Dora. [Seated, R. C.] Fan me, Minnie.—[Aside.] I don't like that man.
M'Closky. [Aside, C.] Insolent as usual.—[Aloud.] You begged me to call this morning. I hope I'm not intruding.
Mrs. P. My nephew, Mr. Peyton.
M'Closky. O, how d'ye do, sir? [Offers hand, George bows coldly, R. C.] [aside.] A puppy, if he brings any of his European airs here we'll fix him.—[Aloud.] Zoe, tell Pete to give my mare a feed, will ye?
George. [Angrily.] Sir.
M'Closky. Hillo! did I tread on ye?
Mrs. P. What is the matter with George?
Zoe. [Takes fan from Minnie.] Go, Minnie, tell Pete; run!
[Exit Minnie, R.
Mrs. P. Grace, attend to Mr. M'Closky.