Dasher. Yes, sir. You know old Mulligrub?
Mulligrub (aside). Old Mulligrub! (Aloud.) Intimately.
Dasher. Good. I’ve never seen him, but people say he’s immensely rich. What do you say? Will he cut up well?
Mulligrub (aside). “Cut up!” Confound his impudence.
Dasher. I’ve particular reasons for wishing to know. I may say, I am very much attached to a member of his family, you understand. I’m not mercenary; but you know times are hard, and to make a respectable show in society, have a nice house, a half dozen fast horses, and all that sort of thing, requires money. Now, what I want to know is this, will the old man shell out?
Mulligrub. Shell out? Look here, young man, for coolness you certainly would take the premium at the largest display of frozen wares in Alaska. If I don’t answer your polite questions, it is because your audacity has so astounded me, that, hang me, if I know whether there is an old Mulligrub to “cut up” or “shell out” at all. (Aside.) It must certainly be “Dip.”
Dasher. O, you won’t tell. Hush! there’s somebody coming—somebody who I am particularly anxious to meet alone, you understand. Just step out of that door (pointing, C.), that’s a good fellow.
Mulligrub. Sir, I shall do nothing of the kind.
Dasher. But you must—only for a moment, and then you shall return. (Pushes him back.)
Mulligrub. Sir, do you know who I am?