Lady. Indeed, it is true.
Mr. B. Come to my arms, my long-lost niece! No, not niece; cousin—second cousin—oh, hang the relationship! Come to my arms, any way! But hold—you are the richest heiress in New York. I have the deeds in my pocket to prove it. By the will of your late grandfather Grampus you are the sole possessor of six blocks on Broadway, Trinity Church, Erie Railroad, two steamboats on the Hudson River that won't burst, and vast territories on Coney Island.
Artist. Good gracious!
Mr. B. Happy hour—auspicious moment! to have thus met my son and niece on the same day. Puttyblow, my son—no longer Puttyblow, but Bullywingle—this is the lady I have destined for you for ten long years, if I could only have found you. She is rich and beautiful. I know you love each other; and if you don't, make believe you do, or you'll spoil the play. Bullywingle, junior, embrace your bride! Take her and be happy! Bless you, my children—bless you!
Grand tableau. Mr. Puttyblow and Miss MacSlasher embrace. Mr. Bullywingle opens his umbrella, and, standing on one leg, holds it over them.
CHAPTER XVI.
It may be remembered that in a recent chapter we mentioned being in a tranquil mood, and, while in that condition, calling on our friend Nix, and further, that Nix introduced us that same evening to some ladies with brown eyes.
Since that event the tranquil moods have come over us periodically, with rapidly increasing virulence. So much so that latterly we have found it desirable to dispense with the cumbrous ceremony of going round to call for Nix. The fact is we have taken a great fancy to that boy Little Pickle; he is certainly a very fine boy.