Jolly. “So say we, all of us.”
All. Ay. Ay.
Short. Then there’s no further use for this box of sawdust, I suppose.
All. Sawdust?
Short. Exactly. You thought ’twas gunpowder. No matter. I saw I could throw dust in your eyes with it. I can’t say much for your argument. You’re like all the rest of this universal Yankee nation——anxious to fasten your tongue tackle on to every question. There’s a very plain case here, which might have been a very knotty one but for the sawdust, which has brought you to terms, and thus proved a better medicine than Popgun’s celebrated Dead Shot.
CURTAIN.
Plays for Amateur Theatricals.
BY GEORGE M. BAKER.