Sue. As I live, Trifle, here is that Mr. Green, to whom you introduced us.
Trifle. Aye, aye, from the City. We find these City folks—these Greens—excessively useful in money matters, pan hanour. How are you my dear fa-el-low.
Sue. Your servant, Mr. Green.
Green. Ladies, your most dewoted. Mr. Trifle, your humble—Oh, this is the master of the ceremonies, and those are the two that’s to dance the gavotte. Yes, that’s Willis—permitty moy. (Takes Kate and Sue’s arms).
Kate. Eh, bless me, Mr. Green, what is the matter? Why, you seem quite out of spirits; I hope nothing has happened to Mrs. Green or any of the little Greens.
Green. Oh, no, nothing; but you labour under a mistake quite entirely; there is no Mrs. Green—I am not an ’appy man yet! There are no little Greens, neither—no young sprouts, I assure you. No, I’m out of spirits because I have been dished and doodled out of forty pounds to-day; I have been taken in by the purchase of an ’orse at Tattersall’s—It was a very fine looking hanimal but before I got him home, the cursed creature went upon three legs—Dragg’d the other behind him, like a pendulum.
Kate. My dear Mr. Green, will you join in a dance?
Green. Oh, dear no—I couldn’t think of such a thing—I never danced but once, and then I was so excruciated with termidity that I tipped up my partner, lost one of my shoes, and diskivered an ole in my stocking.
Kate. Oh, horrid, how could you support the shock? But here is a lady who is absolutely pining for the honour of your hand.
Green. Vell, if she’ll instruct me when I’m out, I don’t mind making one in a quod-reel.