Roam. The painter, I suppose. He was here a little while ago. But see here, you thick-head! Where is the young lady who wrote this letter to me?
Bill. Which one? There is two of ’em. So you’re ther artist, eh? Well, I took two letters to ther post-office that was addressed to Percy Heartache. I know I did, ’cause I kin read, an’ I read ’em over a dozen times. One was from Helen an’ ther other was from Daisy.
Roam. Who is Daisy?
Bill. Hattie Renwick is her right name. But I call her Daisy—or Peach, ’cause she don’t like Daisy so well. I tell yer, Mr. Artist! she’s a daisy an’ a peach, too. But I didn’t think no sech scarecrow as you was the one she wrote to.
Roam. (angrily). What do you mean by calling me a scarecrow? Just because I have my working clothes on have I got to be insulted?
Bill (stepping back in a frightened way). Never mind, Mr. Artist. Don’t hit me. I didn’t mean nothin’. If you want me to call Miss Renwick I’ll do it for you.
Roam. All right. Do so. But don’t let any one else in the house know that the artist is here. You fetch Miss Renwick out, an’ when I get some change I’ll give you a quarter.
(Shows Bill the five-dollar bill Percy gave him.)
Bill (starting for house). My! He’s got money, all right. But blamed if I kin understand what Helen an’ Daisy wrote letters to him for. Why, he looks like a regular tramp.