Frank. A letter!—stupid booby!—why didn't you give it to me at first?—Yes, it is her hand.
[Opens the Letter.
Dennis. Stupid!—If you're so fond of letters, you might larn to behave yourself to the postman.
Frank. [Reading and agitated.]—Not going to upbraid you—Couldn't rest at my father's—Trifling assistance—Oh, Heaven! does she then want assistance?—The gentleman who has befriended me—damnation!—the gentleman!—Your unhappy Mary.—Scoundrel that I am!—what is she suffering!—but who, who is this gentleman?—no matter—she is distress'd, heart breaking! and I, who have been the cause;—I, who——here——[Running to a Writing Table, and opening a Drawer] Run—fly—despatch!—
Dennis. He's mad!
Frank. Say, I will be at your house, myself—remember, positively come, or send, in the course of the day.—In the mean time, take this, and give it to the person who sent you.
Giving a Purse, which he has taken from the Drawer.
Dennis. A purse!—'faith, and I'll take it.—Do you know how much is in the inside?
Frank. Psha! no.—No matter.
Dennis. Troth, now, if I'd trusted a great big purse to a stranger, they'd have call'd it a bit of a bull:—but let you and I count it out between us, [Pouring the Money on the Table.] for, damn him, say I, who would cheat a poor girl in distress, of the value of a rap.—One, two, three, &c.