Dorothy.—Yes, sir; I am the daughter.
Dingle.—Is it possible!
Dorothy.—Sir, will you be seated?
Dingle (Aside).—What airs these poor creatures assume. (Aloud) Miss, (takes card from case) this will probably explain both who I am and the nature of my business.
Dorothy (Takes card and reads aloud).—“Morley Dingle, Dingleton, Dingle Township, Pennsylvania,” (aside) Dingle, dong, dingle—(Aloud) I am not prepared to pay you anything to-day, Mr. Dingle. There has been very little money earned in this house since the last payment was made.
Dingle (Sits on a chair and puts feet on table).—You must settle with me before I leave this village, or give up the house (pulls book from pocket). Let me see; yes, here it is—Felton—March,
April, May, June—twelve dollars a month, just forty-eight dollars. What do you take me for?
Dorothy (Aside).—How I would like to tell you. (Aloud.) O sir, if you but knew the sufferings of the poor I am sure your sympathy would guide your action.
Dingle.—Not a bit of it. The laws of this State protect the defenseless landlord more effectively than any other government on the globe—except Ireland. I’m proud that I am a Pennsylvanian.
Dorothy.—Surely, sir, you would not invoke the law to distress a poor widow and her child?