ANNIE.  “Oh, villain (I mean GEOFFREY,) you have de-ser-er-erted me.  Oh, rash young person, (I mean you, ARNOLD,) I’m inclined to think that you’ve married me by Scotch law, without having meant it.  If so, you’ll have to go to America and see BEECHER about a divorce.” (Curtain subsequently falls, and STOEPEL orders the big drum to beat for an hour, while the musicians take advantage of the noise to tune their instruments.) Deaf old gentleman remarks again that he does like WAGNER’S music.  Half the audience hold their ears, while the other half flee madly away until the entr’ acte is over.

ACT III.—­GEOFFREY boxes with his trainer, and slings Indian clubs and wooden dumb-bells.

GEOFFREY.  “There!  Thank heaven I didn’t break anything.  The scenery, the footlights, or a bloodvessel will get broken before the week is out, however, if this prize-ring business isn’t cut out.  Here comes ARNOLD.”

ARNOLD.  “How’s Miss SYLVESTER?”

GEOFFREY.  “If you say anything more about her, I’ll put a head on you. 
She’s your wife.  You’re a married man.”

ARNOLD. “Married!  You infamous editor of a two cent daily paper; I deny it. (Curtain again falls, and STOEPEL plays the entire opera of ERNANI for two hours.  Deaf old gentleman remarks that music is the STOEPEL entertainment at this theatre, and that he really likes it.  The rest of the audience look at him with horror, as though he were a sort of aggravated and superfluous cannibal.)

ACT IV.—­Sir PATRICK proves that GEOFFREY is married to ANNIE, and that ARNOLD isn’t.  GEOFFREY takes his weeping wife home with him.  Everybody finds out that GEOFFREY is an enormous liar and an unmitigated blackguard.  Through the open windows are seen the editors of the Sun and the Free Press, each determined to be the first to offer GEOFFREY a place on the staff of his respective journal.  The curtain falls and STOEPEL directs each member of the orchestra to play the tune that he may like best.  After three hours of this sort of thing a humane person in the audience brings in a saw and begins to file it.  The rest of the audience are thereupon gently lulled to sleep by the music of the file—­so soft and soothing does it sound by contrast with STOEPEL’S demoniac orchestra.

ACT V.—­ANNIE, in the midst of misery and a gorgeous silk dress with lace trimmings, is seen going to bed in her best clothes, and without taking her hair down—­this being the well-known custom among fashionably dressed girls.  GEOFFREY enters and attempts to strangle her, but she is awakened by the considerate forethought of a dumb woman, who loudly calls her, and GEOFFREY conveniently lies down and dies of paralysis.  All the rest of the dramatis personae enter, and indulge in exclamations of joy.  The curtain falls for the last time, and STOEPEL is removed under the protection of a strong platoon of policemen, to the secret abode where DALY keeps him hidden during the day from the wrath of an outraged public.