Hor. Haven’t the least idea.
Clap. Well, sir, it was your father.
Hor. My father? Whew! Then the old gentleman has found me out!
Clap. He certainly has; but he’s laboring under a terrible mistake. Some one has sent him an anonymous note, bidding him look after you, for you had formed a tender attachment.
Hor. A tender attachment? That’s some mischief of the fellows at Jobson’s. Well, what does he propose to do?
Clap. He’s engaged this room.
Hor. Engaged this room? Why, Clapboard, it’s mine—isn’t it?
Clap. Until six o’clock. If you’ll remember, that was the time for which you took it.
Hor. But I want it a week longer.
Clap. You’re too late. He’s engaged it, and paid for it; and will be here at six o’clock to take possession.