Mrs. L. Who ever heard of such impudence?
Aunt M. Why, Angelina, what are you doing? You’ll kill yourself standing so long.
Mrs. L. (Sinks back into chair.) Oh, dear! Oh, dear! My camphor,—quick! Fan me, child, fan me!
Alice. Well, mother, your first attempt with the new school is a failure. You’d better give it up, and send for Dr. Tincture.
Mrs. L. Child, don’t mention that horrid name again. (Bell rings.) Who can that be? Another one of those humbugs.
Alice. We will not have any more come in here, if you say so.
Mrs. L. Yes, let them come. Every means must be tried.
Enter Bridget, L.
Bridget. If you plase, mam, there’s another old woman. Says she’s a doctor.
Alice. Show her in, Bridget.