Bess. Oh, no. You must stop to dinner.
(Bess and Marcus exeunt, C., arm in arm.)
Simon. Yes, thank you, much obliged. Well, now, that’s hearty; pretty as a picture, and he, there’s nothing shabby about him. Now, for Nancy. Won’t her eyes glisten when she sees me in this stunning get-up. I never did care for dress, but when I made up my mind to look after Nancy again, I said to myself, “Simon, don’t be shabby; do the thing in style;” and here I am, bran’ new from top to toe, from shampoo to shining leather, but with the same old heart inside of me, advancing double-shuffle to the tune of “Nancy is my darling.”
(Enter Nancy, R. I. E.)
Nancy. Now, I’d like to know who——Good gracious! it’s Simon Stone.
Simon. Nancy, it is. Simon, your Simon. How dye do (offers hand).
Nancy. Well, I declare! rigged out like a dancing-jack. You extravagant dog!
Simon (turning round). Gay, ain’t it. Cut to order by an artist, (turns round); look at the “elegance of expression” in the back of that coat, and the tout ensemble of these pantaloons. That’s what he called ’em, and I know they’re there, for I paid for ’em. Nothing shabby about me.
Nancy. Well, and what brings you here?
Simon. Love, Nancy. Devotion, Nancy. Affection, Nancy——