Horace.
Look here! I say,—you fellows! You've come to the wrong house!
[The slaves pay no attention to him.
Mrs. Rapkin.
'Ere! my good men, what are you comin' in 'ere for, bringing all your dust into my apartments?
Horace.
[Standing paralysed; to himself.] We can't both be dreaming!
Mrs. Rapkin.
[Trying to remonstrate with slaves.] This rubbish don't belong 'ere! I can't 'ave the 'ole place littered up with it! You needn't act so ridic'lous if you are niggers! [To Horace.] It ain't no use my talking to 'em, sir. They're not like Christians—they're deaf and dumb, seemingly! You try!