Simper. Good gwacious! after all the hair-oil I’ve poured ovaw them!
Crusty. The masters I’ve given her!
Simper. The care I’ve bestowed upon them!
Crusty. Every accomplishment has been given her!
Simper. They’ve been twimmed and curled day aftew day!
Crusty. And to lose her thus! It’s too bad!
Simper. And to be shorn and mangled thus! It’s hawwible!
Crusty. (Sees his face in the glass.) What’s this? my whiskers gone! O you idiot! you infernal scoundrel, what have you done?
Mike. Faith, it’s the bist I could do: it’s mighty little I’m acquainted round here.