Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 70

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Starts._] Where did they go to?

HUGH. [_Injured._] How can I say? I was here, an' I would have told her if I had seen, but I did not whatever. Neli reproves me for too great attention to visions an' too little to the groceries.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Aye, Hughie lad, such is married life!

Let a man marry his thoughts or a wife, for he cannot have both. I have chosen my thoughts.

HUGH. But the cat----

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Briskly._] Aye, a man can keep a cat without risk.

HUGH. Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I dunno. That's it--{s.p.a.cE}[HUGH _clutches his head, trying to recall something_.] Uch, that's it! Neli told me to remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could steal a cat whatever.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Puzzled._] Eggs steal a cat?

HUGH. [_Troubled._] Nay, nay, cats steal an egg?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Startled and looking suspiciously at_ HUGH.] Cats?

What cats?

HUGH. [_With solemnity._] Aye, but I told Neli I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin' me in the face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are grand an' wonderful.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Relieved._] Yiss, yiss! Hughie lad, theology is a means to salvation an' sometimes to other ends, too. But there's no money in theology. [_Sighs._] And a man must live! [_Points to corroded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily._] Dear people, what beautiful herrin'! [_Wipes moisture away from corners of his mouth and picks up a fish from dish, holding it, dripping, by tail._] Pickled?

HUGH. [_Looking at corroded dish._] Tuppence.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shortly._] Dear to-day.

HUGH. [_Eyeing dish dreamily._] I dunno. Neli----

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Eyes glittering, cutting straight through sentence and pointing to cheese._] Cheese?

HUGH. A s.h.i.+llin', I'm thinkin'.

DEACON ROBERTS. A s.h.i.+llin', Hugh? [DEACON ROBERTS _lifts knife and drops it lightly on edge of cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and thrusts into his mouth, greedily pus.h.i.+ng in the crumbs. Then he pauses and looks slyly at_ HUGH.] Was it sixpence ye said, Hugh?

HUGH. [_Gazing toward the fire and the volume of essays._] Yiss, sixpence, I think.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sarcastically._] Still too dear, Hugh!

HUGH. [_Sighing._] I dunno, it might be dear. [_With more animation._]

Deacon, when Babylon fell----

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Wipes his mouth and, interrupting_ HUGH, _speaks decisively_.] No cheese. [_He removes his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops off his bald white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to dust out inside of hatband again, but with a deliberate air of preparation._]

What is that up there, Hughie lad?

HUGH. [_Trying to follow the direction of the big red wavering forefinger._] Ye mean that? A B C In-fants' Food, I think.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Giving his hat a final wipe._] Nay, nay, not for me, Hughie lad! Come, come, brush the smoke of burnin' Babylon from your eyes! In a minute I must be goin' back to my study, whatever. An' I have need of food!

[HUGH _takes a chair and mounts it. The_ DEACON _looks at_ HUGH'S _back, puts his hand down on the counter, and picks up an egg from the basket. He holds it to the light and squints through it to see whether it is fresh. Then he turns it lovingly over in his fat palm, makes a dexterous backward motion and slides it into his coat-tail pocket. This he follows with two more eggs for same coat-tail and three for other--in all half a dozen._

HUGH. [_Dreamily pointing to tin._] Is it Yankee corn?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_To Hugh's back, and slipping in second egg._] Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad, that tin above!

HUGH. [_Absent-mindedly touching tin._] Is it ox tongue?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in third egg and not even looking up._] Ox tongue, lad? Nay, nuthin' so large as that.

HUGH. [_Dreamily reaching up higher._] American condensed m-m-milk?

Yiss, that's what it is.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fourth egg._] Condensed milk, Hughie? Back to infants' food again.

HUGH. [_Stretching up almost to his full length and holding down tin with tips of long white finger._] Kippert herrin'? Is it that?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fifth egg._] Nay, nay, a little further up, if you please.

HUGH. [_Gasping, but still reaching up and reading._] Uto--U-to-pi-an Tinned Sausage. Is it that?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in sixth egg with an air of finality and triumph, and lifting his hat from the counter._] Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad. Why do ye not begin by askin' me what I want? Ye've no gift for sellin' groceries whatever.

HUGH. [_Surprised._] Did I not ask ye?

DEACON ROBERTS. Nay.

HUGH. What would Neli say whatever? She would never forgive me.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Amiably._] Well, I forgive ye, Hughie lad. 'Tis a relish I'm needin'!

HUGH. [_Relieved._] Well, indeed, a relis.h.!.+ We have relishes on that shelf above, I think. [_Reaches up but pauses helplessly._] I must tell Neli that these shelves are not straight.

[_Dizzy and clinging to the shelves, his back to the_ DEACON.

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Picking up a pound of b.u.t.ter wrapped in print paper._]

Is it up there?

HUGH. No, I think, an' the shelves are not fast whatever. I must tell Neli. They go up like wings. [_Trying to reach to a bottle just above him._] Was it English or American?

DEACON ROBERTS. [_Putting the pound of b.u.t.ter in his hat and his hat on his head._] American, Hughie lad.

[_At that instant there is a noise from the inner kitchen, and_ NELI WILLIAMS _opens the door. The_ DEACON _turns, and their glances meet and cross. Each understands perfectly what the other has seen._ NELI WILLIAMS _has thrown off her red cloak and taken off her Welsh beaver hat. She is dressed in a short full skirt, white stockings, clogs on her feet, a striped ap.r.o.n, tight bodice, fichu, short sleeves, and white cap on dark hair._

NELI. [_Slowly._] Uch! The deacon has what he came for whatever!

HUGH. [_Turning to contradict his wife._] Nay, Neli--{s.p.a.cE}[_Losing his balance on chair, tumbles off, and, with arm flung out to save himself, strikes dish of pickled herring. The herring and brine fly in every direction, spraying the_ DEACON _and_ HUGHIE; _the bowl spins madly, dipping and revolving on the floor. For a few seconds nothing is audible except the bowl revolving on the flagstones and_ HUGHIE _picking himself up and sneezing behind the counter_.] Achoo! Achoo! Dear me, Neli--Achoo!

NELI. [_Going quickly to husband and beginning to wipe brine from husband's forehead and cheeks; at the same time has her back to the_ DEACON _and forming soundless letters with her lips, she jerks her head toward the_ DEACON.] B-U-T-T-E-R!