Rastus.—Massy sakes! Bleach me? I’d like to be white all right!
Inventor.—Well, Rastus, you’ve made your wish. Into the box with you!
Rastus.—O no! Massa I was only being facetious like!
Tom.—A wish is a wish, into the box with you!
(Rushes Rastus into the box, etc. Business of rattle. The substitute Rastus emerges.)
Rastus.—That sholy am a wonderful box.
Abner.—Can I sell you some skin food?
Rastus.—Why, I feed my mouf, I don’t feed mah skin!
Tom (to Edith).—Why, Sis, you haven’t had your wish. Fire away.
Edith.—It sounds silly, but I want to be a young lady, so that I can go to parties.