Eben. A soldier! (Noise outside.) What’s that?
Clap. That’s him. He’s always going through his tactics. He dropped his gun.
Eben. Did he! Then Mr. Peter Picket had better pick it up. Well, who else?
Clap. Next above him is Mr. Oakum, a well-mannered mariner, engaged in the lumber trade.
Eben. Is that all?
Clap. No, sir; the floor above him, next the roof, is occupied by Mr. Loopstitch, a tailor, a native of France.
Eben. Soldier, sailor, tinker, and tailor! Here’s nice company for my boy.
Clap. O, they’re a nice, gentlemanly set, I assure you; very quiet. Mr. Picket is apt to be a little restless nights; walks in his sleep; and sometimes wanders about the house with a loaded musket. Mr. Oakum is of rather a musical turn, and has his “bark upon the sea” a little too often. Mr. Tinpan is very fond of rehearsing his war-cry, “Old kettles to mend;” and Mr. Loopstitch is making frantic efforts to master the trombone. But generally they are quiet, gentlemanly, respectable individuals.
Eben. I should say so. And my son abandons his luxurious home, his highly respectable connections, for such society as this?
Clap. Lord bless you, young gentlemen have their little freaks, you know.