Phil. What’s the joke?
Ned. No matter, go and do it; and then come back yelling for help.
Phil. Ah! I see it. (Exit, L.)
Zeke (resuming his coat). Well, as there doesn’t seem to be any very great danger of a raid, I’ll move along towards the cars. Them chaps want my demijohn pretty bad. (Phil cries outside, “Help! Help!”) Halloo! what’s that? (Enter Phil, L.)
Phil. Ned, can you swim?
Ned. Swim? not a stroke. What’s the matter?
Phil. A little darkey has just fallen into the water there. I tried to reach him with a pole, but failed; and I mustn’t go into the water: my physician said it would be the death of me.
Zeke. You cursed fools! is that the way you chatter when a fellow-creature is drowning? Where is he?
Ned. Can you swim?
Zeke (throws off his coat). Of course I can. Where is he, I say?