Nancy. A policeman! Simon, I always told you you would come to some bad end!
Simon. Well, the end of my career, in that line, was rather bad. Ah! but Nancy, you should have seen me in my uniform, brass buttons, and shield. You would have been proud of me, had you seen me on my beat with my billy.
Nancy. Billy who?
Simon. Ignorant female! My weapon of defence; the stick with which I terrified old apple-women and young news-boys.
Nancy. Why didn’t you show yourself? I don’t think you needed any other stick to frighten them.
Simon. Nancy, I was a hero on parade; but when it came to stepping into a row, I must say I felt more like knocking under than knocking over. In fact, my conscience became very tender on that point, one night, on having my billy taken away from me by a burly butcher, and being impressed, yes, several times impressed, with its hardness as he whacked me over the head with it. The situation struck me so forcibly, to say nothing of the billy, I quietly resigned my office, and retired to the humble but more healthy walks of life.
Nancy. Well, Mr. Stone, what next?
Simon. Mr. Stone! Nancy, don’t be hard on me; call me Simon, pure Simon, simple Simon. Do! O Nancy! you are my life, my love! Do come to my arms! (Advances with arms extended.)
Nancy (advances duster as before). Stand back! I prefer my own arms!
Simon (spits and sputters). Ah-choh! You’ll smother me with dust!