The Octoroon. Dion Boucicault

a nuisance. Why don't he return to his nation out West?

      M'Closky. He's too fond of thieving and whiskey.

      Zoe. No; Wahnotee is a gentle, honest creature, and remains here because he loves that boy with the tenderness of a woman. When Paul was taken down with the swamp fever the Indian sat outside the hut, and neither ate, slept, or spoke for five days, till the child could recognize and call him to his bedside. He who can love so well is honest – don't speak ill of poor Wahnotee.

      Mrs. P. Wahnotee, will you go back to your people?

      Wahnotee. Sleugh.

      Paul. He don't understand; he speaks a mash-up of Indian and Mexican. Wahnotee Patira na sepau assa wigiran.

      Wahnotee. Weal Omenee.

      Paul. Says he'll go if I'll go with him. He calls me Omenee, the Pigeon, and Miss Zoe is Ninemoosha, the Sweetheart.

      Wahnotee. [Pointing to Zoe.] Ninemoosha.

      Zoe. No, Wahnotee, we can't spare Paul.

      Paul. If Omenee remain, Wahnotee will die in Terrebonne. [During the dialogue Wahnotee has taken George's gun.]

Enter George, L

      George. Now I'm ready. [George tries to regain his gun; Wahnoteerefuses to give it up; Paul, quietly takes it from him and remonstrates with him.]

      Dora. Zoe, he's going; I want him to stay and make love to me that's what I came for to-day.

      Mrs. P. George, I can't spare Paul for an hour or two; he must run over to the landing; the steamer from New Orleans passed up the river last night, and if there's a mail they have thrown it ashore.

      Sunny. I saw the mail-bags lying in the shed this morning.

      Mrs. P. I expect an important letter from Liverpool; away with you, Paul; bring the mail-bags here.

      Paul. I'm 'most afraid to take Wahnotee to the shed, there's rum there.

      Wahnotee. Rum!

      Paul. Come, then, but if I catch you drinkin', O, laws a mussey, you'll get snakes! I'll gib it you! now mind.

[Exit with Indian, R. U. E.

      George. Come, Miss Dora, let me offer you my arm.

      Dora. Mr. George, I am afraid, if all we hear is true, you have led a dreadful life in Europe.

      George. That's a challenge to begin a description of my feminine adventures.

      Dora. You have been in love, then?

      George. Two hundred and forty-nine times! Let me relate you the worst cases.

      Dora. No! no!

      George. I'll put the naughty parts in French.

      Dora. I won't hear a word! O, you horrible man! go on.

[Exit George and Dora to house.

      M'Closky. Now, ma'am, I'd like a little business, if agreeable. I bring you news; your banker, old Lafouche, of New Orleans, is dead; the executors are winding up his affairs, and have foreclosed on all overdue mortgages, so Terrebonne is for sale. Here's the Picayune [producing paper] with the advertisement.

      Zoe. Terrebonne for sale!

      Mrs. P. Terrebonne for sale, and you, sir, will doubtless become its purchaser.

      M'Closky. Well, ma'am, I spose there's no law agin my bidding for it. The more bidders, the better for you. You'll take care, I guess, it don't go too cheap.

      Mrs. P. O, sir, I don't value the place for its price, but for the many happy days I've spent here; that landscape, flat and uninteresting though it may be, is full of charm for me; those poor people, born around me, growing up about my heart, have bounded my view of life; and now to lose that homely scene, lose their black, ungainly faces; O, sir, perhaps you should be as old as I am, to feel as I do, when my past life is torn away from me.

      M'Closky. I'd be darned glad if somebody would tear my past life away from me. Sorry I can't help you, but the fact is, you're in such an all-fired mess that you couldn't be pulled out without a derrick.

      Mrs. P. Yes, there is a hope left yet, and I cling to it. The house of Mason Brothers, of Liverpool, failed some twenty years ago in my husband's debt.

      M'Closky. They owed him over fifty thousand dollars.

      Mrs. P. I cannot find the entry in my husband's accounts; but you, Mr. M'Closky, can doubtless detect it. Zoe, bring here the judge's old desk; it is in the library.

[Exit Zoe to house.

      M'Closky. You don't expect to recover any of this old debt, do you?

      Mrs. P. Yes; the firm has recovered itself, and I received a notice two months ago that some settlement might be anticipated.

      Sunny. Why, with principal and interest this debt has been more than doubled in twenty years.

      Mrs. P. But it may be years yet before it will be paid off, if ever.

      Sunny. If there's a chance of it, there's not a planter round here who wouldn't lend you the whole cash, to keep your name and blood amongst us. Come, cheer up, old friend.

      Mrs. P. Ah! Sunnyside, how good you are; so like my poor Peyton.

[Exit Mrs. Peyton and Sunnyside to house.

      M'Closky. Curse their old families – they cut me – a bilious, conceited, thin lot of dried up aristocracy. I hate 'em. Just because my grandfather wasn't some broken-down Virginia transplant, or a stingy old Creole, I ain't fit to sit down with the same meat with them. It makes my blood so hot I feel my heart hiss. I'll sweep these Peytons from this section of the country. Their presence keeps alive the reproach against me that I ruined them; yet, if this money should come. Bah! There's no chance of it. Then, if they go, they'll take Zoe – she'll follow them. Darn that girl; she makes me quiver when I think of her; she's took me for all I'm worth.

Enter Zoe from house, L., with the desk

      O, here, do you know what annuity the old judge left you is worth to-day? Not a picayune.

      Zoe. It's surely worth the love that dictated it; here are the papers and accounts. [Putting it on the table, R. C.]

      M'Closky. Stop, Zoe; come here! How would you like to rule the house of the richest planter on Atchafalaya – eh? or say the word, and I'll buy this old barrack, and you shall be mistress of Terrebonne.

      Zoe. O, sir, do not speak so to me!

      M'Closky. Why not! look here, these Peytons are bust; cut 'em; I am rich, jine me; I'll set you up grand, and we'll give these first families here our dust, until you'll see their white skins shrivel up with hate and rage; what d'ye say?

      Zoe. Let me pass! O, pray, let me go!

      M'Closky. What, you won't, won't ye? If young George Peyton was to make you the same offer, you'd jump at it, pretty darned quick, I guess. Come, Zoe, don't be a fool; I'd marry you if I could, but you know I can't; so just say what you want. Here then, I'll put back these Peytons in Terrebonne, and they shall know you done it; yes, they'll have you to thank for saving them from ruin.

      Zoe. Do you think they would live here on such terms?

      M'Closky, Why not? We'll hire out our slaves, and live on their wages.

      Zoe. But I'm not a slave.

      M'Closky. No; if you were I'd buy you, if you cost all I'm worth.

      Zoe. Let me pass!

      M'Closky. Stop.

Enter Scudder, R

      Scud. Let her pass.

      M'Closky. Eh?

      Scud. Let her pass! [Takes