Our American Cousin

Asa Trenchard

Outside, L. 3 E. Consarn your picture, didn’t I tell you I was expected? You are as obstinate as Deacon Stumps’ forelock, that wouldn’t lie down and couldn’t stand up. Would’t pint forward and couldn’t go backward.

Enter Asa Trenchard, L. 3 E., carrying a valise.

Asa Trenchard

Where’s the Squire?

Florence Trenchard

Do you mean Sir Edward Trenchard, sir?

Asa Trenchard

Yes.

Florence Trenchard

He is not present, but I am his daughter.

Asa Trenchard

Well, I guess that’ll fit about as well if you tell this darned old shoat to take me to my room.

Florence Trenchard

What does he mean by shoat?

Mr. Binny

Taking valise. He means me, mum; but what he wants⁠—

Asa Trenchard

Hurry up, old hoss!

Mr. Binny

He calls me a ’oss, Miss, I suppose I shall be a hox next, or perhaps an ’ogg.

Asa Trenchard

Wal, yes, I guess you do b’long to my family. I’m Asa Trenchard, born in Vermont, suckled on the banks of Muddy Creek, about the tallest gunner, the slickest dancer, and generally the loudest critter in the state. You’re my cousin, be you? Wal, I ain’t got no objections to kiss you, as one cousin ought to kiss another.

Harry Vernon

Sir, how dare you?

Asa Trenchard

Are you one of the family? Cause if you ain’t, you’ve got no right to interfere, and if you be, you needn’t be alarmed, I ain’t going to kiss you. Here’s your young man’s letter. Gives letter and attempts to kiss her.

Florence Trenchard

In the old country, Mr. Trenchard, cousins content themselves with hands, but our hearts are with them. You are welcome, there is mine. Gives her hand, which he shakes heartily.

Asa Trenchard

That’ll do about as well. I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to; but if you did, I wouldn’t stop on account of that sailor man. Business of Harry Vernon threatening Asa Trenchard. Oh! now you needn’t get your back up. What an all-fired chap you are. Now if you’ll have me shown to my room, I should like to fix up a bit and put on a clean buzzom. All start. Why, what on earth is the matter with you all? I only spoke because you’re so all-fired go-to-meeting like.

Florence Trenchard

Show Mr. Trenchard to the red room, Mr. Binny, that is if you are done with it, Mr. Dundreary.

Florence Trenchard

You’ll find ale, wine and luncheon on the side table.

Asa Trenchard

Wal, I don’t know as I’ve got any appetite. You see comin’ along on the cars I worried down half a dozen ham sandwiches, eight or ten boiled eggs, two or three pumpkin pies and a string of cold sausages⁠—and⁠—Wal, I guess I can hold on till dinnertime.

Lord Dundreary

Did that illustrious exile eat all that? I wonder where he put it?

Asa Trenchard

I’m as dry as a sap-tree in August.

Mr. Binny

Throwing open, E. D. Luncheon!

Asa Trenchard

Goes hastily up to table. Wal, I don’t want to speak out too plain, but this is an awful mean set out for a big house like this.

Florence Trenchard

Why, what’s wrong, sir?

Asa Trenchard

Why, there’s no mush!

Asa Trenchard

Nary slapjack.

Lord Dundreary

Why, does he want Mary to slap Jack?

Asa Trenchard

No pork and beans!

Lord Dundreary

Pork’s been here, but he’s left.

Asa Trenchard

And where on airth’s the clam chowder?

Lord Dundreary

Where is clam chowder? He’s never here when he’s wanted.

Asa Trenchard

Drinks and spits. Here’s your health, old hoss. Do you call that a drink? See here, cousin, you seem to be the liveliest critter here, so just hurry up the fixins, and I’ll show this benighted aristocratic society what real liquor is. So hurry up the fixins.

All

Fixins?

Florence Trenchard

What do you mean by fixins?

Asa Trenchard

Why, brandy, rum, gin and whiskey. We’ll make them all useful.

Florence Trenchard

Asa Trenchard

Say, whiskers, I want to ask a favor of you.

Lord Dundreary

Attempts to sneeze. Now I’ve got it.

Asa Trenchard

Wal, but say. Lord Dundreary’s sneezing business.

Asa Trenchard

Takes his hand. How are you. Squeezes it.

Lord Dundreary

There, you’ve spoiled it.

Asa Trenchard

Spoiled what?

Lord Dundreary

Spoiled what! why a magnificent sneeze.

Asa Trenchard

Oh! was that what you was trying to get through you?

Lord Dundreary

Get through me: he’s mad.

Asa Trenchard

Wal, now, the naked truth is⁠—Leans arm on Lord Dundreary’s shoulder. Business by Lord Dundreary. Oh, come now, don’t be putting on airs. Say, do you know Lieutenant Vernon?

Lord Dundreary

Slightly.

Asa Trenchard

Wal, what do you think of him, on an average?

Lord Dundreary

Think of a man on an average?

Asa Trenchard

Wal, I think he’s a real hoss, and he wants a ship.

Lord Dundreary

Well if he’s a real hoss, he must want a carriage.

Asa Trenchard

Darn me, if that ain’t good.

Lord Dundreary

That’s good.

Asa Trenchard

Yes, that is good.

Lord Dundreary

Very good.

Asa Trenchard

Very good, indeed, for you.

Lord Dundreary

Now I’ve got it. Tries to sneeze.

Asa Trenchard

Wal, now, I say. Lord Dundreary trying to sneeze.

Asa Trenchard

What, are you at that again?

Lord Dundreary business. Asa Trenchard bites his finger. Lord Dundreary goes up, stumbles against chair and comes down again.

Lord Dundreary

I’ve got the influenza.

Asa Trenchard

Oh! he was a fine old hoss, as game as a bison bull, and as gray as a coon in the fall; you see he was kinder mad with his folks here, so he came over to America to look after the original branch of the family, that’s our branch. We’re older than the Trenchard’s on this side of the water. Yes we’ve got the start of the heap.

Mary

Tell me, Mr. Trenchard, did he never receive any letters from his daughter?

Asa Trenchard

Oh yes, lots of them, but the old cuss never read them, though. He chucked them in the fire as soon as he made out who they come from.

Mary

Aside. My poor mother.

Asa Trenchard

You see, as nigh as we could reckon it up, she had gone and got married again his will, and that made him mad, and well, he was a queer kind of a rusty fusty old coon, and it appeared that he got older, and rustier, and fustier and coonier every fall, you see it always took him in the fall, it was too much for him. He got took down with the ague, he was so bad the doctors gave him up, and mother she went for a minister, and while she was gone the old man called me in his room, “come in, Asa Trenchard, boy,” says he, and his voice rang loud and clear as a bell, “come in,” says he. Well I comed in; “sit down,” says he; well I sot down.