(Clara goes toward door. As she reaches it, Hunker appears and meets her, face to face. He is showily dressed in clothes of Twitters’, somewhat too small.)
Hunker (bowing). Much obliged, miss; you were coming to show me the way, I ’spose. I’ve found it, you see. I heard your lovely voice.
Twitters. My daughter was going out, Mr. Hunker.
Hunker. I guess she’d better not. It ain’t a nice day out.
Clara. I beg your pardon, sir.
Hunker. Twitters, this young woman mustn’t go out. Do you twig?
Clara. Good-bye, papa.
Twitters. You had better stay, dear. (Clara stops, amazed.)
Hunker. So I think. (Drawing long breath.) I feel like a new man, and I’m going to give the new man a drink. (Pouring out brandy again.) What’s her name, Twitters?
Twitters. My daughter is named Clara, sir.