Stephen Archer, and Other Tales Part 31

_Bill_. Ain't he her natural enemy, then? Ain't it yer father as b.u.mps yer 'ed, an' cusses ye, an' lets ye see him eat? Afore he gets our Mattie, I'll bite!

_Tho._ Poor lad! poor lad! Dunnot say that! Her feyther's th' best freen' hoo's getten. Th' moor's th' pity, for it's not mich he can do for her. But he would dee for her--he would.

_Boys (all together)_. Go along, Daddy-devil! Pick yer own bones, an'

ha' done.

Bag-raker!

Skin-cat!

Bag o' nails!

Scull-an'-cross-bones!

Old Daddy Longlegs wouldn't say his prayers-- Take him by his left leg, and throw him downstairs.

Go along! Go to h.e.l.l!

_We_'ll skin you.

Melt ye down for taller, we will.

Only he 'ain't got none, the red herrin'!

_They throw things at him. He sits down on the door-step, and covers his head with his arms. Enter_ COL. G. _Boys run off_.

_Tho._ Oh, mo Mattie! mo Mattie!

_Col. G._ Poor old fellow! Are you hurt?

_Tho._ Eh! _yo_ be a followin' ov mo too!

_Col. G._ What are you doing here?

_Tho._ What am aw doin' yere! Thee knows well enough what aw're a doin' yere. It 're o' thy fau't, mon.

_Col. G._ Why, you've got a blow! Your head is cut! Poor old fellow!

_Tho._ Never yo mind mo yed.

_Col. G._ You must go home.

_Tho._ Goo whoam, says to! Aw goo no-wheers but to th' grave afoor aw've feawnd mo chylt.

_Col. G._ Come along with me; I will do all I can to find her. Perhaps I can help you after all.

_Tho._ Aw mak nea deawbt o' that, mon. And thae seems a gradely chap.

Aw'm a'most spent. An' aw'm sick, sick! Dunnot let th' boys shove mo abeawt again.

_Col. G._ I will not. They shan't come near you. Take my arm. Poor old fellow! If you would but trust me! Hey! Cab there!

_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ SUSAN, _peeping_.

_Sus_. I wonder whatever's come to Mattie! It's long time she was out again.

_Enter_ MATTIE, _hurriedly_.

_Mat_. Oh, Susan! Susan! (_Falls_.)

_Sus_. Mattie! Mattie! (_Kneels beside her, and undoes her bonnet_.)

_Enter_ POLICEMAN.

_Pol_. What ails her? (_Goes to lift her_.)

_Sus_. Leave her alone, will you? Let her head down. Get some water.

_Pol_. Drunk--is she?

_Sus_. Hold your tongue, you brute! If she'd a satin frock on, i'stead o' this here poor cotton gownd, you'd ha' showed her t'other side o'

your manners! Get away with you. You're too ugly to look at.--Mattie!

Mattie! Look up, child.

_Pol_. She mustn't lie there.

_Mat_. Susan!

_Pol_. Come, my girl.

_Sus_. You keep off, I tell you! Don't touch her. She's none o' your sort. Come, Mattie, dear.--Why don't you make 'em move on?

_Pol_. You'd better keep a civil tongue in your head, young woman.

_Sus_. You live lobster!

_Pol_. I'll have to lock you up, I see. One violent. T'other incapable.

_Sus_. You're another. Mattie, my dear, come along home.

_Pol_. That's right; be off with you.

MATTIE _rises_.

_Mat_. Let's go. Sue! Let's get farther off.

_Sus_. You can't walk, child. If I hadn't been so short o' wittles for a week, I could ha' carried you. But it's only a step to the cook-shop.

_Mat_. No money, Sue. (_Tries to walk_.)

_Sus_. O Lord! What _shall_ I do! And that blue-bottle there a buzzin'

an' a starin' at us like a dead codfish!--Boh!