The Boston Dip 4

The Boston Dip 4

Enter_ IDA, R., _hurriedly_.

 

_Ida._ O, quick, quick, Eva! I’ve got you such a partner! He’s all

impatience. Quick! the music is just about to commence. I wouldn’t have

you lose him for the world.

 

_Eva._ But Ida—

 

_Ida._ Don’t stop to talk. Come quick! quick! (_Drags her off_, R.)

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Ha, ha! Dip’s left on the brink again.

 

_Dasher_ (_jumping up_). Confound that girl! I’ve lost the chance. This

comes of making a long story about a very short question. The precipice

was a failure. I’ll go and pump the friend of the family. (_Exit_, C.

MULLIGRUB _comes from screen_.)

 

_Mulligrub._ That can’t be Dip, after all. He’s after Eva. But he can’t

have her. Thanks to his confidential assurance, I can send him over the

precipice into the valley of disappointed hopes in short order.

 

_Enter_ KIDS, C.

 

_Kids._ Now weally, I saw Miss Ida enter this woom, positively saw her,

and now she’s gone. Hallo! an intrudaw. Sir, I have not the honow of

your acquaintance. This woom is the wesort, the westing-place of a bevy

of divine goddesses. No masculine mortals are allowed to entaw here.

 

_Mulligrub._ Show! then you are not a masculine mortal, I take it.

 

_Kids._ Sir, you are impertinent. I am—I am a particular fwiend of the

lady who is the lawful possessor of this wesort.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Can this be Dip? (_Aloud._) Sir, I am a

particular friend of the lady in question, being the brother of her

husband’s brother.

 

_Kids._ Weally, the bwover of her husband’s bwover. Pon honow, that’s a

sort of cwoss-eyed welation.

 

_Mulligrub._ What do you mean by that? Do you doubt my right to be here?

 

_Kids._ Hey? wight?—no, no. (_Aside._) He must be a witch welation.

(_Aloud._) Do you know Mr. Mulligwub?

 

_Mulligrub._ Intimately.

 

_Kids._ I say, would it be a good inwestment to wun away with a membaw

of his family?

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). It must be Dip. Shall I mash him? No, no, the

proof first. (_Aloud._) Splendid! Can I help you?

 

_Kids._ Well, I don’t know. He’s a wough specimen, and he so vulgaw.

Sold fish in a handcart, too. I detest fish, it’s on such a low scale.

Now isn’t that good? It’s owiginal, too. I don’t like the odaw. Dreadful

low people, but then, there’s lots of money. Yaas, I think I will

sacwafice myself.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). I’ll sacrifice you, you monkey. (_Aloud._) But

tell me, who is the favored member of the family?

 

_Kids._ Hush! somebody’s coming. You must wetire.

 

_Mulligrub._ What, and lose the fun? No, I thank you.

 

_Kids._ You must, weally. The lady is coming. It would shock her

delicate nerves were you to be pwesent at the interview. So go, that’s a

dear fellah. (_Pushes him back_, C.)

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). He calls me a good fellah. Shall I fell him on

the spot? No, I’ll wait; vengeance can afford to wait.

 

_Kids._ Do wetire, and, when it’s all ovaw, I will call you. (_Pushes

him back_, C.) Good fellah.

 

_Mulligrub._ You’ll call me when it’s all over. (_Aside._) I’ll be on

hand while it’s going on.

 

[_Exit_, C.

 

_Kids._ There, the bwover of the husband’s bwover is excluded from the

apartment of the wife of the bwover’s husband—no, that ain’t it, it’s

the bwover’s wife’s husband—no, or—(_Mulligrub enters_, C., _and gets

behind screen_.) Here she comes, lovely as a poppy, because she’s got a

rich poppy. That’s good—owiginal, too.

 

_Enter_ IDA, R.

 

_Ida._ Here I am, Mr. Kids, to fulfill my promise.

 

_Kids._ Yaas, Miss Ida, like the bounding fawn that—that—weally, I

forget what the bounding fawn was doing—O, weally, bounding, of course.

That’s very good—isn’t it?—owiginal, too. But where was the bounding

fawn bound? that’s the question.

 

_Ida._ I wish I could answer your question, but, not being versed in

natural history, I am unable to say.

 

_Kids._ Weally. Well, never mind the fawn. Listen, O, listen! I’m a

miserable wetch, I am.

 

_Ida._ Miserable? you?

 

_Kids_. Yaas, weally. I’m standing—I’m standing,—where am I standing?—O,

on the bwink of a howid pwecipice.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_sticking his head above screen_). Hallo! another brink,

another precipice, and—Ida, as I live.

 

_Ida._ La, Mr. Kids, what a dangerous position.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Kids; then it’s not Dip, that’s certain.

 

_Kids._ O, dweadful, dweadful. But you can save me.

 

_Ida._ How, Mr. Kids?

 

_Kids._ That’s the ideah, Miss Ida; for when a fellah is on the bwink of

such a pwecipice, as the pwecipice I am on the bwink of, the best way to

save him is to push him ovaw.

 

_Ida._ Well, that’s certainly an original idea.

 

_Kids._ Yaas, it is an owiginal, idea—mine, too—I found it in my bwain,

with the help of the diwectory. When a fellah’s on the bwink of

matwimony, of course his safety and his happiness is secured by his

being pushed into it. You see my ideah.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Deuced clumsy one.

 

_Ida._ But how can I help you?

 

_Kids._ By pushing me ovaw. Miss Ida, you are bewitching, you are

lovely, you are divine, and on my knees I ask you (_falls on his knees_

L. _of_ IDA) to give me a push.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Confounded jackass.

 

_Ida._ But, Mr. Kids, I don’t understand. You’re so—so—(_Aside._) Where

can Eva be? (_Aloud._) You say you are on the brink of a precipice.

 

_Kids._ Howid, howid; and if you consent to be—

 

_Enter_ EVA, R.

 

_Eva._ Quick, quick, Ida! mother’s fainted.

 

_Ida._ You don’t mean it?

 

_Eva._ Yes, yes, come quick! What are you waiting for?

 

_Ida._ But Mr. Kids is on the brink of a precipice.

 

_Eva._ Let him stay there. Come with me. (_Drags_ EVA _off_, R.)

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Won’t somebody be kind enough to remove that

precipice?

 

_Kids_ (_rising_). Yaas, weally, that owiginal ideah will kill me, I

know it will. I must go and bathe my head in Cologne, I must weally.

Miss Ida didn’t push well; in fact, I don’t believe she’s fond of

pushing fellah’s ovaw, I don’t, weally.

 

[_Exit_, C.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_comes from behind screen_). I don’t think that’s Dip—I

don’t, weally. Egad! those girls of mine are determined not to be caught

by chaff. I wonder if I can say as much for the old lady. I wish she

would make her appearance. This must be the room. Ah, here she comes.

Now for something interesting. (_Runs behind screen._)

 

_Enter_ MRS. MULLIGRUB, R.

 

_Mrs. M._ The fiddlers are tuning up for a waltz, and if Munseer Adonis

is to keep his word now is the time. I wonder what Moses would say if he

knew what I was about. But he can’t know. He’s safe at home, and there’s

certainly no harm in obtaining a graceful _inquisition_ to my other

accomplishments. (_Music, Beautiful Blue Danube, soft and low._) There

they go. O, isn’t that splendid. (_Waltzes about stage in a very awkward

manner._)

 

_Mulligrub_ (_with head above screen_). What’s the matter with Hannah?

She’s bobbing about the room like a turkey with’s its head off.

 

_Enter_ MONSIEUR ADONIS, R.

 

_Mons. A._ _Charmant, charmant!_ (_Music stops._) Madam, you are ze

ecstasy of motion. You have ze grace of ze antelope, and ze step of ze

fairy.

 

_Mrs. M._ O, don’t! You have come—

 

_Mons. A._ Wiz ze “Boston Dip,” as I have promise.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). “Boston Dip.” That’s him—the scoundrel!

 

_Mrs. M._ O, I’m so nervous.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). You ought to be, you hypocrite.

 

_Mons. M._ Zar is not ze least occasion. We are here alone.

 

_Mulligrub_ (_aside_). Not quite, Dip, not quite.

 

_Mons. A._ No one will dare to enter here. Zar is none to look at you

but I, and am I not discretion itself, madam?

 

_Mrs. M._ O, you are the soul of honor.