If I Had a Father

wants soldiers. I must not live an idle life any longer.⁠—We must part, Constance.⁠—Goodbye, my darling! Constance 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. Gervaise Garibaldi can’t wait, Constance⁠—and I can’t wait. I shall die if I stop here. Constance Oh, Arthur, you are in some trouble, and you won’t tell me what it is, so I can’t help you! Gervaise 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. Constance 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?
Bill	Well, the worry moment their bellies was as long an’ as loose as a o’-clo’-bag of a winter’s mornin’, I’d bring ’em all up to this ’ere winder, five or six at a time⁠—with the darbies on, mind ye⁠—
Jim	And I’m to be there to see, Bill⁠—ain’t I?
Bill	If you’re good, Jim, an’ don’t forget yer prayers.
Jack	My eye! it’s as good as a penny gaff! Go it, Bill.
Bill	Then I up an’ addresses ’em: “My Lords an’ Gen’lemen, ’cos as how ye’re all good boys, an’ goes to church, an’ don’t eat too many wittles, an’ don’t take off your bracelets when you goes to bed, you shall obswerve me eat.”
Jim	Go it, Bill! I likes you, Bill.
Bill	No, Jim; I must close. The imagination is a ’ungry gift, as the cock said when he bolted the pebbles. Let’s sojourn the meetin’.
Jack	Yes; come along. ’Tain’t a comfable corner this yere: the wind cuts round uncommon sharp. Them pies ain’t good⁠—leastways not to look at.
Bill	They ain’t disgestible. But look ye here, Jack and Jim⁠—hearkee, my kids. Puts an arm round the neck of each, and whispers first to one and then to the other.
	Enter Mattie and Susan.
Susan	Now, Mattie, we’re close to the house, an’ I don’t want to be seen with you, for she’s mad at me.
Mattie	You must have made her mad, then, Sue.
Susan	She madded me first: what else when she wouldn’t believe a word I said? She’d ha’ sworn on the gospel book, we sent the parcel up the spout. But she’ll believe you, an’ give you something, and then we’ll have a chop!
Mattie	How can you expect that, Sue, when the work’s lost?
Susan	Never mind; you go and see.
Mattie	I shan’t take it, Susan. I couldn’t.
Susan	Stuff and nonsense! I’ll wait you round the corner: I don’t like the smell o’ them pastry things.
	Exit. Mattie walks past the window.
Mattie	I don’t like going. It makes me feel a thief to be suspected.
Bill	Lor! it’s our Mattie! There’s our Mattie!⁠—Mattie! Mattie!
Mattie	Ah, Bill! you’re there⁠—are you?
Bill	Yes, Mattie. It’s a tart-show. You walks up and takes yer chice;⁠—leastways, you makes it: somebody else takes it.
Mattie	Wouldn’t you like to take your choice sometimes, Bill?
Bill	In course I would.
Mattie	Then why don’t you work, and better yourself a bit?
Bill	Bless you, Mattie! myself is werry comf’able. He never complains.
Mattie	You’re hungry sometimes⁠—ain’t you?
Bill	Most remarkable ’ungry, Mattie⁠—this werry moment. Odd you should ask now⁠—ain’t it?
Mattie	You would get plenty to eat if you would work.
Bill	Thank you⁠—I’d rayther not. Them as ain’t ’ungry never enj’ys their damaged tarts. If I’m ’appy, vere’s the odds? as the cat said to the mouse as wanted to be let off the engagement. Why should I work more’n any other gen’leman?
Mattie	A gentleman that don’t work is a curse to his neighbours, Bill.
Bill	Bless you, Mattie! I ain’t a curse⁠—nohow to nobody. I don’t see as you’ve got any call to say that, Mattie. I don’t go fakin’ clies, or crackin’ cribs⁠—nothin’ o’ the sort. An’ I don’t mind doin’ of a odd job, if it is a odd one. Don’t go for to say that again, Mattie.
Mattie	I won’t, then, Bill. But just look at yourself!⁠—You’re all in rags.
Bill	Rags is the hairier, as the Skye terrier said to the black-an’-tan.⁠—I shouldn’t object to a new pair of old trousers, though.
Mattie	Why don’t you have a pair of real new ones? If you would only sweep a crossing⁠—