Mother. Where do you expect to find it?
Silas. 'Tis found already. And, to spread abroad the glorious fact, I've taken a large contract; and it's the biggest undertaking any undertaker ever undertook. I never realized before that there was such a strong objection to clean white paint; but I've found it out now, for I've been peppered by indignant shot-guns, pounded by angry broomsticks, booted by revengeful brogans, and bulldozed by man's faithful friends, the puppies.
Mother. Then, you're only a pill-pedler, after all.
Silas. A pill-pedler! great Busted!
Mother. You said you were a missionary.
Silas. So I am. What nobler mission than mine, to proclaim to a suffering world, sunk in misery by aches and torments, the advent of the wonderful cure-all that will eradicate the ills with which the body groans, from bald head to bunions? For further particulars see small bills. (Looks off R.) Ah! there's a bowlder I missed; must secure that before Foggarty's Liniment, or some other quack nostrum, defaces the fair face of nature with a lie. (Goes up run, turns.) Good-by, widow. Give the parson's benediction to the boys. (Exit.)
Mother. Well, of all harum-scarum chaps, he's the tongueyist; I couldn't get a word in edgeways.
(Enter Vermont, R. 2 E.)
Vermont. Little one come, widder?
Mother. No: supper's all ready for her.