Kitty. Tom, you're jealous. Harry Maynard is not content to settle down here; he wants to see the world, and I like his spunk. If I was a man I would get the polish of city life.
Stub. So would I, so would I. Yas, indeed; get de polish down dar. Look at Joe Trash; he went down dar, he did. New suit ob store clo's onto him, and forty dollars in his calf-skin. He come back in free days polished right out ob his boots.
Tom. Well, I s'pose it's out of fashion not to like this Thornton, but there's something in the twist of his waxed-end mustache, and the roll of his eye, that makes me feel bad for Harry.
Kitty. You needn't fear for Harry. He won't eat him.
Stub. No, sir, he's not a connubial: he's a gemblum.
Tom. Ah! here's the last ear, and, by jingo! it's a red one.
Chorus. Good for you, Tom! good for you!
Nat. I'll give you a dollar for your chance.
Tom. No, you don't, Nat; I'm in luck. – Now, Kitty, I claim the privilege. A kiss for the finder of the red ear. (All rise.)
Kitty. Not from me, saucebox.
Nat. Run, Kitty, run! (Kitty runs in and out among the huskers, Tom in pursuit.)
Tom. It's no use, Kitty; you can't escape me. (She runs down r. corner; as Tom is about to seize her, she stoops, and runs across stage, catches Stub by the arms, and whirls him round. Tom, in pursuit, clasps Stub in his arms.)
Stub. "I'd offer thee dis cheek ob mine." If you want a smack take it. I won't struggle.
Tom (strikes his face with hand). How's that for a smack?
Stub. Dat's de hand widout de heart: takes all de bloom out ob my complexion. (Goes across stage holding on to his face, and exits r. Kitty runs through crowd again, comes r., Tom in pursuit.)
Tom. It's no use, Kitty: you must pay tribute.
Kitty. Never, never! (Runs across to l., and then up stage to back. Door opens, and enter Harry Maynard and Thornton, equipped with guns and game-bags; Kitty runs into Harry's arms.)
Harry. Hallo! just in time. You've the red ear, Tom, so, as your friend, I'll collect the tribute. (Kisses Kitty.)
Kitty (screams). How dare you, Harry Maynard!
Tom. Yes, Harry Maynard, how dare you?
(Thornton, Harry, Kitty, Tom, and Nat come down; others carry back the benches, and clear the stage; then converse in groups at back.)
Harry. Don't scold, Tom. It's the first game that has crossed my path to-day: the first shot I've made. So the corn is husked, and I not here to share your work. We've had a long tramp, and lost our way. (goes to r. with Thornton; they divest themselves of their bags, and lean their guns against bin. 2d entrance.)
Tom (l. c.). Empty bags! Well, you are smart gunners: not even a rabbit.
Harry (r. c. Thornton sits on stool, r.). No, Tom; they were particularly shy to-day, so I had to content myself with a deer, your dear, Tom. (All laugh; Nat, l., very loud, Tom threatening him.)
Kitty (c.). His dear, indeed! I'll have you to understand I'm not to be made game of.
Harry. No, dear, no one shall make game of you; but keep a sharp lookout, for there's a keen hunter on the track, and when Tom Larcom flings the matrimonial noose —
Kitty. He may be as lucky as you have been to-day, and return empty-handed.
Tom. Don't say that, Kitty; haven't I been your devoted —
Kitty. Fiddlesticks! (pushes him back, and comes to l. C.) If there is any thing I hate, it's sparking before company.
Nat (l.). And there's where you're right, Kitty. As much as I love you, I would never dare to be so outspoken before company.
Tom. Oh, you're a smart one, you are! (Enter Stub, r.)
Stub. Supper's onto de table, and Miss Maynard, she says, says she, you're to come right into de kitchen, eat all you like, drink all you like, an' smash all de dishes if you like; an' dere's fourteen kinds ob pies, an' turnobers, an' turn-unders, an' cold chicken, an' – an' – cheese —
Harry. That will do, Stub. My good mother is a bountiful provider, and needs no herald. So, neighbors, take your partners; Hanks will give you a march, and Mr. Thornton and I will join you as soon as we have removed the marks of the forlorn chase.
Stub. Yas, Massa Hanks, strike up a march: something lively. Dead march in Saul; dat's fus rate.
Tom (c.). Kitty, shall I have the pleasure? (Offers his left arm to Kitty.)
Nat (l.). Miss Corum, shall I have the honor? (Offers his right arm to Kitty.)
Kitty (between them, looks at each one, turns up her nose at Tom, and takes Nat's arm). Thank you, Mr. Harlow. I'll intrust this property to you.
Nat. For life, Kitty?
Kitty. On a short lease. (They go up c., face audience; others pair, and fall in behind them.)
Tom (c.). Cut, – a decided cut. I must lay in wait for Yardstick when this breaks up, and I think he will need about a pound of beefsteak for his eyes in the morning. (Goes l. and leans dejectedly against wing. Music strikes up, the march is made across stage once, and off r., Stub strutting behind.)
Harry (crosses l.). Why, Tom, don't you go in?
Tom. Certainly. Come, Hanks. (Goes over to Hanks.) They'll want your music in there, and I'm just in tune to play second fiddle. (They exeunt r., arm in arm.)
Harry (goes to bench l., and washes hands). Now, Mr. Thornton, for a wash, and then we'll join them. (Thornton keeps his seat in a thoughtful attitude. Harry comes down.) Hallo! what's the matter? Homesick?
Thornton (laughs). Not exactly; but there's something in this old barn, these merry huskers, this careless happy life you farmers lead, has stirred up old memories, until I was on the point of breaking out with that melancholy song, "Oh, would I were a boy again!"
Harry. Now, don't be melancholy. That won't chime with the dear old place; for, though it has not been free from trouble, we drive all care away with willing hands and cheerful hearts.
Thornton. It is a cheery old place, and so reminds me of one I knew when I was young; for, like you, I was a farmer's boy.
Harry. Indeed! you never told me that.
Thornton. No: for 'tis no fond recollection to me, and I seldom refer to it. I did not take kindly to it, so early forsook a country life for the stir and bustle of crowded cities. But, when one has reached the age of forty, 'tis time to look back.
Harry. Not with regret, I trust: for you tell me you have acquired wealth in mercantile pursuits, and so pictured the busy life of the city, that I am impatient to carve my fortune there.
Thornton. And you are right. The strong-armed, clear-brained wanderers from the country carry off the grand prizes there. You are ambitious: you shall rise; and, when you are forty, revisit these scenes, a man of wealth and influence.
Harry. Ah, Mr. Thornton, when one has a friend like you to lead the way, success is certain. I am proud of your friendship, and thankfully place my future in your keeping.
Thornton. That shows keen wit at the outset. Trust me, and you shall win. (Rises.) But I am keeping you from your friends, and I know a pair of bright eyes are anxiously looking for you. (Goes to bench, and washes hands.)
Jessie (outside l., sings), —
"In