Friskey. Hallo, Maggie! Where's the doctor?
Maggie. Sure it's at his brikfast he is. Can't you lit him have a little pace for his sowl? What wid bein' up all night, and runnin' to sick folks all day, it's little rist he finds onyhow.
Friskey. That's right, Maggie. Keep up a show of business if there is none. But I'm in the secret.
Maggie. Sacret, is it? Sure there's none.
Friskey. Ah, we know, Maggie, that our friend the doctor has yet to get his first patient.
Maggie. Indade you're wrong there, Masther Frank. Haven't I been under his charge, and don't I know the skilful arts uv him? Indade I do, and can give him the highest characther.
Friskey. O, I forgot that, Maggie. He's made a commencement. How's your hand, Maggie?
Maggie. As comfortable as it can be wid the finest midical attention.
Friskey. That's good. Well, I'll wait for him. (Sits at table; takes up newspaper.)
Maggie. That's right, sir. He'll be glad to say ye's. But mind, don't interfare wid his business. Don't tak his mind off the purshuit uv patients, for it's much they're wanted, ye's can belave.