Clap. You don’t mean to stay here!
Eben. Yes, I do. I’ve had another note from my unknown correspondent. The object of his tender attachment visits him every evening, and I’m bound to see her.
Clap. O, pshaw, Mr. Crotchet! you’ve been humbugged!
Eben. I know it; but I’ll be humbugged no longer; so here I’ll stay to unmask the hypocrite!
Clap. Well, stay, then; but if you’re made uncomfortable, don’t blame me.
Eben. What do you mean?
Clap. No matter; I’ve cautioned you. Keep your eyes open, and don’t blame me. Remember you have been cautioned. Good night.
[Exit, R.
Eben. Clapboard, Clapboard—What does he mean? Can there be any danger? I’m an old fool! What business have I down in this unfrequented place, all alone? I’ll go back. No, I won’t! Horace would laugh and chuckle! He shan’t do that! Who’s afraid? I’ll make myself comfortable on that lounge; and when he comes, he shall learn how terrible is the vengeance of an enraged and injured parent. (Reclines upon lounge. Noise overhead; jumps up.) What’s that? It’s that infernal soldier! Clapboard said he walks in his sleep. Suppose he should come here—with a loaded musket too! Gracious! (Trombone heard outside.) There’s the tailor practising. What a confounded din!
Oak. (Sings, outside, very loud.) “My bark is on the sea.”