Poison. Baker George Melville

in, by Jove. I must sell out Harshaw as soon as I get to town. Bottom’s sure to fall out of it. (Enter Clara with watering pot.)

      Clara. Good morning, papa dear, (kisses him.) Why, Dr. Squillcox, are you here?

      Twitters. As if you didn’t expect him.

      Clara. How can you say such things, papa?

      Charles. Yes, Mr. Twitters, it’s most unjust —

      Clara. If I had expected anybody, should I have brought in this great, heavy watering-pot?

      Charles. Can’t I hold it Miss Clara? (takes it.)

      Clara. I was going to water my flowers in the garden.

      Twitters. Go along, my dear: and go along with her, you rascal. (Laughs. Exeunt Charles and Clara laughing.)

      Twitters (rubbing his hands). There they go. It does my heart good to think that my little Clara has such a good fellow to look after her; and that I can act as the ways and means committee. I’ll take care that their love shan’t fly out of the window. (Opens letter.) Here’s the plumber’s bill. Old Faucet will be rolling in his carriage soon. If Charles gets tired of medicine I’ll set him up as a plumber. (Opens another letter.) Clara’s milliner’s bill. Egad! how Charles’ eyes would open, if they tried love in a cottage on his professional outcome. Hollo! What’s this? Shabby looking letter addressed in a shabby hand. Another bill, I suppose. No. What’s this? (Reads.) “Theophilus Twitters, Bloated Bond-holder. I am a foe to capital and the Grand-master of a secret society organized to cripple said capital, to muzzle monopolists, and to elevate the horny-handed son of toil.” You have a good-sized contract, my friend. “When the copartnership of Tollgate & Twitters engaged in their corner in sugar, and robbed the poor of the luxuries of a free breakfast-table, our society determined to foil you. As their agent, I secretly entered the warehouse in which your hoard of sugar was stored, and secreted in various spots amidst the innocent condiment no less than twelve pounds of arsenic. After having done this, I notified your partner, the aforesaid diabolical Tollgate, of my action, and apprised him that all the sugar must be destroyed, – else poison would be thrown broadcast upon the world. You, as his partner, are affected with notice of this. (As a foe to capital, I have incidentally been trained as a lawyer.) The aforesaid diabolical Tollgate, with your connivance,” – Damn law words. I hate ’em – “With your connivance sold the sugar. Through secret channels the deadly grains of arsenic are distilled into the veins of society. The blushing damsel, receiving taffy from her lover, curls up and dies. The fond mother, pouring out her children’s cambric tea, gives them the black wine of death. Candy-shops are charnel-houses! Society gatherings are volcanos! Ice-cream leads to the grave! And all through you, most miserable of mortals, who lie soft and count your ill-gotten wealth.” (Enter Mary Jane with coffee. He starts to drink.) “But even you are not exempt from the insidious enemy. The very cup of coffee that you may now be raising to your lips may call you to judgment.” (Drops coffee cup.) What sinful nonsense. I shouldn’t give it a thought if it didn’t charge my poor dead partner with such villany. And Tollgate was a Sunday-school superintendent. (Enter Mary Jane with breakfast.)