John Gale. Hang me if I don’t believe something, run into my pipe, and put it out. Well, Sept., here’s my hand: you’re an honor to us, and all you’ve got is rightly yours; you deserve it. Come, March, let’s go down and look arter the boats. (Exit, C. March has been sitting staring at Sept. with mouth open.)
Sept. Hallo, March, who are you staring at?
March. At a chap that’s got a father. It’s a wonderful curiosity to me. I say, Sept., how does it feel?
Sept. Well, March, thus far I can’t say I like it.
March. Don’t like it? what a queer chap you are! I wish I was in your shoes.
Sept. I wish with all my heart you were.
March. A rich father and a beautiful sister!
Sept. Sister! Ah, there’s the sting!
March. Why, you don’t mean to say—oh? good gracious! why, you were dead in love with her—you can’t marry her now, you know.
Sept. No: all my fond dreams of happiness are dispelled by this unfortunate affair.