Scene I.—A masquerade. Musicians playing. Maskers moving about.

Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass in masquerade costume.

Whetstone.

Major, have we any parallels for this?

Bluegrass.

Millions of parallels. Nature loves a masquerade as much as she abhors a vacuum.

Whetstone.

See if my character is loose. It feels like slipping down over my boots.

Bluegrass.

Hold on to your character; never let it slip, or all is lost. Remember, you are a Teuton knight-errant of the Horn of Plenty, and I am Rainbow, your squire. The ancient warrior Achilles carried a shield with amazing scenes beaten thereon.

Whetstone.

I can beat Achilles’ shield all hollow. I’ve brought my album, with photographs of my houses, stores, banks, farms, academy, and prize cattle. Here it is. [Displaying a large album.] But come, my boy, again explain. Why am I called the Horn of Plenty?

Bluegrass.

Horn of Plenty signifies wealth. Remember, we are now walking in a romance, and explanations are like stumbling-blocks in a dream. One must imagine more than he sees.

Enter Scythe with glass, examining Whetstone, and especially Jack, among the masqueraders.

Whetstone.

Then she might imagine I was a dinner-horn, a trombone-horn, a tooting-horn, the moon’s horn, a horned beast, or some other horn, or that I took a horn as a matter of business.

Bluegrass.

Don’t talk of business; stick to your character.

Whetstone.

Confound you, my boy! I am sticking to my character, and my character sticks to me. I feel like a rooster in an iron nightgown.

Bluegrass.

Solid in solid.

Whetstone.

I’m the only one here who seems to have his clothes riveted and anchored to him.

Bluegrass.

Hold! you must talk in the language of knight-errantry: My sweet, fair, or beauteous lady, wilt tread a measure in the dance? I am listed in the tournament of love.—Something in that strain.

Whetstone.

Will my clothes bear the strain?

Bluegrass.

Seemingly, but if you should feel rusty, either in character or memory, ask me to polish you; for such is my traditional duty as your faithful squire.

Enter Northlake, Violet, and Ninon.

Whetstone [observing Violet].

Oh, ho! look there, Major, my boy,—there comes the prize of the market. She’s pretty as a pet kitten. She’s sweet as a box of honey. She’s worth a barrel of money. I wish it were Violet; I’d throw in the farm on Pearl Creek.

Bluegrass.

Steady, steady; hang on to your character!

Catharine [recognizing Bluegrass].

[Aside] That is he with the blue ribbon. I’ll hail this rainbow. [Aloud] Sir Rainbow, you make fair promises, and keep them fairly.

Bluegrass.

Rainbows bespeak fair weather and fair maids.

Catharine.

You have bespoken fair weather with bright words, and you shall bespeak a fair maid with bright eyes, as I promised you to-day on the seashore.

Bluegrass.

Oh, where is she?

Catharine.

Yonder she stands while the fates work her destiny,—the fair Ninon. Come, give me your arm.

[They join Ninon.

Whetstone.

Going, going, gone; knocked down to the first bidder! What a weakness he has developed for women!

Northlake.

[Aside] Why, that’s the voice of Mayor Whetstone. I’ll address him. [Aloud] Ho, most gallant knight, thy squire hath left thee in a lonesome plight!

Whetstone.

I am the so-called Teuton knight of the Horn of Plenty. Do you know me?

Northlake.

Have you the mettle of the true knight?

Whetstone.

I’m covered with metal seven hundred years old. Northlake, I know you! Where is she?

Northlake.

Yonder, with her maid. Go, woo and win the lady. You could not have chosen a better suit in which to press your suit.

Whetstone.

She shall be mine, and you shall be rewarded. [To Violet.] Beauteous lady, I am the resplendent knight of the Horn of Plenty. [Aside] What’s the rest? [Aloud] Please wait a moment till I see my squire.

[He goes to consult with Bluegrass.

Northlake.

He is the antipodes of that ancient gentleman whose dress he wears. But, alas! the rudest oft give most thanks for a gentle wife, and he’ll make her a comfortable husband. To do this, some would say was villanous in me; but ’tis a convenient fashion. Wealth is a rude mountain, from which the gentle win gentle treasures. The Decorator of the fields hath placed the flower and sturdy plant side by side, and the one doth shield the other. From dankest earth the whitest lily grows; from keen-edged sands the fairest blossom blows. E’en frozen clods have flowers, and flowers their frozen clods.

Whetstone [returning to Violet].

Wilt tread a measure with me? I am listed in the tournament of love.

Violet.

Thy words bespeak a gallant knight. I’ll grant thy wish.

Northlake [to Catharine].

I pray thee for a partner.

A dance. Whetstone and Violet, Bluegrass and Ninon, Northlake and Catharine; Scythe inspects Jack with his glass and takes him for a partner.

[Curtain.