132 IF I HAD A FATHER. Con. Behind me? (looking round). There's nobody behind me. Ger. I thought there was somebody behind you. William !-What can have become of William ? Con. I dare say aunt has sent him somewhere. Ger. Then he's gone! he's ! he's gone Con. You're not afraid of being left alone with me, Arthur? Ger. Oh no! of course not?-What can have become of William? they sent him-not those Don't you know women, but the dead people—to look after me? He's a good fellow. He said he would die for me. Ha! ha ha! Not much in that-is there? Con. Don't laugh so, dear Arthur. Ger. Well, I won't. I have something to tell you, Constance. I will try to keep my senses till I've told you. Con. Do tell me. I hope I haven't done anything more to vex you. Indeed I am sorry. I won't speak to that man again, if you like. I would rather not—if you wish it. Ger. What right have I to dictate to you, my child? Con. Every right. I am yours. I belong to you. Nobody owned me when you took me. Ger. Don't talk like that; you will drive me mad. Con. Arthur! Arthur! Ger. Listen to me, Constance. I am going to Garibaldi. He wants soldiers. I must not live an idle life any longer. We must part, Constance.-Good-bye, my darling! Con. No, no; not yet; we'll talk about it by-and-by. You see I shall have ever so many things to make for you before you can go! (smiling). Ger. Garibaldi can't wait, Constance-and I can't wait. I shall die if I stop here. Con. Oh, Arthur, you are in some trouble, and you won't tell me what it is, so I can't help you! 134 IF I HAD A FATHER. Ger. I shall be killed, I know. I mean to be. Will you think of me sometimes? Give me one kiss. I may have a last kiss. Con. (weeping.) My heart will break if you talk like that, Arthur. I will do anything you please. There's something wrong, dreadfully wrong! And it must be my fault! Oh! there's that man! (starting up.) He shall not come here. [Runs to the house-door, and stands listening, with her hand on the key. ། END OF ACT I. ACT II. SCENE.—A street in Mayfair. MRS. CLIFFORD's house. A pastrycook's shop. Boys looking in at the window. Bill. I say, Jim, ain't it a lot o' grub? If I wos a pig now, Jack. I likes to hear Bill a supposin' of hisself. Go it, Bill!-There ain't nothink he can't suppose hisself, Jim.-Bein' as you ain't a pig, Bill, you've got yer own trotters, an' yer own tater-trap. Bill. Vereupon blue Bobby eccosts me with the remark, "I wants you, Bill;" and seein' me too parerlyzed to bolt, he pops me in that 'ere jug vithout e'er a handle. Jack. Mother kep' a pig once. Jim. What was he like, Jack ? Jack. As like any other pig as ever he could look; accep' that where other pigs is black he wor white, an' where other pigs is white he wor black. Jim. Did you have the milk in your tea, Jack? Jack. Pigs ain't got no milk, Jim, you stupe! Bill. Pigs has milk, Jack, only they don't give it to coves.-I wish I wos the Lord Mayor! Jack. Go it again, Bill. He ought ha' been a beak, Bill ought. What 'ud you do, Bill, supposin' as how you wos the Lord Mayor? Bill. I'd take all the beaks, an' all the peelers, an' put their own bracelets on 'em, an' feed 'em once a day on scraps o' wittles to bring out the hunger: a cove can't be hungry upon nuffin at all. Jim. He gets what mother calls the squeamishes. Jack. Well, Bill? |