Blith. (watching Dibbs). A somewhat eccentric domestic!
Dibbs (aside). I’ve got it! Hurrah! I’ll frighten the old bird! (Rings bell. Enter Tilly, L. U. E.) Where are master’s pistols, and did they send the new swords that were ordered yesterday? (Aside.) Say, yes.
Tilly (puzzled). Ye-es!
Dibbs. Then put them in the armory with the other deadly weapons? Have the forty score of ball cartridges come? (Aside.) Say, yes!
Tilly. Yes-es.
Dibbs. Put them in the ammunition room handy, for Mr. Selwyn will want them all this week.
Tilly. Poor boy! Love turns his brain, I ought not to have been so cruel to him!
(Exit, L. U. E.
Blith. (puzzled). Mr. Selwyn seems to be fond of firearms!
Dibbs. Fond of ’em! He always has something dangerous about him, reckons himself the best shot in these parts; he’s obliged to be for he never apologises; if anybody calls for satisfaction (pointing at Blithers, who is alarmed) bang! he drops ’em!