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?"
"Sick your granny; what's to make him sick?"
"Oh, there's never any telling. These foreigners with that kind of names are so delicate, and of course that kind of names are not suited to our climate--you wouldn't expect it."
[And so-on and so-on, no end. The time drags along; Thursday comes: the boat arrives in a pouring storm toward midnight.]
At last there was a knock at the door and the anxious family jumped to open it. Two negro men entered, each carrying a trunk, and proceeded upstairs toward the guest-room. Then followed a stupefying apparition--a double-headed human creature with four arms, one body, and a single pair of legs! It--or they, as you please--bowed with elaborate foreign formality, but the Coopers could not respond immediately; they were paralyzed. At this moment there came from the rear of the group a fervent ejaculation--"My lan'!"--followed by a crash of crockery, and the slave-wench Nancy stood petrified and staring, with a tray of wrecked tea-things at her feet. The incident broke the spell, and brought the family to consciousness. The beautiful heads of the new-comer bowed again, and one of them said with easy grace and dignity:
"I crave the honor, madam and miss, to introduce to you my brother, Count Luigi Capello," (the other head bowed) "and myself--Count Angelo; and at the same time offer sincere apologies for the lateness of our coming, which was unavoidable," and both heads bowed again.
The poor old lady was in a whirl of amazement and confusion, but she managed to stammer out:
"I'm sure I'm glad to make your acquaintance, sir--I mean, gentlemen.
As for the delay, it is nothing, don't mention it. This is my daughter Rowena, sir--gentlemen. Please step into the parlor and sit down and have a bite and sup; you are dreadful wet and must be uncomfortable--both of you, I mean."
But to the old lady's relief they courteously excused themselves, saying it would be wrong to keep the family out of their beds longer; then each head bowed in turn and uttered a friendly good night, and the singular figure moved away in the wake of Rowena's small brothers, who bore candles, and disappeared up the stairs.
The widow tottered into the parlor and sank into a chair with a gasp, and Rowena followed, tongue-tied and dazed. The two sat silent in the throbbing summer heat unconscious of the million-voiced music of the mosquitoes, unconscious of the roaring gale, the lashing and thrashing of the rain along the windows and the roof, the white glare of the lightning, the tumultuous booming and bellowing of the thunder; conscious of nothing but that prodigy, that uncanny apparition that had come and gone so suddenly--that weird strange thing that was so soft-spoken and so gentle of manner and yet had shaken them up like an earthquake with the shock of its gruesome aspect. At last a cold little shudder quivered along down the widow's meager frame and she said in a weak voice:
"Ugh, it was awful just the mere look of that phillipene!"
Rowena did not answer. Her faculties were still caked; she had not yet found her voice. Presently the widow said, a little resentfully:
"Always been used to sleeping together--in-fact, prefer it. And I was thinking it was to accommodate me. I thought it was very good of them, whereas a person situated as that young man is--"
"Ma, you oughtn't to begin by getting up a prejudice against him.
I'm sure he is good-hearted and means well. Both of his faces show it."