Kitty. So am I, with cranberry sauce.
March. Oh, pshaw! what’s the use poking fun!
Kitty. Do you know what I would do if I was rich?
March. No: what is it?
Kitty. I’d have some molasses on my bread.
March. You won’t have to wait for that (runs off, L.).
Kitty. Now, ain’t he obliging. I do like to be waited upon: and there’s plenty to wait upon me; for, between March and Bige Parker, I’m very comfortably settled. (March runs in, L.)
March. Here you are Kitty (pours molasses on her bread).
Kitty. Oh, ain’t that sweet!