  by Frank M. Thorn. (Abridged and Adapted.) Characters.--Lawyer; Irish woman and son. Costumes.--Typical. Place.--Lawyer’s office. Good mornin’ til yez, yer honor! And are yez the gintlemon As advertised, in the paper, for an active intilligint b’y? Y’ are? Thin I’ve brought him along wid me,--a raal fine sprig iv a wan:-- As likely a b’y iv his age, sur, as iver ye’d wish til empl’y. That’s him. Av coorse I’m his mither! Yez can see his resimblance til me, Fur ivery wan iv his faytures, and mine, are as like as two paze,-- Barrin’ wan iv his hivenly eyes, which he lost in a bit iv a spree Wid Hooligan’s b’y, which intinded to larrup me Teddy wid aize. And is it rid-headed ye call him? Belike he is foxey, is Ted; And goold-colored hair is becomin’ til thim that’s complicted wid blonde! But who cares for color? Sure, contints out-vally the rest iv the head! And Ted has a head full iv contints, as lively as t’hrout in a pond! As lives the whole lin’th iv our st’hrate, where the b’ys is that kane fur a row That Ted has to fight iv’ry day, though he’d quarrel no more than a clam.-- Faith, thim b’ys ’ud provoke the swate angels, in hiven, to fight onyhow! Perliteness comes aisy til Ted, for he’s had me to tache him the thrick Iv bowin’ and scrapin’ and spakin’ to show paple proper respict. Spake up till the gintlemon, Teddy! Whist! Aff wid yer cap first, ye stick! He’s shapish a t’hrifle, yer honor; he’s allus been brought up that strict. Come! Spake up, and show yer foine bradin! Och! Hear that! “How air yez, Owld Moke?” Arrah, millia murther! Did iver yez hear jist the aqual iv that? “How air yez, Owld Moke?” says he! Ha! Ha! Sure, yer honor, he manes it in joke! He’s the playfullest b’y! Faith, it’s laughin’ at Teddy that makes me so fat! Jist luk in the swate, open face iv him, barrin’ the eye wid the wink:-- Och! Teddy! Phat ugly black st’hrame is it runnin’ down there by yer hale! Mutheration! Yer honor, me Teddy has spilt yer fine bottle iv ink! Phat? How kem the ink in his pocket? I’m thinkin’ he borry’d it, sir;-- And yez saw him pick up yer pin-howlder and stick it up intil his slaive! And yez think that Ted mint til purline ’em? Ah, wirra! wirra! The likes iv that slur Will d’hrive me,--poor, tinder, lone widdy,--wid sorrow down intil me grave! Bad cess til yez, Teddy, ye spalpeen! Why c’u’dn’t yez howld on, the day-- Ye thafe iv the world!--widout breakin’ the heart iv me? No. Yez must stale! I’ll tache yez a t’hrick, ye rid-headed, pilferin’, gimlet-eyed flay! Ye freckle-faced, impident bla’guard!--Och! whin we git home yez’ll squale! 1. Lawyer at desk, left of center and a little back; woman in center, faces judge and audience alternately; boy in background. 2. Boy dragged to front by mother, and while she talks, he fusses with desk furnishings. 3. Boy and mother in center--front. (Ink on his light colored pants may be simulated by black cloth sewed on.) Mother points to it. 4. Boy in background--mother side faces audience while addressing the lawyer, wrings hands and weeps. 5. Boy again near front, listening to threats of mother, who shakes him and her fist in turn. |
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