Mrs. L. The interest on the mortgage is due to-morrow.
Dilly. O auntie, I know it is; and we have not the money to pay it. I know not where to go to procure it. We must ask Mr. Hartshorn for further time.
Mrs. L. I fear that will be useless. Mr. Hartshorn is the principal of a rival seminary: he has long desired to possess this place; and, I fear, will not let the opportunity pass when he can procure it at a very low price.
Dilly. Oh, do not say that, auntie! If he refuses, who will aid us?
Bob. (Outside C.) Just my luck! (Enter, C. with carpet-bag.) Halloo, here you are, here you are!
Dilly. (Rushing up, and seizing his hand.) Why, Bob Winders, you dear old fellow! where did you come from? I declare I must hug you. (Throws her arms round his neck.)
Bob. That’s right, Dilly. Hug away. I like it: it’s just my luck. (Gives his hand to Mrs. L.) Mrs. Loring, I’m glad to see you looking so well.
Mrs. L. Robert, welcome, a thousand times welcome.
Bob. Well, now, that’s hearty. Dilly, how you’ve grown! My eyes, what a bouncer!
Dilly. Why, Bob, how you have altered!