Moonshine: A Burletta in One Act
SCENE. — An old-fashioned country-house near the sea-shore; a lawn in front, shut off from the road by a hedge of lilac hushes. Azalea-trees in tubs, pot-plants, etc. Miss MABEL seated on the lower steps of the piazza, indolently swinging her chip hat by the ribbons. In the middle distance is seen a small railway station of Gothic architecture, over which a thin strip of silvery smoke from a passing train still lingers. On the left, glimpses of the ocean through the apple boughs. Eight o’clock in the evening and broad moonlight. Miss MABEL suddenly rouses from her listless attitude.
MABEL.
WHO goes there by the lilac trees, Whistling as if “ for want of thought "?
EDWARD.
Your cynic, madame, if you please, Your Romeo — if you ’d rather not.
MABEL, laughing.
Oh, wherefore art thou Romeo? EDWARD, softly closing the gate behind him. I’m not, unless you wish it so.
MABEL.
I don’t. Be serious, Ned. Sit here, And listen to me. EDWARD, with a furtive glance at the parlor windows. Yes, my dear.
MABEL.
Don’t call me dear; I ’ll not allow it.
EDWARD.
But then you are; you must avow it.
MABEL.
Don’t speak so; I don’t think it nice.
EDWARD.
But I meant — dear at any price.
MABEL, graciously.
That’s different, Ned. I’ve no objection To anything but your affection.
EDWARD.
You have it, Mabel.
MABEL.
Have it ? What?
EDWARD.
Why, anything, of course, but that.
MABEL.
You got my note?
EDWARD.
Be sure I did. Jemima brought it, — faithful maid, — And I flew straightway here, as bid, Leaving a carom match half played. Prim little note! Each curlycue, Each pause and dash, was full of you; As if your own sweet breath had blown The words to me by telephone!
MABEL.
Ned, I ’m so happy —
EDWARD.
So am I —
MABEL.
So happy; can you fancy why?
EDWARD.
Being with me.
MABEL.
That ’s understood.
But guess.
EDWARD, looking around.
Your father —
MABEL.
Gone!
EDWARD.
For good?
MABEL.
For several days. As we sat down To tea, a message came from town, — Something about the savings-banks. Papa was really quite low-hearted; He says it’s owing all to Hayes.
EDWARD.
There’s no ill wind but some one thanks!
MABEL.
And, after supper, he departed.
EDWARD.
May Heaven increase his length of days!
MABEL,.
In town?
EDWARD.
Precisely. Let him stay From now until the first of May, — To-day’s the fifteenth! What a year We two could have together here! Fancy, what horseback rides at dawn!
MABEL.
What croquet parties on the lawn!
EDWARD.
What wanderings by the solemn sea!
MABEL.
What airs from Mignon after tea!
EDWARD.
What happy noons, I at your feet,
“ Close latticed from the brooding heat”!
MABEL.
What picnics in the woodlands! What —
EDWARD.
Extensive cruises in my yacht!
MABEL.
And when the autumn evenings came —
EDWARD.
We ’d watch the blue curl of the flame In the wide chimney.
MABEL, thoughtfully.
Yes, but look:
The butcher’s and the grocer’s book,
The coachman John, the gardener Joe, Jemima’s wages, oh, oh, oh!
EDWARD.
Nothing more simple: in the fall Mortgage the house and pay them all.
MABEL.
Papa ’d like that!
EDWARD.
If he liked me,
Mabel, this very dream might be!
Ah, but we could be happy then.
He hates me!
MABEL, sententiously.
Yes, hates all young men. Not you as you, I think, but all — The rich, the poor, the short, the tall, The light, the dark — impartially.
EDWARD.
An abolitionist! — I see He’s ready to abolish me! If I drop in at night, by chance, Above his Evening Post he stares, Watching my every turn and glance; If I but brush your dress, he glares! We go to ride, he goes to ride; You sit outside, he sits outside. Alert, suspicious, never quiet, He treats me just as if I were Some hungry South Sea Islander Upon a nice-young-woman diet. By Jove, since fathers first began, (Invention of a fallen race!) I think there never was a man So wholly out of time and place, So crotchety and full of whim —
MABEL.
Hush, Ned! I’m all the world to him, — Wife, son, and daughter.
EDWARD.
That may be;
You ’re also all the world to me!
MABEL.
He had me first, Ned.
EDWARD.
Nonsense, stuff! Well, then, he’s had you long enough.
MABEL.
Sometime, perhaps, he ’ll think so too. Meanwhile, see what’s befallen you! For three whole days, if life endures,— Papa being absent still, — I’m yours. Come, let us plan what we shall do.
EDWARD.
Do? Why, like Dr. Watts’s bee, Improve each shining hour, D. V. For instance, since we hold our fate In our own hands, we ’ll sit up late Here in the moonlight.
MABEL.
That’s agreed. This is a shining hour indeed! Hand me my cloud, please, — over there. (He assists her in arranging the cloud.)
Thanks. No, not that way! Mind, — my hair ! Now for to-morrow, Ned. Proceed.
EDWARD.
To-morrow, at the rise of sun, Two saddle-horses; lunch at one; Mozart and poetry; at four, John with the carriage at the door; Home in the sunset; tea at seven; Mabel and moonlight till eleven.
MABEL.
What for next day?
EDWARD.
Oh, just the same.
MABEL.
And Friday?
EDWARD.
Ditto.
MABEL.
But how tame ! A hop, a concert, something joyous, —
Charades?
EDWARD, leaning back against the step luxuriously.
’T would really but annoy us. Why should I ask for company, When you are all the world to me?
MABEL, suddenly.
Listen! I thought I heard a noise. . . . It is — but no, it could not be. Good heavens — papa! Is that his voice?
EDWARD, rising hastily.
The voice is certainly papa’s!
MABEL.
He must have dropped from out the stars!
EDWARD.
More probably from out the cars!
MABEL.
We’re lost! Oh, Edward, ’t was all your —
EDWARD, bitterly.
I sent for me? Oh, to be sure!
MABEL.
But if it had not been for you, Would I have sent Jemima?
EDWARD, with confusion.
True!
PATERFAMILIAS, in linen duster, with large family umbrella and small traveling-bag, on which his monogram glares in gold thread, appears at the gate.
MABEL.
Quick! through the garden, down the lane! —
(Excitedly.)
Papa, what’s happened?
PATERFAMILIAS.
Missed the train!
Who’s that just left here? Oh, young Brown? The rascal thought I’d gone to town. I got a message, . . . bank all right.
(Looking after Edward.)
Hullo! I say! young Brown! — good night!
Curtain.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich.