Mike. Now, do be aisy: I’ll finish you directly.
Crusty. No, you won’t! I object to being finished by you. Put down that razor: I’ve had quite enough. You’ve been long enough on my face to plough an acre of land.
Mike. (Aside.) Faith! it’s about as tough a job,—but I haven’t finished.
Crusty. Well, then, you shan’t; wipe my face! quick! quick, do you hear? (Mike wipes face.)
Simper. Bawbaw, I’ve had quite enough: wipe my face, and give me a mirraw. (Zeb wipes face.)
Zeb. All right, massa! all right!
Heavy. Quite enough! I should think you had! Men generally do get enough in this world of misery! nothing but misery! We’re all going to the bad. There’s that barber, Tonsor, instead of attending to his customers, he is off on a spree. I met him with a young woman, and I’ll bet he’s off to get married. He’s bound for perdition.
Crusty. Good, good, good!
Heavy. Good! suppose he’s run off with somebody’s daughter!