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The Duchess of Dublin / A Farce
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
