Tom (flinging an ear of corn at Stub). A little more ear and less tongue, Stub.
Stub (ducking his head). Don't waste de fodder. Had ear enough dat night. Golly! jes woke de whole neighborhood.
Tom. Ah! the course of true love never did run smooth.
Stub. By golly! you—you found it pretty smoove runnin' dat night.
Tom (threatening Stub). Will you be quiet?
Stub. Ob coorse. Don't waste de fodder.
Nat. Ah, Tom, Nature never cut you out for a lover.
Tom. P'r'aps not; but I've got art enough to cut you out, Nat, if you do make up to my property, Kitty Corum. (Enter Kitty, r., overhearing last words.)
Kitty. Indeed! Your property! I like that. And when, pray, did you come into possession?
Tom. That's for you to say, Kitty. I'm an expectant heir as yet. Don't forget me in your will, Kitty.