Eben. I knew it.
Oak. Your son—has a tender attachment. The object of it is approaching. It will soon be here.
Eben. You don’t say so!
Oak. Old man, you have a son; that son has a tender attachment; the object of that tender attachment—sh—!—will soon be here.
Eben. Confound you, you said that before!
Oak. Be wise, be cautious, and you shall triumph. Silence! It comes! the—object—comes! (Creeps off, R.)
Eben. Well, that’s the queerest customer that ever I met. Hallo! who’s this?
Enter Timothy, dressed as the Goddess of Liberty, with a veil thrown over his face.
’Tis she, at last! Now to unmask the villain!