THE TWINS AS THEY REALLY WERE
The conglomerate twins were brought on the the stage
in Chapter I of the original extravaganza. Aunt
Patsy Cooper has received their letter applying for
board and lodging, and Rowena, her daughter, insane
with joy, is begging for a hearing of it:
“Well, set down then, and be quiet a minute
and don’t fly around so; it fairly makes me
tired to see you. It starts off so: ’Honored
madam’—”
“I like that, ma, don’t you? It
shows they’re high-bred.”
“Yes, I noticed that when I first read it.
’My brother and I have seen your advertisement,
by chance, in a copy of your local journal—’
“It’s so beautiful and smooth, ma-don’t
you think so?”
“Yes, seems so to me—’and beg
leave to take the room you offer. We are twenty-four
years of age, and twins—’”
“Twins! How sweet! I do hope they
are handsome, and I just know they are! Don’t
you hope they are, ma?”
“Land, I ain’t particular. ‘We
are Italians by birth—’”
“It’s so romantic! Just think there’s
never been one in this town, and everybody will want
to see them, and they’re all ours! Think
of that!”
“—’but have lived long in the
various countries of Europe, and several years in
the United States.’”
“Oh, just think what wonders they’ve seen,
ma! Won’t it be good to hear them talk?”
“I reckon so; yes, I reckon so. ’Our
names are Luigi and Angelo Capello—’”
“Beautiful, perfectly beautiful! Not like
Jones and Robinson and those horrible names.”
“’You desire but one guest, but dear madam,
if you will allow us to pay for two we will not discommode
you. We will sleep together in the same bed.
We have always been used to this, and prefer it.
And then he goes on to say they will be down Thursday.”
“And this is Tuesday—I don’t
know how I’m ever going to wait, ma! The
time does drag along so, and I’m so dying to
see them! Which of them do you reckon is the
tallest, ma?”
“How do you s’pose I can tell, child?
Mostly they are the same size-twins are.”
“’Well then, which do you reckon is the
best looking?”
“Goodness knows—I don’t.”
“I think Angelo is; it’s the prettiest
name, anyway. Don’t you think it’s
a sweet name, ma?”
“Yes, it’s well enough. I’d
like both of them better if I knew the way to pronounce
them—the Eyetalian way, I mean. The
Missouri way and the Eyetalian way is different, I
judge.”
“Maybe—yes. It’s Luigi
that writes the letter. What do you reckon is
the reason Angelo didn’t write it?”
“Why, how can I tell? What’s the
difference who writes it, so long as it’s done?”
“Oh, I hope it wasn’t because he is sick!
You don’t think he is sick, do you, ma?”
