George Baker - Nevada

NEVADA, the Wanderer.

VERMONT, an Old Miner.

TOM CAREW, }

DANDY DICK,} Young Miners.

SILAS STEELE, Missionary of Health.

JERDEN, a Detective.

JUBE, a Black Miner.

WIN-KYE, a Chinaman.

MOTHER MERTON.

AGNES FAIRLEE.

MOSELLE, a Waif.

Nevada. Long white hair and beard, gray shirt, dark pants, both ragged; boots and belt; one leg of pants in boot, the other hanging in ribbons.

Vermont. Iron-gray bald wig and beard, gray shirt, overalls tucked in boots, belt, pistol in hip-pocket, short coat, slouch hat.

Tom. Full black beard, blue shirt, dark pants tucked in long boots, black necktie, short coat, pistol in hip-pocket, slouch hat worn jauntily, red handkerchief worn for belt.

Dandy Dick. Light hair and beard, trimmed; blue shirt with red necktie, dark pants tucked in long boots, dark coat, Derby hat; dressed neatly as possible.

Jerden. Full beard, mixed suit, pistol in hip-pocket, Derby hat.

Jube. Woolly wig, black face, throat, and arms, red shirt thrown back from throat, with sleeves rolled up to elbow, overalls in boots.

Win-Kye. White pants, blue blouse, cue.

Silas. Red wig, mustache, and goatee, tourist blouse, long boots, slouch hat.

Mother. Gray wig, calico dress.

Agnes. Travelling-dress and hat.

Moselle. First Dress. Travelling-dress, hat and feather, neat and tasty. Second Dress. Short red dress, blue kerchief knotted loosely on breast, light stockings, boots, broad-brimmed straw hat, arms bare, hair free.

( Stands off, and looks at his work. ) Again the missionary of health plants his victorious banner on a giant bowlder, that shall forever point the westward hoers to the fountain of health. ( Sets down pail, and looks at his hands. ) A fountain of water would be more to my taste just now: the handle of that pail is in a bad condition, but I'll fix it. ( Takes a newspaper from his pocket, and wraps it round handle while speaking. ) Big scheme of Busted to spread his balm all over the continent, from Switcham, Vt., to the top of the Sierra Nevadas. Such outward applications of the infallible awaken curiosity, curiosity stirs the sluggish brain to action, the active brain arouses the torpid system, and health re-animates the sinking frame. For further particulars see small bills. That M's a little shaky; I'll touch it up a little, or some of these hardy miners will take it for a bad spell: and, being so choice in their language, that would never do. ( Works with brush. Sings ), —

Mother. Who on earth is that howling?

Silas ( sings ), —

Mother. A stranger! What's he doing to that rock?

Silas ( sings ), —

Mother. Busted! I do believe he's trying to blast it right before my door – blow us all up. ( Brings broom down on his back smartly. ) Here, stop that!

Silas ( turning, and presenting brush like a pistol ). Look out for paint. (Mother steps back. ) I beg your pardon; but, if there is any thing in my personal appearance that leads you to suspect my jacket needs dusting, a gentler application of the duster might save the dustor some strength, and the dusteed much wind. Hang it! you nearly took away my breath.

Mother. Served you right. Who are you? Where did you come from? What's that daub?

Silas ( aside ). Daub! shade of Michael Angelo! ( Aloud. ) Madam, I am a missionary.

Mother. Good gracious! A parson. Why didn't you say so before? Settled?

Silas. No. ( Rubs shoulders. ) I thought I was just now.

Mother. Where do you hail from, parson?

Silas. Switcham, Vt. That answers your second interrogatory. The third I will save you the trouble of repeating by announcing the fact that the daub, as you are pleased to call my etching, is the good tidings I am ordained to proclaim. That's one of my sermons; and sermons in stones, though not original with me, have at least the merit of brevity to recommend them.

Mother. "Busted's Balm." Are you Busted?

Silas. No; but I shall be if you ask any more questions.

Mother. Oh, come, be sociable! I came from Vermont myself.

Silas. Possible?

Mother. Yes: twelve years ago, with my husband, expecting to return in two years with a fortune; but in two years husband died.

Silas. Ah! A mis fortune.

Mother. And here I've been ever since, the mother of this camp; and my boys – white, black, and yellow – take good care that I have my share of the dust.

Silas ( shrugs shoulders ). I understand – with a broom.

Mother. La, parson! don't bear malice: do you suppose I'd have struck you, if I'd an idea of your cloth?

Silas. Thank you. My coat is rather thin.

Mother. Expect to locate here? The boys would be mighty glad to have you; and they'd see that you had a peaceful hearing, if they had to shoot the whole congregation.

Silas. Would they? Very kind of the boys, but I hope they'd leave somebody to pass the contribution-box.

Mother. Vermont would see to the dust.

Silas. Who's Vermont?

Mother. The best of the lot, steady as a clock, but a powerful wrestler; that's his weakness.

Silas. Is it? I've a strong weakness in that line too.

Mother. You'd have no show with him. Now, parson —

Silas. Oh, drop that! This person is no parson, but, if the old saying is true, just the opposite; for I am a deacon's son.

Mother. The deuce you are!

Silas. No: the Deuce's grandson.

Mother. What's your name?

Silas. Silas Steele, jun. I'm the little one, and dad's the big Steele. I'm travelling for Busted's Balm.

Mother. Where do you expect to find it?

Silas. 'Tis found already. And, to spread abroad the glorious fact, I've taken a large contract; and it's the biggest undertaking any undertaker ever undertook. I never realized before that there was such a strong objection to clean white paint; but I've found it out now, for I've been peppered by indignant shot-guns, pounded by angry broomsticks, booted by revengeful brogans, and bulldozed by man's faithful friends, the puppies.

Mother. Then, you're only a pill-pedler, after all.

Silas. A pill-pedler! great Busted!

Mother. You said you were a missionary.

Silas. So I am. What nobler mission than mine, to proclaim to a suffering world, sunk in misery by aches and torments, the advent of the wonderful cure-all that will eradicate the ills with which the body groans, from bald head to bunions? For further particulars see small bills. ( Looks off R.) Ah! there's a bowlder I missed; must secure that before Foggarty's Liniment, or some other quack nostrum, defaces the fair face of nature with a lie. ( Goes up run, turns. ) Good-by, widow. Give the parson's benediction to the boys. ( Exit. )