A Lively Negro Sketch, suitable for Parlor Representation.

BY MART W. HANLEY.

CHARACTERS.

Mr. Skidmore.
Mrs. Skidmore.
Billy Buttercup.

Scene.—Ordinary room. Table, chairs, lounges, etc. Curtain rises, disclosing Mr. and Mrs. Skidmore at table. Mr. S., reading, Mrs. S., sewing.

Mr. S. (Puts down the book.) So, Mattie, we have been married a whole week!

Mrs. S. Yes, George.

Mr. S. Are not you perfectly contented, darling, with your new life?

Mrs. S. Yes, George, but—[Sighs.]

Mr. S. What, Mattie?

Mrs. S. I sort of miss my old home, and I sigh for the green fields and the sparkling brook, and the old watch dog, and the cattle—there was my dear old cow, Ella, who was——

Mr. S. Stuff! Your dear old cow, Ella! Mattie, you are in the city now, folks will laugh at you if you talk about such things.

Mrs. S. I don’t care if they do. How I would love to see somebody “just from home,” who could tell me all the news. Oh, I love the old country village, even if it isn’t as fine as this great city, or——

[Knock at the door.

Mrs. S. Who’s there?

Billy. (Outside.) Me.

Mr. S. Deuced definite. Who’s me?

Billy. (Outside.) Billy Buttercup.

Mrs. S. Billy Buttercup! Why, he is the negro who works at the hotel at our village! [Flies to door and opens it.] Come right in.

Enter Billy. Makes a low bow.

Billy. Is dis yere de place whar Mr. Skidmore lives?

Mrs. S. Don’t you know me, Billy?

Billy. Well, I swar! Youse kin strike me wid a cannon ball if dis ain’t Mattie Clamjuice!

Mr. S. Mrs. Skidmore, sir.

Billy. Sure ’nuff. I done forgot, Mattie, dat you had married dat old Turk yonder. Gracious, Mattie, you am looking as putty as a sunflower. Getting hitched seems to agree wid youse, chile.

Mrs. S. Oh, Billy, I’m so glad to see you.

Billy. De mutuality ob de gladness am mutual. You see, I’ve come just from home.

Mrs. S. Just from home? then you know all of the news?

Billy. Ebery bit, but——

Mrs. S. Well, what, Billy?

Billy. You see I is in training for a yacht race, an’ my trainer says dat I must hab a ham-sandwich at eight o’clock ebery night, or——

Mrs. S. Go on, Billy.

Billy. It’s crowding onto eight, now. Tumble?

Mrs. S. What?

Billy. Has the sandwich snap struck you yet?

Mrs. S. Oh, you would like a sandwich?

Billy. I could make love to one beautifully.

Mrs. S. You shall have two, Billy, if you want them.

Billy. Well, make it three; three’s company; two ain’t.

Mrs. S. Certainly. George!

Mr. S. Well, my dear.

Mrs. S. Just go down into the kitchen, will you, and make some sandwiches for this gentleman.

Mr. S. I like that, I must say. Me make sandwiches for a negro. Why don’t he buy his own sandwiches?

Mrs. S. That’ll do, George; remember he is just from home.

Billy. Yes, George, remember that. And don’t be afraid of the mustard. And I say, George, cut the bread fleshy.

Mr. S. Sir, you are insolent!

Billy. I am not. I am a South African Pasha!

Mr. S. Confound that negro! [Exit R. 1 E.

Mrs. S. Now, Billy, he’s gone, we can have a nice talk. How is my father?

Billy. Bully. [Both take seats on lounge.

Mrs. S. Did he send a message to me?

Billy. Oh, yes. Said he wanted five dollars, and sent you his love. Nice old man, your father; folks all like him; going to light up the town when he dies.

Mrs. S. And brother Willy?

Billy. He’s got a new boarding-house. Free clothes, free meals, don’t charge a cent for your room, cuts your hair in the bargain. He stole a ham; judge said thirty days; couldn’t make it less.

Mrs. S. Poor Willy! But how is sister Sue?

Billy. Youse didn’t hear about yer sistah Sue?

Mrs. S. Why, no.

Billy. Oh, big news!

Mrs. S. Oh, tell me! She isn’t dead?

Billy. Next to it. Married, and got eleven children.

Mrs. S. Impossible!

Billy. No, it ain’t. She scooped in a widower; children already made. Dey’re coming down to eat you out ob de house pretty soon.

Mrs. S. I do declare. How are all the rest of the folks?

Billy. You know Squire Jawbone?

Mrs. S. Oh, yes.

Billy. He’s gone to join the band.

Mrs. S. What band?

Billy. De ole man’s skipped de golden gutter. He’s passed in his checks, an’ got off de cars. He is dead!

Mrs. S. Squire Jawbone dead!

Billy. You’d think so, if you saw the undertaker’s bill.

Mrs. S. How did it happen?

Billy. He put some water in his whisky. Never had done it before, broke up his constitution. De jury said dat he died ob internal drounding.

Mrs. S. How awful!

Billy. Youse kin gamble high dat it was. Allus take youse whisky straight. Den youse know little Edwardo Pancake, his father works in a laundry, blowing dirt off of collars?

Mrs. S. Know him well.

Billy. He’s in de hospital. All three of his arms broke off, backbone knocked clear up into his mouth, and he can’t chew.

Mrs. S. You don’t say, Billy?

Billy. Yes, I do. I wouldn’t tell a lie for less than a dollar. Poor Edwardo’s all broke up. They’ve got him gummed together with mucilage, and it makes him awful stuck up, won’t notice anybody. But he’s in a bad way. His little sister came in and called him a liar yesterday, and he only had animation enough to kick one of her teeth out.

Mrs. S. How did it happen, Billy? What hurt him?

Billy. Youse see, he borrowed de meat-knife to clean his nails with. He soon got tired ob dat, an’ thought dat he would carve his monogram on de stern ob his father’s mule. He tried it! De mule braced right up—whoosh!—bang!—Edwardo lived in Boston, an’ dey picked him up in New Orleans.

Mrs. S. Too bad. How is the cow, Billy?

Billy. What, de ole cow dat you an’ me used to ride bareback on?

Mrs. S. That’s the one.

Billy. Ki, didn’t we have fun?

Mrs. S. Lots.

Billy. ’Member how I used to grab hold ob her tail an’ try fo’ to steer her? Golly, dat was fun.

Mrs. S. You and I used to be great friends.

Billy. Yes, indeedy. I’d neber steal a piece ob sponge-cake widout I’d lay it on you; we used to slide up hill togedder, play rock on a duck, shinny on you own side, let her fly, an’ all de other games. Tell you what, youse folks were powerful disappointed, cos I wouldn’t hab youse.

Mrs. S. Why, Billy!

Billy. Dat’s so. But say, Mattie, how much did de chance cost?

Mrs. S. What chance?

Billy. De chance at de raffle, dat you drew de riddle dat’s gone out to juggle wid de sandwiches!

Mrs. S. Don’t speak of him that way, Billy. He’s a good husband.

Billy. I know it. One ob de kind dat come done up in bunches—ten cents a bunch.

Mrs. S. But maybe I might have married better.

Billy. Ob course; me, for example.

Mrs. S. Nonsense—now there was Captain Charley.

Billy. I remember him. Used to wear his nose in joints, and had his hair cracked in the middle. Nice gemmen.

Mrs. S. He was that, Billy. I should like to see him again.

Billy. So would the boss ob de hash-house where he boarded. Captain skipped, and nebber paid a cent.

Mrs. S. But he loved me, Billy.

Billy. Ob course—it’s catching.

Mrs. S. And he would come and sit on the sofa by me, same as we are sitting.

Billy. (Aside.) Oh, yum!

Mrs. S. He would draw closer to me.

Billy. (Drawing closer to her. Aside.) You little rascal.

Mrs. S. He would reach my side.

Billy. (Sitting by her.) Ain’t youse awful. Go way dah, or I’ll hit youse wif a suspender.

Mrs. S. He would pass his arm around my waist.

Billy. (Passing arm around her waist.) What do yer say? I should blush if anybody should see me.

Mrs. S. And he would——

Billy. Would what?

Mrs. S. Kiss me.

[Billy kisses her. She springs up in surprise.

Enter Mr. S. R. 1 E.—Throws sandwiches at Billy.

Mr. S. Aha, villain! you have kissed my wife. Your blood be on your head!

Billy. No, my hat. I guess it is about time for me to dust.

Mr. S. You will never leave this place alive.

[Seizes Billy by the collar; lively melee ensues. Finally Mr. S. gets Billy on the floor, and draws a big pistol.

Mr. S. Scoundrelly wretch—die!

[Mrs. S. rushes forward and knocks up the pistol.

Mrs. S. Spare him, George: for he’s——

Billy. Just from home!

[Tableau. Flats close in.

[CURTAIN.]