Clap. But, sir, he has the first choice.
Eben. No, he hasn’t; he’s not of age. I am his guardian, and I want it myself; so here’s your money. At six o’clock I shall come and take possession.
Clap. But, Mr. Crotchet—
Eben. No more words are necessary. You keep a house for the entertainment of gentlemen who wish a quiet place in the country. You certainly cannot refuse so handsome an offer as I have made you.
Clap. But your son—
Eben. Has comfortable quarters at home, where he belongs. You can inform him of my appearance here, and of the bargain I have made. Tell him to go home and amuse himself; that I shall positively take up my quarters here at six o’clock. (Aside.) There’s something wrong here; “a tender attachment,” I’ll be bound; and I’m determined to find it out. (Aloud.) Good day, Mr. Claptrap. [Exit, R.
Clap. Clapboard, sir—Now here’s a nice mess! What will Mr. Horace say to this, after he has got everything comfortably arranged for his purpose, to be flustered in this manner. It’s too bad!
Enter Horace, R.
Horace. I say, Clapboard, why don’t you light up your stairs? I nearly tumbled over an old chap just now, who was going down.
Clap. Old chap, indeed! Do you know who it was?