I’m very sorry, but what am I to do? Here’s a carriage, with some ladies, coming up the road; of course they’ll pull up here to look at our blessed cartoon.
Priscilla.
Well, whatever folks can see in them few smears and scratches to come botherin’ us about, passes my belief.
Weaver.
You don’t see nothing in it, of course—a country-bred girl. But there’s a real bit of Michael Angelo under that glass. When he was stayin’ in this ’ouse some time back he amused himself by drawing that with a piece of black chalk.
Priscilla.
Why don’t he send and fetch it away?
Weaver.
It’s on the wall of the villa—how can he fetch it? And then again, he’s dead. [A bell rings.] I said so.
Priscilla.