Label. Servant, Sir,—you are the landlord.
Gil. Yes—hope your master slept well—I wasn’t at home last night when you put up, or I should have paid my respects:—he’s from India I hear.
Label. From India!—and as rich, and as liberal as an emperor.
Gil. You’ve been some time in his service, I suppose?
Label. Some twelve years.
Gil. Has he any friends in these parts?
Label. He had when he left, or rather when he was dragged from this country, some eighteen years ago.
Gil. Dragged from the country!
Label. Yes pressed—he was taken on board ship at dead of night; the vessel weighed anchor at daybreak—started for India—and there my master, what with one and another piece of luck, got his discharge: but I believe he wishes to see you.
Gil. I’ll attend him directly—and then I’ll go and take my melancholy round.