Part 18
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 butter 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 apron, 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--{SPACE}[_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!
HUGH. [_Drearily._] Better? Aye, I'm better. It did not hurt me whatever.
NELI. [_Jerking head backwards toward_ DEACON ROBERTS _and again forming letters with lips_.] B-U-T-T-E-R!
HUGH. What, water? Nay, I don't want any water.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Coughing, ill at ease and glancing suspiciously at bowl that has come to rest near his leg._] Ahem! 'Tis cold here, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' I must be movin' on.
NELI. [_Savagely to_ DEACON.] Stay where ye are whatever!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unaccustomed to being spoken to this way by a woman._] Well, indeed, mum, I could stay, but I'm thinkin' 'tis cold an'--I'd better go.
NELI. [_Again savagely._] Nay, stay! Stay for--for what ye came for whatever!
[NELI _looks challengingly at the_ DEACON. _Then she goes on wiping brine carefully from husband's hair and from behind his ears. The_ DEACON _coughs and pushes bowl away with the toe of his boot_.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Smiling._] 'Tis unnecessary to remain then, mum.
NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] What did he get?
HUGH. [_Sneezing._] N--n--Achoo!--nothin'!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_With sudden interest, looking at the floor._] Well, indeed!
NELI. [_Suspiciously._] What is it?
[_He reaches down with difficulty to a small thick puddle on the floor just beneath his left coat-tail. He aims a red forefinger at it, lifts himself, and sucks fingertip._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Smiling._] Ahem, Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis excellent herrin' brine! [_From the basket on the counter he picks up an egg, which he tosses lightly and replaces in basket._] A beautiful fresh egg, Mrs. Williams, mum. I must be steppin' homewards.
HUGH. [_Struggling to speak just as_ NELI _reaches his nose, wringing it vigorously at she wipes it_.] Aye, but Neli, I was just tellin' ye when I fell that I could not find the deacon's relish--uch, achoo! achoo!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_With finality, tossing the egg in air, catching it and putting it back in basket._] Well, indeed, mum, I must be steppin' homewards now.
[NELI'S _glance rests on fire burning on other side of room_. _She puts down wet cloth. She turns squarely on the_ DEACON.
NELI. What is your haste, Mr. Roberts? Please to go to the fire an' wait! I can find the relish.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] Nay, nay, mum. I have no need any more--[_Coughs._] Excellent herrin' brine.
[_Goes toward door._
NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] Take him to the fire, Hugh. 'Tis a cold day whatever! [_Insinuatingly to_ DEACON.] Have ye a reason for wantin' to go, Mr. Roberts?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Going._] Nay, nay, mum, none at all! But, I must not trouble ye. 'Tis too much to ask, an' I have no time to spare an'----
NELI. [_Interrupting and not without acerbity._] Indeed, Mr. Roberts, sellin' what we _can_ is our profit. [_To_ HUGH, _who obediently takes_ DEACON _by arm and pulls him toward fire_.] Take him to the fire, lad. [_To_ DEACON.] What kind of a relish was it, did ye say, Mr. Roberts?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Having a tug of war with_ HUGH.] 'Tis an Indian relish, mum, but I cannot wait.
HUGH. [_Pulling harder._] American, ye said.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] Yiss, yiss, American Indian relish, that is.
NELI. Tut, 'tis our specialty, these American Indian relishes! We have several. Sit down by the fire while I look them up. [_Wickedly._] As ye said. Mr. Roberts, 'tis cold here this morning.
DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, I must not trouble ye. [_Looks at clock._] 'Tis ten minutes before twelve, an' my dinner will be ready at twelve. [_Pulls harder._
NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] Keep him by the fire, lad.
DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, let me go!
[_But_ HUGH _holds on, and the_ DEACON'S _coat begins to come off_.
NELI. [_Sarcastically._] The relish--American Indian, ye said, I think--will make your dinner taste fine and grand!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Finding that without leaving his coat behind he is unable to go, he glowers at_ HUGH _and speaks sweetly to_ NELI.] 'Tis a beautiful clock, Mrs. Williams, mum. But I haven't five minutes to spare.
NELI. [_Keeping a sharp lookout on the rim of the_ DEACON'S _hat_.] Well, indeed, I can find the relish in just one minute. An' ye'll have abundance of time left.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Trapped, and gazing at clock with fine air of indifference._] 'Tis a clever, shinin' lookin' clock whatever, Mrs. Williams, mum.
NELI. Have ye any recollection of the name of the maker of the relish, Mr. Roberts?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Putting his hands behind him anxiously and parting his freighted coat-tails with care; then, revolving, presenting his back and one large, well-set, bright-colored patch to the fire._] Nay, I have forgotten it, Mrs. Williams, mum.
NELI. Too bad, but I'm sure to find it. [_She mounts upon chair. At this moment the shop door-bell rings violently, and there enters_ MRS. JONES THE WASH, _very fat and very jolly. She is dressed in short skirt, very full, clogs on her feet, a bodice made of striped Welsh flannel, a shabby kerchief, a cap on her head, and over this a shawl._ NELI _turns her head a little_.] Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, in a minute, if you please. Sit down until I find Deacon Roberts's relish whatever.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Sits down on chair by door back centre and folds her hands over her stomach._] Yiss, yiss, mum, thank you. I've come for soap. I came once before, but no one was in.
NELI. Too bad!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. An' I looked in at the window an' saw nothin' but a skippin' shadow looked like a rat. Have ye any rats, Mrs. Williams, mum, do ye think?
NELI. Have I any rats? Well, indeed, 'tis that I'm wantin' to know, Mrs. Jones the Wash!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Well, I came back, for the water is eatin' the soap to-day as if 'twere sweets--aye, 'tis a very meltin' day for soap! [_Laughs._
DEACON ROBERTS. 'Tis sweet to be clean, Mrs. Jones the Wash.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Laughing._] Yiss, yiss, Deacon Roberts, there has many a chapel been built out of a washtub, an' many a prayer risen up from the suds!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Solemnly._] Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, 'tis holy work, washin' is very holy work.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Touched._] Yiss, yiss, I thank ye, Deacon Roberts.
DEACON ROBERTS. Well, I must be steppin' homeward now.
NELI. [_Firmly._] Nay, Mr. Roberts. I am searchin' on the shelf where I think that American Indian relish is. Ye act as if ye had some cause to hurry, Mr. Roberts. Wait a moment, if you please.
DEACON ROBERTS. Well, indeed, but I am keepin' Mrs. Jones the Wash waitin'!
NELI. [_To_ MRS. JONES.] Ye are in no haste?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Thoroughly comfortable and happy._] Nay, mum, no haste at all. I am havin' a rest, an' 'tis grand an' warm here whatever.
NELI. [_Maliciously to_ DEACON.] Does it feel hot by the fire?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Experiencing novel sensations on the crown of his bald head._] Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Llanycil Churchyard, Y Gegin is only the portal to a hotter an' a bigger place where scorchin' flames burn forever an' forever. Proverbs saith, "Hell an' destruction are never full." What, then, shall be the fate of women who have no wisdom, Mrs. Williams, mum?
NELI. [_Searching for relish._] Aye, what? Well, indeed, the men must know.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Nodding her head appreciatively at_ HUGH.] Such eloquence, Mr. Williams! Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as Deacon Roberts!
[_She sighs. The bell rings violently again, and_ TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP _enters. He is dressed in gaiters, a shepherd's cloak, etc., etc. He carries a crook in his hand. He is a grizzle-haired, rosy-faced old man, raw-boned, strong, and awkward, with a half-earnest, half-foolish look._
NELI. [_Looking around._] Aye, Tom Morris the Sheep, come in an' sit down. I am lookin' out an American Indian relish for the deacon.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. I am wantin' to buy a little tobacco, mum. 'Tis lonely upon the hillsides with the sheep, whatever.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] I must go now, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' ye can wait on Tom Morris.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, sir, there is no haste.
NELI. [_To_ TOM MORRIS.] Sit down there by the door, if you please.
[TOM MORRIS _seats himself on other side of door by back centre_.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. [_Touches his forelock to_ MRS. JONES THE WASH.] A grand day for the clothes, Mrs. Jones, mum.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, an' as I was just sayin' 'tis a meltin' day for the soap!
NELI. [_Significantly._] An' perhaps 'tis a meltin' day for somethin' besides soap! [_She looks at_ DEACON.
HUGH. [_Earnestly._] Yiss, yiss, for souls, meltin' for souls, I am hopin'. [_Picking up the book from the little three-legged table, and speaking to the_ DEACON.] They are enlargin' the burial ground in Llanycil Churchyard--achoo! achoo!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slyly moving a step away from fire._] They're only enlargin' hell, Hughie lad, an' in that place they always make room for all. [_He casts a stabbing look at_ NELI.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Nodding head._] True, true, room for all! [_Chuckling._] But 'twould be a grand place to dry the clothes in!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Severely._] Mrs. Jones, mum, hell is paved with words of lightness.
HUGH. [_Looking up from book, his face expressing delight._] Deacon Roberts, I have searched for the place of hell, but one book sayeth one thing, an' another another. Where is hell?
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, where is hell?
[_The bell rings violently. All start except_ NELI. MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE _enters. She is an old woman, white-haired, and with a commanding, somewhat disagreeable expression on her face. She wears a cloak and black Welsh beaver and walks with a stick._
NELI. Yiss, yiss, Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife, I am just lookin' out a relish for the Deacon. Sit down by the fire, please.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Seating herself on other side of fire._] Aye, mum, I've come for pins; I'm in no haste.
NELI. is it Jane Elin's baby?
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Aye, Jane Elin's, an' 'tis my sixth hundredth birth.
HUGH. We're discussing the place of hell, Mrs. Jenkins, mum.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Well, indeed, I have seen the place of hell six hundred times then. [_Coughs and nods her head up and down over stick._] Heaven an' hell I'm thinkin' we have with us here.
HUGH. Nay, nay, how could that be? Tell us where is the place of hell, Deacon Roberts.
[_All listen with the most intense interest._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Nodding._] Aye, the place of hell-- [_stopping suddenly, a terrified look on his face, as the butter slides against the forward rim of his hat, almost knocking it off, then going on with neck rigid and head straight up_] to me is known where is that place--their way is dark an' slippery; they go down into the depths, an' their soul is melted because of trouble.
NELI. [_Pausing sceptically._] Aye, 'tis my idea of hell whatever with souls meltin', Mr. Roberts!
HUGH. [_Tense with expectation._] Tell us where is that place!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Neck rigid, head unmoved, and voice querulous._] Yiss, yiss. [_Putting his hand up and letting it down quickly._] Ahem! Ye believe that it rains in Bala?
HUGH. [_Eyes on_ DEACON, _in childlike faith_.] I do.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, yiss, before an' after every birth whatever!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, who would know better than I that it rains in Bala?
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, amen, it rains in Bala upon the hills an' in the valleys.
DEACON ROBERTS. Ye believe that it can rain in Bala both when the moon is full an' when 'tis new?
HUGH. [_Earnestly._] I do.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Wearily._] Yiss, any time.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, all the time.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, yiss, it rains ever an' forever!
NELI. [_Forgetting the relish search._] Well, indeed, 'tis true it can rain in Bala at any time an' at all times.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Paying no attention to Neli._] Ye believe that Tomen-y-Bala is Ararat?
HUGH. [_Clutching his book more tightly and speaking in a whisper._] Yiss.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, 'tis true.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE.. Yiss, the Hill of Bala is Ararat.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, I have driven the sheep over it whatever more than a hundred times.
NELI. [_Both hands on counter, leaning forward, listening to_ DEACON'S _words_.] Aye, Charles-y-Bala said so.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Still ignoring_ NELI _and lowering his coat-tails carefully_.] Ye believe, good people, that the Druids called Noah "Tegid," an' that those who were saved were cast up on Tomen-y-Bala?
HUGH. Amen, I do!
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Nodding her old head._] Aye, 'tis true.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Amen, 'tis so.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Moving a few steps away from the fire, standing sidewise, and lifting hand to head, checking it in midair._] An' ye know that Bala has been a lake, an' Bala will become a lake?
HUGH. Amen, I do!
NELI. [_Assenting for the first time._] Yiss, 'tis true--that is.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Dear anwyl, yiss!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_With warning gesture toward window._] Hell is out there--movin' beneath Bala Lake to meet all at their comin'. [_Raises his voice suddenly._] Red-hot Baal stones will fall upon your heads--Baal stones. Howl ye! [_Shouting loudly._] Meltin' stones smellin' of the bullocks. Howl, ye sinners! [_Clasping his hands together desperately._] Scorchin' hot--Oo--o--o--Howl ye!--howl ye! [_The_ DEACON'S _hat sways, and he jams it down more tightly on his head. Unclasping his hands and as if stirring up the contents of a pudding-dish._] 'Round an' round like this! Howl, ye sinners, howl!
[_All moan and sway to and fro except_ NELI.
NELI. [_Sceptically._] What is there to fear?
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Nay, but what is there not to fear?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Aye, outermost darkness. Och! Och!
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have mercy!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shouting again._] Get ready! Lift up your eyes! [_Welsh beaver almost falls off and is set straight in a twinkling._] Beg for mercy before the stones of darkness burn thee, an' there is no water to cool thy tongue, an' a great gulf is fixed between thee an' those who might help thee!
NELI. [_Spellbound by the_ DEACON'S _eloquence and now oblivious to hat, etc._] Yiss, yiss, 'tis true, 'tis very true!
[_She steps down from chair and places hands on counter._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_His face convulsed, shouting directly at her._] Sister, hast thou two eyes to be cast into hell fire?
NELI. [_Terrified and swept along by his eloquence._] Two eyes to be burned?
[_All lower their heads, groaning and rocking to and fro._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_The butter trickling down his face, yelling with sudden violence._] Hell is here an' now. Here in Bala, here in Y Gegin, here with us! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners!
[_All moan together._
HUGH. [_Whispering._] Uch, here!
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Yiss, here!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. [_Terrified._] Aye. Amen! Yiss!
NELI. [_Whispering._] Here in Y Gegin!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Clapping his hands to his face._] Stones of Baal, stones of darkness, slimy with ooze, red-hot ooze, thick vapors! Howl ye, howl, ye sinners! [_All moan and groan. Takes a glance at clock, passes hand over face and runs on madly, neck rigid, eyes staring, fat red cheeks turning to purple._] Midday, not midnight, is the hour of hell; its sun never sets! But who knows when comes that hour of hell?
NELI. [_Taking hands from counter and crossing them as she whispers._] Who knows?
ALL. [_Groaning._] Who knows?
HUGH. [_Voice quavering and lifting his Welsh essays._] Who knows?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Big yellow drops pouring down his face, his voice full of anguish._] I will tell ye when is the hour of hell. [_He points to the clock._] Is one the hour of hell? Nay. Two? Nay. Three? No, not three. Four? Four might be the hour of hell, but 'tis not. Five? Nor five, indeed. Six? Nay. Seven? Is seven the hour, the awful hour? Nay, not yet. Eight? Is eight the hour--an hour bright as this bright hour? Nay, eight is not. [_The_ DEACON _shouts in a mighty voice and points with a red finger at the clock_.] 'Tis comin'! 'Tis comin', I say! Howl ye, howl! Only one minute more! Sinners, sinners, lift up your eyes! Cry for mercy! [_All groan._] Cry for mercy! When the clock strikes twelve, 'twill be the hour of hell! Fix your eyes upon the clock! Watch! Count! Listen! 'Tis strikin'. The stroke! The hour is here!
[_All dropped on their knees and turned toward the clock, their backs to the street door, are awaiting the awful stroke. The book has fallen from_ HUGH'S _hands_. NELI'S _hands are clenched_. MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE _is nodding her old head_. MRS. JONES THE WASH _on her knees, her face upturned to the clock, is rubbing up and down her thighs, as if at the business of washing_. TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP _is prostrate and making a strange buzzing sound between his lips. The wheels of the clever old timepiece whir and turn. Then in the silent noonday the harsh striking begins: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Yelling suddenly in a loud and terrible voice._] Hell let loose! Howl ye! Howl, ye sinners! [_All cover their eyes. All groan or moan. The clock ticks, the flame in the grate flutters_, NELI'S _bosom rises and falls heavily_.] Lest worse happen to ye, sin no more!
[_The_ DEACON _looks at them all quietly. Then he lifts his hands in sign of blessing, smiles and vanishes silently through street door. All remain stationary in their terror. Nothing happens. But at last_ NELI _fearfully, still spellbound by the_ DEACON'S _eloquence, lifts her eyes to the clock. Then cautiously she turns a little toward the fire and the place of_ DEACON ROBERTS.
NELI. Uch! [_She stands on her feet and cries out._] The Deacon is gone!
HUGH. [_Raising his eyes._] Uch, what is it? Babylon----
NELI. Babylon nothing! [_She wrings her hands._
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Groaning._] Is he dead? Is he dead?
NELI. [_With sudden plunge toward the door._] Uch, ye old hypocrite, ye villain! Uch, my butter an' my eggs, my butter an' my eggs!
[NELI _throws open the door and slams it to after her as she pursues the_ DEACON _out into the bright midday sunshine_.
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. Well, indeed, what is it? Has she been taken?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Getting up heavily._] Such movin' eloquence! A saintly man is Deacon Roberts!
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, a saintly man is Deacon Roberts!
HUGH. [_Picking up his book and speaking slowly._] Aye, eloquence that knoweth the place of hell even better than it knoweth Bala whatever!
MRS. JENKINS THE MIDWIFE. [_Very businesslike._] Aye, 'twas a treat--a rare treat! But where's my pins now?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Very businesslike._] Yiss, yiss, 'twas a grand an' fine treat. But I'm wantin' my soap now.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Have ye any tobacco, Hughie lad?
CURTAIN
WHERE BUT IN AMERICA
BY
OSCAR M. WOLFF
_Where But In America_ is reprinted by special permission of the author and of the _Smart Set Magazine_, in which this play was first printed. For permission to perform address the author at Room 1211, 105 Monroe Street, Chicago, Illinois.
OSCAR M. WOLFF
Oscar M. Wolff was born July 13, 1876. After graduation from Cornell University he completed his law course in the University of Chicago. In addition to his interest in law, which he has practised and taught, he has done considerable writing and editing. He has published a legal text-book, and his articles on legal subjects have appeared both in law journals and in magazines of general interest. During the war he was connected with the United States Food Administration at Washington. At present he lives in Chicago, Illinois.
In addition to some stories, he has written several one-act plays: _Where But in America_, _The Claim for Exemption_, and _The Money-Lenders_.
_Where But in America_ is an excellent play of situation, as well as a delicate satire on a certain aspect of American social life.
CAST
MRS. ESPENHAYNE MR. ESPENHAYNE HILDA
WHERE BUT IN AMERICA[J]
SCENE: _The Espenhayne dining-room._
_The curtain rises on the Espenhayne dining-room. It is furnished with modest taste and refinement. There is a door, centre, leading to the living-room, and a swinging door, left, leading to the kitchen._
_The table is set, and_ ROBERT _and_ MOLLIE ESPENHAYNE _are discovered at their evening meal. They are educated, well-bred young Americans._ ROBERT _is a pleasing, energetic business man of thirty_; MOLLIE _an attractive woman of twenty-five. The bouillon cups are before them as the curtain rises._
BOB. Mollie, I heard from the man who owns that house in Kenilworth. He wants to sell the house. He won't rent.
MOLLIE. I really don't care, Bob. That house was too far from the station, and it had only one sleeping-porch, and you know I want white-enamelled woodwork in the bedrooms. But, Bob, I've been terribly stupid!
BOB. How so, Mollie?
MOLLIE. You remember the Russells moved to Highland Park last spring?
BOB. Yes; Ed Russell rented a house that had just been built.
MOLLIE. A perfectly darling little house! And Fanny Russell once told me that the man who built it will put up a house for any one who will take a five-year lease. And she says that the man is very competent and they are simply delighted with their place.
BOB. Why don't we get in touch with the man?
MOLLIE. Wasn't it stupid of me not to think about it? It just flashed into my mind this morning, and I sat down at once and sent a special-delivery letter to Fanny Russell. I asked her to tell me his name at once, and where we can find him.
BOB. Good! You ought to have an answer by to-morrow or Thursday and we'll go up north and have a talk with him on Saturday.