Simper. Be careful, bawbaw: don’t spoil my complexion; for it would be hawwible to meet my chawmew, the divine Kate Cwusty, with a howwid cut.
Crusty. Kate! this must be Simper. (Crusty and Simper having their heads back in the chairs are supposed not to see each other.)
Simper. Yes, bawbaw, the rich Miss Kate Cwusty. Her fathaw’s immensely wich,—a gay old boy, who likes to save his money; but we’ll teach him better when we are mawwied.
Crusty. (Aside.) Will you? confound you! we’ll see about that.
Simper. Bawbaw, be a little more gentle, if you please; handle my ambwosials very carefully.
Zeb. Ambrose who? Ambrose! by golly, I used to know an Ambrose down Souf,—a molasses-darkey, about your complex—
Simper. Why, you, bawbaw, do you mean to compare me to a negwo?
Zeb. Molasses-color, molasses-color! dat’s all.
Simper. Why, you infuwnal nigg—