John. Up-stairs: now, what is she doing up-stairs?
Kitty. I’m sure I don’t know.
John. Then run and find out.
Kitty. Well, I suppose—
John. You suppose! Now, what right have you to suppose? Run and find out, quick!
Kitty. Gracious, the fish don’t bite. (Exit, R.)
John. Pretty time of day, this is. Cold, wet, and hungry; and nobody at home. Wonder where my rich boarder is? Having what he calls a siesta, I s’pose. Well, every one to his taste; but the idea of a live man snoozing in the house when there’s salt water, a bright sun, and a roaring breeze outside. Bah! (Enter Mrs. Gale, R.)
Mrs. Gale. Well, John, back again?
John. Back, of course I’m back. You don’t s’pose I’d stay out after four hours’ fishing, without a bite, do you? Hey!
Mrs. Gale. Well, you needn’t bite me. You’ve had bad luck.