Trifle. Yes; it’s too great an exertion for me to play, pan han-our—I’m only scarcely endurable to the fatigue of looking on, r-e-a-l-y.
Tom. A rubber at whist? I have no objection,
Jerry. Nor I—you’ll not find me at fault here, coz—no one is better skilled in the mystery of the odd trick, than I am, I flatter myself.
Trifle. (To Tom). Well you and your country friend can pair with Sir Jeremy and the Captain, and this worthy vegetable, Green, and I will see fair play, pan hanour.
(Kate, Sue, Tom and Jerry sit down to cards; Trifle and Green stand behind them, overlooking Tom’s and Jerry’s hand).
Log. (Drinking and looking on). They’ll be done, as sure as my name is Logic.—Upon that suit some of the best judges in London have been had.—Inviting a man to a swell dinner, and making him pay five guineas a mouthful for it afterwards, is no new feature of Life in London—Go it, ye flats—“Thus for men the women fair,” (singing). Why, there’s that fellow giving the office to his pal now: well it’s no business of mine. Go it my pippins—what, Tom, have you got the uneasiness?—“What is beauty but a bait.” (Sings again).
Tom. (Rising and throwing down cards). Oh, if you can’t play better than that, Jerry, we’d better do nothing at all!
Log. (Singing). “Oft repented when too late.”
Jerry. Who can play while the Doctor’s singing?
Log. I knew how it would be—did you hear anything knock, Tom?