Fred. It’s as bad as the treadmill—they all live in lodgings and just under the tiles, these beastly Tompkinses!
Sel. How many of the infernal family have you found already?
Fred. Thirty-seven!
Sel. Did you question them?
Fred. Minutely! Three of them acknowledged to having had a fight last night.
Sel. Ah!
Fred. One with a sweep, one with a dog, and one with his wife!
Sel. There are two hundred and fifty-two left to cross-examine. I have heard more about him since you left—he’s a poet! Author of the Frost-bitten Nose, or something that sends a shiver down your back and makes your spine jingle like a Christy minstrel’s bones!
Fred (aside). If he thinks I’m going for ever on this Tompkins’s hunting, he’s much mistaken! I shall go straight to my Lottie and stop there! (Crosses to R.) That’s what I shall do!
Sel. That’s right! Once more into the breach, dear boy! If you are tired take a cab—I’ll go halves in it with you! (Exit Fred, C.) What devotion! Can I refuse to let this man marry my daughter? No!