[ROGERS enters, his face betraying signs of his morning's affliction.]
ROGERS. Beg your pardon, sir; but . . .
VICAR. Yes, Rogers: what is it?
ROGERS. Mr. Manson sent me, sir; it ain't my fault! . . .
VICAR. Do explain yourself, Rogers!
ROGERS. Well, sir, it's a bit orkard: it's . . . I really don't know what you'll say, sir, I don't really . . .
VICAR [impatiently]. Come, come, come, what is it?
ROGERS. It's a man, sir!
VICAR. Well, there's nothing very extraordinary in that. Wants to see me, eh?
ROGERS. Yes, sir; and what's more, Mr. Manson told me to bring 'im in!