Fred. I’ll go at once.
Harry. And I’ll look after the boats. But don’t think any more of Lucy, Fred; for I tell you, you can’t have her. She’s too good for you. (Exit, C.)
Fred. Too good for me! A saint at last! What a rascal I must be! Too good for me! Ah, Harry Harlem, you don’t know me yet with all your keenness. Too good for me!—we’ll see. Oh! I’ll help you out of the scrape, I’ll help you out. I can shake a dice-box, can I? I can bet my money, can I? You’ve seen all this? But there’s one little sleight-of-hand trick that you haven’t seen yet, Master Harry Harlem. I’ll help you out of this scrape with a vengeance. (Exit, R. Enter Bob.)
Bob. Just my luck! I’ve tangled all their silk, cut their cloth in the wrong place, and upset every thing in the room. Just my luck! The idea of a chap of my temperament sitting down before Lucy Harlem to hold a skein of silk, while her bright eyes were burning holes in my susceptible bosom! Oh, it’s horrible! I’m over head and ears in love with her. When she touches me, the blood rushes to my head, and I rush off. I think she likes me. I’d like to go down on my knees before her, and say, “Lucy, I am yours.” But there, I’m too fat. She might say, “There’s too much of you.” Here she comes. I’ve a great mind to say something. (Enter Lucy, R.)
Lucy. Why, Bob! what did you run away for? You tangled my silk all up, and left me to unravel it.
Bob. O Lucy! you’ve tangled me all up, and I don’t believe I shall ever be unravelled.
Lucy. Why, what’s the matter?
Bob. Lucy, I’m going away to-day.
Lucy. I’m so sorry you’re going just at this time!