._] But where will I go?

GRETCHEN. Anywhere! out into the storm, to the mountains. There's the door--never let your face darken it again.

RIP. What, Gretchen! are you goin' to drive me away like a dog on a night like dis?

GRETCHEN. Yes; out with you! You have no longer a share in me or mine.

[_Breaking down and sobbing with the intensity of her pa.s.sion._]

RIP [_very slowly and quietly, but with great intensity_]. Well, den, I will go; you have drive me away like a dog, Gretchen, and I will go. But remember, Gretchen, after what you have told me here to-night, I can never come back. You have open de door for me to go; you will never open it for me to return. But, Gretchen, you tell me dat I have no longer a chare here. [_Points at the child, who kneels crying at his feet._]

Good-by [_with much emotion_], my darlin'. G.o.d bless you! Don'd you nefer forgit your fader. Gretchen (_with a great sob_), I wipe de disgrace from your door. Good-by, good-by!

[_Exit_ RIP _into the storm_.

FOOTNOTE:

[80] Adapted by Mr. A. P. Burbank.

THE RIVALS

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

ACT I, SCENE II

CHARACTERS: Mrs. Malaprop, with her bad grammar and ludicrous diction; Lydia Languish, in love with Beverley; Sir Anthony Absolute, choleric, but kind-hearted.

SCENE: A dressing room in Mrs. Malaprop's lodgings.

_Enter_ MRS. MALAPROP, LYDIA, _and_ SIR ANTHONY

MRS. MALAPROP. There, Sir Anthony, there stands the deliberate simpleton, who wants to disgrace her family and lavish herself on a fellow not worth a s.h.i.+lling.

LYDIA. Madam, I thought you once--

MRS. M. You thought, miss! I don't know any business you have to think at all: thought does not become a young woman. But the point we would request of you is, that you will promise to forget this fellow--to illiterate him, I say, from your memory.

LYD. Ah, madam! our memories are independent of our wills. It is not so easy to forget.

MRS. M. But I say it is, miss! there is nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a person chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as much forgot your poor dear uncle, as if he had never existed; and I thought it my duty so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these violent memories don't become a young woman.

LYD. What crime, madam, have I committed, to be treated thus?

MRS. M. Now don't attempt to extirpate yourself from the matter; you know I have proof controvertible of it. But tell me, will you promise me to do as you are bid? Will you take a husband of your friend's choosing?

LYD. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that, had I no preference for any one else, the choice you have made would be my aversion.

MRS. M. What business have you, miss, with preference and aversion? They don't become a young woman. But, suppose we were going to give you another choice, will you promise us to give up this Beverley?

LYD. Could I belie my thoughts so far as to give that promise, my actions would certainly as far belie my words.

MRS. M. Take yourself to your room! You are fit company for nothing but your own ill humors.

LYD. Willingly, ma'am; I cannot change for the worse.

MRS. M. There's a little intricate hussy for you! [_Exit._

SIR A. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am; all that is the natural consequence of teaching girls to read. On my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's maid coming forth from a circulating library: from that moment, I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress!

MRS. M. Those are vile places, indeed!

SIR A. Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an evergreen tree of diabolical knowledge!