Third Boy. All on 'em wery glad to see old Daddy Longlegs! Tho. Oh dear! Oh dear! What an awful plaze this Lon'on do be! To see the childer so bad! Second Boy. Don't cry, gran'pa. She'd chaff you worser 'n us! We're only poor little innocent boys. We don't know nothink, bless you! Oh no! First Boy. You'd better let her alone, arter all, bag o' nails. Second Boy. She'll have it out on you now, for woppin' of her when she wor a kid. First Boy. She's a wopper herself now. Third Boy. Mighty fine, with your shirt for a great-coat. He! he! he! Fourth Boy. Mattie never kicks us poor innocent boys-cos we 'ain't got no mothers to take our parts. Boo hoo! Enter JACK-his hands in his pockets. Jack. What's the row, Bill? Bill. Dunnow, Jack. Old chap collared me when I wasn't alludin' to him. He's after some Mattie or other. It can't be our Mattie. She wouldn't never have such a blazin' old parient as that. Jack. Supposin' it was your Mattie, Bill, would you split, and let Scull-and-cross-bones nab her? Bill. Would I? Would I 'and over our Mattie to her natural enemy? Did you ax it, Jack? Jack. Natural enemy! My eye, Bill! what words you fakes! Bill. Ain't he her natural enemy, then? Ain't it yer father as bumps yer 'ed, an' cusses ye, an' lets ye see him eat? gets our Mattie, I'll bite! Tho. Poor lad! poor lad! Afore he Dunnot say that! Her feyther's th' best freen' hoo's getten. Th' moor's th' pity, for it's not mich he can do for her. But he would dee for her -he would. Boys (all together). Go along, Daddy-devil! Pick yer own bones, an' ha' done. Rag-raker! Skin-cat! Bag o' nails! Scull-an'-cross-bones! "Old Daddy Longlegs wouldn't say his prayers— Take him by his left leg, and throw him downstairs." Go along! Go to hell! We'll skin you. Melt ye down for taller, we will. Only he 'ain't got none, the red herrin'! They throw things at him. He sits down on the door-step, and covers his head with his arms. Enter CoL. G. Boys run off. Tho. Oh, mo Mattie! mo Mattie ! Col. G. Poor old fellow! Tho. Eh! yo Are Are you hurt? be a followin' ov mo too! Col. G. What are you doing here? Tom. What am aw doin' yere ! Thee knows well enough what aw're a doin' yere. It 're o' thy fau't, mon. Col. G. Why, you've got a blow! Your head is cut! Poor old fellow! Tho. Never yo mind mo yed. Col. G. You must go home. Aw goo no Tho. Goo whoam, says to! wheers but to th' grave afoor aw've feawnd mo chylt. Col. G. Come along with me; I will do all I can to find her. Perhaps I can help you after all. Tho. Aw mak nea deawbt o' that, mon. And thae seems a gradely chap. Aw'm a'most spent. An' aw'm sick, sick! Dunnot let th' boys shove mo abeawt again. Col. G. I will not. They shan't come near you. Take my arm. you would but trust me! Hey! Cab there! Enter SUSAN, peeping. Exeunt. Sus. I wonder whatever's come to Mattie ! It's long time she was out again. Enter MATTIE, hurriedly. Mat. Oh, Susan! Susan! (Falls.) Sus. Mattie! Mattie! (Kneels beside her, and undoes her bonnet.) Enter POLICEMAN. Pol. What ails her? (Goes to lift her.) Sus. Leave her alone, will you? Let her head down. Get some water. Pol. Drunk-is she? Sus. Hold your tongue, you brute! If she'd a satin frock on, i'stead o' this here poor cotton gownd, you'd ha' showed her t'other side o' your manners! Get away with you. You're too ugly to look at.-Mattie! Mattie! Look up, child. Pol. She mustn't lie there. Mat. Susan! Pol. Come, my girl. Sus. You keep off, I tell you! Don't touch her. She's none o' your sort. Come, Mattie, dear. Why don't you make 'em move on? |