If I Had a Father

abeawt th’ lost ship. Oop yon, wheer th’ angels keep greight flocks ov ’em, they dunnot like to lose one ov ’em, an’ they met well be helpin’ ov mo to look for mo lost lamb i’ this awful plaze! What has th’ shepherd o’ th’ sheep himsel’ to do, God bless him! but go look for th’ lost ones and carry ’em whoam! O Lord! gie mo mo Mattie. Aw’m a silly ship mosel, a sarchin’ for mo lost lamb. Boys begin to gather and stare. She’s o’ the world to me. O Lord, hear mo, and gie mo mo Mattie. Nea, aw’ll geet oop, and go look again. Rises. First Boy Ain’t he a cricket, Tommy? Second Boy Spry, ain’t he? Prod him, and see him jump. General insult. Thomas Why, childer, what have aw done, that yo cry after mo like a thief? First Boy Daddy Longlegs! Daddy Longlegs! They hustle and crowd him. Reenter Bill. Thomas makes a rush. They run. He seizes Bill. They gather again. Thomas Han yo getten a mother, lad? Bill No, thank ye. ’Ain’t got no mother. Come of a haunt, I do. First Boy Game!⁠—ain’t he? Thomas Well, aw’ll tak yo whoam to yor aunt⁠—aw wull. Bill Will you now, old chap? Wery well. Squats. Thomas Holding him up by the collar, and shaking his stick over him. Tell mo wheer’s por aunt, or aw’ll breyk every bone i’ yor body. Bill Wriggling and howling and rubbing his eyes with alternate sleeves. Let me go, I say. Let me go and I’ll tell ye. I will indeed, sir. Thomas Letting go. Wheer then, mo lad? Bill Starting up. I’ the church-cellar, sir⁠—first bin over the left⁠—feeds musty, and smells strong. Ho! ho! ho! Takes a sight.

Thomas makes a dart. Bill dodges him.

First Boy Ain’t he a cricket now, Tommy? Second Boy Got one leg too many for a cricket, Sam. Third Boy That’s what he jerks hisself with, Tommy. Thomas Boys, I want to be freens wi’ yo. Here’s a penny. One of the boys knocks it out of his hand. A scramble. Thomas Now, boys, dun yo know wheer’s a young woman bi th’ name ov Mattie⁠—somewheer abeawt Paradise Row? First Boy Yes, old un. Second Boy Lots on ’em. Third Boy Which on em’ do you want, Mr. Cricket? Fourth Boy You ain’t peticlar, I s’pose, old corner-bones? First Boy Don’t you fret, old stilts. We’ll find you a Mattie. There’s plenty on ’em⁠—all nice gals. Thomas I want mo own Mattie. First Boy Why, you’d never tell one from t’other on ’em! Third Boy All on ’em wery glad to see old Daddy Longlegs! Thomas 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 greatcoat. 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-crossbones 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? Afore he gets our Mattie, I’ll bite! Thomas Poor lad! poor lad! 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. Bag-raker! Skin-cat! Bag o’ nails! Scull-an’-crossbones! 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 doorstep, and covers his head with his arms. Enter Col. Gervaise Boys run off. Thomas Oh, mo Mattie! mo Mattie! Col. Gervaise Poor old fellow! Are you hurt? Thomas Eh! yo be a followin’ ov mo too! Col. Gervaise What are you doing here? Thomas What am aw doin’ yere! Thee knows well enough what aw’re a doin’ yere. It ’re o’ thy fau’t, mon. Col. Gervaise Why, you’ve got a blow! Your head is cut! Poor old fellow! Thomas Never yo mind mo yed. Col. Gervaise You must go home. Thomas Goo whoam, says to! Aw goo no-wheers but to th’ grave afoor aw’ve feawnd mo chylt. Col. Gervaise Come along with me; I will do all I can to find her. Perhaps I can help you after all. Thomas 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. Gervaise I will not. They shan’t come near you. Take my arm. Poor old fellow! If you would but trust me! Hey! Cab there! Exeunt. Enter Susan, peeping. Susan I wonder whatever’s come to Mattie! It’s long time she was out again. Enter Mattie, hurriedly. Mattie Oh, Susan! Susan! Falls. Susan Mattie! Mattie! Kneels beside her, and undoes her bonnet. Enter Policeman. Policeman What ails her? Goes to lift her. Susan Leave her alone, will you? Let her head down. Get some water. Policeman Drunk⁠—is she? Susan Hold your tongue, you