The Duchess of Dublin

Dr. Adam Aconite, a Young Physician.

Frank Friskey.

Oliver Oldbuck, rich and gouty.

Silas Sharpset, a Speculator.

Dennis Doolan, a Widower.

Peter Plumpface, with a bad cough.

Annie Aconite, the Doctor's Sister.

Lucy Linden, a Milliner.

Miss Abigail Alllove, an Autograph Hunter.

Maggie Mullen, "The Duchess of Dublin."

Dr. Aconite. Black suit, white necktie, light side whiskers, and light wig.

Frank. Dark coat and vest, light pants, roundabout hat.

Oldbuck. Gray wig, blue coat with brass buttons, double-breasted vest, white neckerchief, foot swathed in bandages, cane.

Sharpset. Gray suit, red cop wig, full red beard, Kossuth hat.

Dennis. Red wig, blue overall suit, rusty white hat.

Plumpface. Made up fat, very red face, dark, old-fashioned suit. Eye-glasses attached to a string, which drop from his nose when he coughs.

Annie. Neat morning dress.

Lucy. Tasty street dress and hat.

Abigail. Close-fitting black dress, hair "a la Grecian," black lace cape, broad straw hat, red nose.

Maggie. Neat dress of a kitchen girl, sleeves rolled up.

THE DUCHESS OF DUBLIN

Scene. —Dr. Aconite's office. Table, C., with a display of vials, one or two books, writing materials, &c. Chair, L. of table. Two chairs back. Small table, R., with chair beside it.

Maggie discovered dusting. Her left hand is wrapped in a thick covering.

Maggie. 'Pon my sowl, it's the docthor's a jewel, that he is! Didn't I burn me wid the hot fat, that made me howl wid the pain uv it? And didn't the blissid docthor tind me loike his own sisther – wid the cooling and haling salve for me fisht, and the wee sugar pills for the faver that was burnin' me up intirely? And didn't the blissid crayther, wid the bountiful heart in 'im, charge niver a cint for it, or sthop it out uv the wages uv a poor girl, as many a hathen would do, bad luck to 'em. To be sure he did; and, by that same token, it's Maggie Mullen would run the wide worrld over for the sakes uv him. Och, but it's little docthoring he has onyhow, and perhaps I did him a sarvice giving him the practice loike. Will, if the sick folks only knew how handy he is, there'd be little rist for the sole uv my fut answering the bill.

Enter Friskey, L.

Friskey. Hallo, Maggie! Where's the doctor?

Maggie. Sure it's at his brikfast he is. Can't you lit him have a little pace for his sowl? What wid bein' up all night, and runnin' to sick folks all day, it's little rist he finds onyhow.

Friskey. That's right, Maggie. Keep up a show of business if there is none. But I'm in the secret.

Maggie. Sacret, is it? Sure there's none.

Friskey. Ah, we know, Maggie, that our friend the doctor has yet to get his first patient.

Maggie. Indade you're wrong there, Masther Frank. Haven't I been under his charge, and don't I know the skilful arts uv him? Indade I do, and can give him the highest characther.

Friskey. O, I forgot that, Maggie. He's made a commencement. How's your hand, Maggie?

Maggie. As comfortable as it can be wid the finest midical attention.

Friskey. That's good. Well, I'll wait for him. (Sits at table; takes up newspaper.)

Maggie. That's right, sir. He'll be glad to say ye's. But mind, don't interfare wid his business. Don't tak his mind off the purshuit uv patients, for it's much they're wanted, ye's can belave.

Friskey. I do belave it. Now here's a man who has passed a splendid examination, received his diploma, and settled down in his native village to practise medicine, but so set are the good people that they will never patronize him until age and experience have fitted him to be their medical adviser. Stuff and nonsense! While he is growing he must starve, unless some way is found to move their stubborn will. Not a patient – no, I'm wrong – there's his free patient, Maggie, "The Duchess of Dublin," as Lucy and I facetiously call her. A free patient! If we could only contrive to get one of the high and mighty snobs of the village into his clutches, we'd physic him until the whole population flocked to his office. (Knock, L.) Come in. (Enter Lucy Linden, L.) Ah, Lucy, come in. How d'ye do? (Shake hands.)

Lucy. Where's Adam?

Friskey. The first of men is at his breakfast, replenishing his exhausted system before renewing the toil of practice.

Lucy. You're too bad, Frank. The dear fellow must not be laughed at. You know he has no practice.

Friskey. O, there you're wrong. The first patient has been found.

Lucy. You don't mean it? Who is it – Squire Prim, or Aunt Lucy Spear, Mr. Plumpface, or Mr. Oldbuck? Do tell me. I'm dying to know!

Friskey. A person of greater importance. One with a high-sounding title.

Lucy. Title – Judge Higgins? General Proof? You mysterious fellow, why don't you tell me.

Friskey. It's "The Duchess of Dublin."

Lucy. O, pshaw! Maggie Mullen. Frank Friskey, you're a torment. I really thought 'twas some distinguished character.

Friskey. Well, the duchess had a fine characther from her last place. By Jove! an idea.

Lucy. Get rid of it, Frank; it's dangerous.

Friskey. Hush! This is really a magnificent idea. Our doctor must have patients, for several reasons: First, he is engaged to a beautiful young lady, whom he will not marry until his practice will allow him to support her as he desires —

Lucy. Just as if I cared. I'm sure I'd rather help him up hill, than to wait for the elegant mansion he hopes to rear on the summit.

Friskey. There you are interested. In the second place, his sister is engaged to a fascinating young gentleman, ahem! and him she will not marry until her brother can afford to let her leave his house, of which she is the toiling mistress.

Lucy. And there you are interested.

Friskey. Exactly. Therefore we are both interested in increasing the doctor's practice as soon as possible.

Lucy. The sooner the better.

Friskey. Now listen to me. Suppose that a high-born lady, a titled lady of Europe, should visit this country; should pass through this village; should suddenly be taken sick. The aid of our good friend the doctor is required. He is called in. The news spreads like wildfire through the village. Patients flock to his office. His fortune is made, and we are happy in our loves.

Lucy. Ah, but where can we find such a patient?

Friskey. She's here beneath this humble roof – "The Duchess of Dublin," incog.

Lucy. Why, Frank, what a desperate idea!

Friskey. Desperate cases require desperate means. What say you, will you join me?

Lucy. In what way?

Friskey. We will leave this house at once, separate, you go to the right, I to the left. Drop in here and there quite accidentally, and, in confidence, disclose the interesting news that "The Duchess of Dublin," incog., is in the skilful hands of Dr. Aconite. Magnify it a little, and await the result. I am confident that before night Adam will be as happy as a rush of complicated disorders can make an M. D.

Lucy. Capital! only if we are found out —

Friskey. We'll laugh it off as a capital joke. If, in the mean time, Adam gets a good patient, he'll make his way to a good practice.

Lucy. It's an absurd idea to exalt our Maggie to so high a position. Should anybody see her —

Friskey. Ah, but nobody must see her. The duchess is incog. You must communicate in the strictest confidence, and have it distinctly understood that not a word must be said to the doctor about his grand patient.

Lucy. I understand, and you may depend upon me; only if the worst comes I shall throw all the responsibility upon you.

Friskey. And I'll agree to take it all. Come, let's set out.

Lucy. Without seeing Adam?

Friskey. Yes, for I shan't trust you with him until you are fully committed to this arch plot. Come.

Lucy. What, would you rob me of a sight of my Adam?

Friskey. Eve-n so. Am I not robbed of the sight of my Annie?

Lucy. Not even one embrace?

Friskey. As a substitute embrace me. (Throws his arms around her.)

Lucy (screams). You horrid wretch! (Runs off, L., followed by Friskey.)

Dr. Aconite appears, R.

Dr. A. Am I awake? My friend, my bosom friend, with his arms about my affianced bride! Pills and powders! pestle and mortar! am I awake? Well, it's my usual luck. Day by day I've seen my stock of provisions sensibly decrease. I have this morning devoured the last fishball that could be manufactured from the slender stock of codfish and potatoes. It has vanished, and so has my love, with the friend of my bosom. There's nothing left for me now but to make a few slender meals of my sugar-coated pills, fricassee the canary, and then slowly but surely starve. (Sinks into chair, L.)

Enter Annie Aconite, R.

Annie. Well, brother, what would you like for dinner?

Dr. A. Dinner? ha, ha! Dinner! Well, what say you to roast turkey with cranberry sauce?

Annie. Brother!

Dr. A. Or roast goose, with guava jelly?

Annie. Brother!

Dr. A. Or roast buffalo, with venison steak, devilled kidneys, and salmon, with oyster sauce on the half shell.

Annie. Adam, are you crazy?

Dr. A. Why not? Our dinner must be an imaginary one, so let's have it as costly and luxurious as possible. There's nothing in the larder. Let's be extravagant, and cook it all.

Annie. Why, how you rave! Is the money all gone?

Dr. A. Every cent.

Annie. But the butcher?

Dr. A. Would carve me with his meat-axe if I asked for credit.

Annie. Then I'll try him. He won't carve me. Now don't be despondent. We have always had a dinner, and, depend upon it, you shall to-day.

Dr. A.

Annie, why don't you marry Frank Friskey?

Annie. Adam, why don't you marry the little milliner?

Dr. A. Because I have no patients.

Annie. And I have patience to wait until you get them before I marry Frank.

Dr. A. But I never shall have a patient. There's a dead set against me. They're determined I shall not cure or kill anybody until I kill myself with waiting.

Annie. Not so bad as that, Adam. Be patient, and wait.

Dr. A. O, humbug! My instruments are all getting rusty, my pills old, my plasters cracking, and my drops drying up. Hang it, I'll go and doctor myself for amusement. (Knock, L.)

Annie. Hush! Perhaps there's a call.

Dr. A. The undertaker, perhaps, in search of a job. Come in.

Enter Dennis, L.

Dennis. The top uv the mornin' to ye's. Is the docther man in – I donno?

Dr. A. Yes, I'm the doctor.

Dennis. Is that so? Yer rivirance, if ye plaze, Squire Croony wants ye's quick. The ould missus's howlin' in the pangs uv insinsibility, the young masther's took wid the jumpin' croup in his skull, and the babby's got the janders – an' it's pisoned they all are intirely.

Dr. A. What, Squire Croony?

Dennis. The same, yer rivirance, onto the hill beyant.

Dr. A. O, you've made a mistake. He wants Dr. Allopath.

Dennis. Niver at all, at all. It's Dr. Ac – Ac – Acraoniting I was to sind.

Dr. A. (jumping up, and pulling off his dressing-gown). My coat – quick! quick! (Annie runs off, R.) Maggie, Maggie, my hat and cane! Here's luck. (Enter Annie, with coat. He jumps into it.) You're sure he sent for me?

Dennis. To be sure I am.

Dr. A. Glory! glory! Rich Squire Croony! I'm a fortunate man. Where's my medicine case? (Runs to table, R., and takes it.) My good man, I'm terribly afraid you've made a mistake.

Dennis. Troth, I'm afraid they'll all git well afore you git there.

Dr. A. That would be fatal – ahem! – to me. I'm off. I'll return at the earliest possible moment. Should anybody call, let them wait. Tell them I am suddenly called to my rich patient, ahem! Squire Croony. (Going off, L.)

Enter Maggie, R., with Dr. Aconite's hat and cane.

Maggie. Sure, docther, you're not going widout yer hat?

Dr. A (returning). That would be a mistake. (Puts on hat.) You're sure, my man —

Dennis. O, bother! Would ye lave them all to die suddenly wid a long illness?

Dr. A. I'm off. Glory! glory! Luck! (Dances to door, L., then suddenly stops, straightens himself, and puts on a serious face). Professional dignity, ahem! (Struts off, L.)

Annie. Maggie, remember, if anybody calls, "The doctor has been called to Squire Croony."

Maggie. That I will – the dear docther! The luck's a-coomin'.

Dennis. Ah, ye's the fine gurl! Sure ye's remind me uv Donnybrook fair, in the ould counthry, wid ye's rosy cheeks, and pearly teeth, as white as – as – as – tombstones.

Maggie. Ah, will, will! It's the blarney-stone ye've kissed, sure, in the ould counthry.

Dennis. To be sure I have, colleen. Ah, bliss the ould sod! Sorry's the day I lift it, wid my own purty wife, Molly, who's been dead and gone the year, an' me wid the childers wid their bills open for food loike the little birds —

Maggie. 'Tis a widerer ye's are?

Dennis. A lone widerer, wid a tear in one eye and the other wide open tight for a purty girl to fill the sitivation made vacant by the absince of my Molly.

Maggie. Is it lonesome ye are?

Dennis. Lonesome is it? Begorra! ye may will say that. Sure there's not blankets enough to kape the chill out uv me heart, whin I wake in the night and miss the music uv Molly's snore – for she had a powerful organ, and could pipe "St. Pathrick's Day" through her nose widout missing a note. Could ye's riccommend me?

Maggie. Troth, I don't know what ye mane.

Dennis. To a nice, respectable gurl that wouldn't mind incumbrances in the shape of nine as purty childers as iver built stone huts or made dirt pies, the darlints.

Maggie. Troth, I think ye've give nine good raisins why no smart gurl would loike to take the head uv yer establishment. She'd be loike the ould woman that lived in a shoe.

Dennis. An' ye couldn't be prevailed upon yeself to share my fortunes?

Maggie. What's that, ye loonytic? Away wid ye's. I'll have none uv yer Molly's childers distractin' my shlumbers. So ye can take yer hat, misther, and yer lave to onct.

Dennis. O, now, pity the sorrows of a poor lone, afflicted widower.

Maggie. Git out er that, or I'll break yer skull. Away wid ye's. (Dennis runs off, L. Runs into Oldbuck, who enters.)

Oldbuck. O, murder! my foot! you villain! you scoundrel!

Dennis. I ax yer pardon. Sind me the bill.

Oldbuck. Confound you for a blundering fool! Girl, give me a chair. (Maggie sets chair, R. C. Oldbuck, groaning, hobbles to it, and sits.) Now, then, where's the doctor?

Maggie. Sure he's at Squire Croony's.

Oldbuck. Squire Croony's – O, that foot! Why, he must have a pretty good practice.

Maggie. Ye may will say that. He hasn't ate a morsel for three days, nor slipt for a wake.

Oldbuck. Now that's a lie – O, my foot! Bring me a footstool – do you hear? Quick!

Maggie. What's that?

Oldbuck. A footstool, quick, or I'll break this cane —

Maggie (snatching cane from him). Ye'll be civil, so yer will, or out uv this house ye go.

Oldbuck. Give me that cane – O, my foot! You torment.

Maggie. Be aisy now, misther, and till yer business.

Oldbuck. I want the doctor.

Maggie. He's away wid dacint sick folks, that don't howl and break canes, and the loike, ye ould hathen!

Oldbuck. Do you know who I am?

Maggie. I niver set my two eyes on ye's before the day, and I niver want to again.

Oldbuck. You're a saucy jade – O, my foot!

Maggie (poking his foot with the cane). Does it burn.

Oldbuck. O! O! murder! Do you want to kill me?

Maggie. Kape a civil tongue in yer head, and I'll do ye's no harm.

Oldbuck. When will the doctor return?

Maggie. Soon as he's kilt or cured the sick folks at Squire Croony's.

Oldbuck. Has he any patients in the house?

Maggie. Yis, one. (Aside.) Sure, I'm his patient; that's no lie.

Oldbuck. Ah! Male or female?

Maggie. Well, from my sowl, ye's a mighty inquisitive ould chap. It's a famale.

Oldbuck (aside). Ah, it's true then. Sh! Come here, my good girl. (Maggie approaches him, and hits his foot.) O, my foot! You clumsy —

Maggie (poking his foot with the cane). Does it burn?

Oldbuck. O! O! O! Will you be quiet?

Maggie. If ye'll kape a civil tongue.

Oldbuck. I'm dumb. But tell me – this patient – who is she? I'll be secret.

Maggie. Sure, ye's mighty mysterious. It's myself.

Oldbuck. You? (Aside.) They said she was incog. This must be her. And now I look at her, there's a certain grace about her, a queenly air – O, it's the duchess. (Aloud.) Your grace —

Maggie. What's that?

Oldbuck. Pardon me, your grace, I failed to recognize, in this mean attire, the high-born lady, which your highness must be.

Maggie. The ould fellow's looney. (Pokes his foot with the cane.)

Oldbuck. O! O! my foot!

Maggie. Will ye's kape a civil tongue?

Oldbuck. Ten thousand pardons. I forgot your disguise.

Maggie. Disguise is it? Troth, it's my belafe that it's yerself is disguised intirely – in liquor.

Plumpface (outside, L., coughing violently). Where's (cough) the (cough) doctor? (Enters, L.)

Oldbuck. Old Plumpface, confound him!

Maggie. The doctor, is it? Troth, he's away on a call. He'll soon return. Take a cheer. (Hands him chair, L. He sits.)

Plumpface (coughs). O, this infernal cough! I'm in the last (cough) stages of a decline. (Coughs.)

Maggie. The docther'll cure ye's in a jiffy.

Oldbuck. Not that cough. Egad, he's kept it up for twenty years, and grows fat on it. Hallo, Plumpface! I thought Allopath was your medical adviser.

Plumpface. He's a swindle. (Cough.) He does me no good. (Cough.) I'm going to try the new one. (Cough.)

Oldbuck. Humbug! Keep your money. There's nothing the matter with you. You've tried twenty doctors. They bleed your pocket, and add power to that infernal cough.

Plumpface. Humbug yourself! (cough) hobbling round (cough) with that (cough) foot wrapped up. (Cough.) Stay at home and diet. (Cough.)

Maggie. Ye'll make a die of it some day, sure, wid that watchman's rattle in ye's throat.

Plumpface (to Maggie). Here (cough), I want to whisper to you. (Cough.)

Maggie (comes close to him.) D'ye call that a whisper?

Plumpface. Hush! (Cough.) Don't let Oldbuck hear. (Cough.) How is she? (Cough.)

Maggie. What she d'ye mane?

Plumpface. Hush! The doctor's (cough) patient here.

Maggie. Is it mysilf? Troth, I'm pickin' up lively.

Plumpface (aside). Her? Can she be the duchess? It must be, incog. Your grace. (Cough.)

Maggie (aside). Your what?

Plumpface. I'm delighted to (cough) meet your highness. (Cough.) When did you leave the old country? (Cough.)

Maggie. The ould counthry, is it?

Oldbuck. Here, this way. (Aside to Maggie.) Plumpface is an old fool. Don't mind him, your grace.

Maggie. Will, 'pon my sowl, if here isn't a couple of the quarest ould chaps I iver met. O, here's the docther. (Gives Oldbuck his cane.)

Enter Dr. Aconite, L. Exit Maggie, R.

Dr. A. The ice is broken. I've cured four individuals in ten minutes. My fortune's made. (Comes, C.)

Plumpface (jumping up). O, doctor (cough), my cough!

Oldbuck (jumping up). Dear doctor, my foot – O!

Plumpface. Please attend to me first. (Cough.)

Oldbuck. No, I arrived first, and claim your attention first.

Plumpface. It's a lie. I sent an hour ago. (Cough.)

Oldbuck. He's a humbug. That cough's hereditary.

Plumpface. You villain! (Shakes fist at Oldbuck.)

Oldbuck. You swindler! (Shakes fist at Plumpface.)

Dr. A. (stepping between them). Gentlemen, be calm. 'Tis the proud boast of medical science that it can settle all difficulties, mental as well as physical. You need my aid; but such are the claims upon my time that I cannot, without doing injustice to my numerous patients, attend to you at present. Give me your address, and I will call upon you at the earliest possible moment.

Oldbuck. I am Squire Oldbuck.

Dr. A. (aside). The rich squire – good!

Plumpface. And I am Peter Plumpface. (Cough.)

Dr. A. (aside). The great manufacturer – good!

Oldbuck. I can pay handsomely.

Plumpface. I can pay liberally.

Dr. A. Gentlemen, you shall receive my early attention. You will pardon me, but I have a patient in the house who requires my immediate attention.

Oldbuck (aside). "The Duchess of Dublin."

Plumpface (aside). The Dublin duchess. (Cough. Aloud.) My dear doctor, I have heard of your skill. May I depend upon you?

Dr. A. At the earliest possible moment.

Oldbuck. You will give me early attention?

Dr. A. Immediate.

Oldbuck. Then I'll hobble home at once. Good day, doctor. (Aside.) When old Plumpface is out of the way, I'll slip back again.

Plumpface (coughs). I know your skill, doctor (cough,) and shall depend upon you. Good day. (Cough. Aside.) I'll come back and quicken his memory when Oldbuck is out of sight.

Dr. A. (rubbing his hands). Ha, ha! that's a capital joke. Dr. Aconite, poor physician, turns two of the richest men out of his office to wait his pleasure! But that's the right way. 'Twill never do to be too anxious. Egad! they're rich acquisitions; for, though I have never met them, that cough and that gouty foot have been the rounds of the medical fraternity. Wonder how they happened to drop in upon me? No matter; I can cure them both in time. Ah, Time, you are the doctor's best friend, for you pay as you go. Luck's come at last, and that imaginary dinner shall be a real, substantial feast, to mark the day when Dr. Aconite took his first fee.