Mr. B. Yes, a three-quarter face. Yes, she was a blue one, I think, this last one.
Artist (prepares seat). Will you take a seat, Mr. Bully—Bully——
Mr. B. Wingle.
Artist. Will you take a seat, Mr. Wingle?
Mr. B. Bully, sir.
Artist. Take a seat, Mr. Winglebully.
Mr. B. Yes, yes, certainly. (Aside—I'm regularly stuck for a portrait.) Certainly, sir; though you haven't got my name exactly right—not quite correct, my young friend. My name is Bullywingle. (Aside—The first one was purple and diamonds.)
[Mr. B. seats himself at opposite side of stage to artist, who sits down and prepares to paint.]
Artist. Will you smile, sir?
Mr. B. (aside.) Really, a very polite young man. Thank you, I don't mind if I do—the least drop in the world; Bourbon, or anything that's handy.