Steptoe. Now you're too severe, Miss Stickler, you are indeed. An innocent little Judy Mow like that!
Tredwell (outside). Don't answer me, sir. Ham I butler 'ere, or ham I not? I've a precious good mind to report you for such a hignorant blunder.... I don't want to hear another word about the gentleman's cloes—you'd no hearthly business for to do such a thing at all! (He enters and flings himself down on a chair.) That Thomas is beyond everything—stoopid hass as he is!
Mrs. Pomfret (concerned). La, Mr. Tredwell, you do seem put out! Whatever have Thomas been doing now?
Undershell (to himself). It's really very good of him to take it to heart like this! (Aloud.) Pray don't let it distress you; it's of no consequence, none at all!
Tredwell (glaring). I'm the best judge of that, Mr. Undershell, sir—if you'll allow me; I don't call my porogatives of no consequence, whatever you may! And that feller Thomas, Mrs. Pomfret, actially 'ad the hordacity, without consulting me previous, to go and 'and a note to one of our gentlemen at the hupstairs table, all about some hassinine mistake he'd made with his cloes! What call had he to take it upon himself? I feel puffecly disgraced that such a thing should have occurred under my authority!
[The Steward's Room Boy has entered with a dish, and listens with secret anxiety on his own account.
Undershell. I assure you there is no harm done. The gentleman is wearing my evening clothes—but he's going to return them——
[The conclusion of the sentence is drowned in a roar of laughter from the majority.
Tredwell (gasping). Hevenin' cloes! Your hevenin'—— P'raps you'll 'ave the goodness to explain yourself, sir!
Steptoe. No, no, Tredwell, my dear fellah, you don't understand our friend here—he's a bit of a wag, don't you see? He's only trying to pull your leg, that's all; and, Gad, he did it too! But you mustn't take liberties with this gentleman, Mr. Undershell; he's an important personage here, I can tell you!