[Runs off, R. U. E.
Enter Scudder, from room, R.
Scud. Job had none of them critters on his plantation, else he'd never ha' stood through so many chapters. Well, that has come out clear, ain't it? [Shows plate.]
Dora. O, beautiful! Look, Mr. Peyton.
George. [Looking.] Yes, very fine!
Scud. The apparatus can't mistake. When I travelled round with this machine, the homely folks used to sing out, "Hillo, mister, this ain't like me!" "Ma'am," says I, "the apparatus can't mistake." "But, mister, that ain't my nose." "Ma'am, your nose drawed it. The machine can't err—you may mistake your phiz but the apparatus don't." "But, sir, it ain't agreeable." "No, ma'am, the truth seldom is."
Enter Pete, L. U. E., puffing.
Pete. Mas'r Scudder! Mas'r Scudder!
Scud. Hillo! what are you blowing about like a steamboat with one wheel for?
Pete. You blow, Mas'r Scudder, when I tole you; dere's a man from Noo Aleens just arriv' at de house, and he's stuck up two papers on de gates; "For sale—dis yer property," and a heap of oder tings—and he seen missus, and arter he shown some papers she burst out crying—I yelled; den de corious of little niggers dey set up, den de hull plantation children—de live stock reared up and created a purpiration of lamentation as did de ole heart good to har.