Col. G. Come back to-morrow.
Th. Coom back, saysto? Aw'll not goo away (growing fierce). Wilto gie mo mo Mattie? Aw'm noan beawn to ston here so mich lunger. Wilto gie mo mo Mattie?
Col. G. I cannot give you what I haven't got.
Th. Aw'll break thi yed, thou villain! (threatening him with his stick). Eh, Mattie! Mattie! to loe sich a mon's maister more'n me! I would dey fur thee, Mattie. Exit.
Col. G. It's all a mistake, of course. There are plenty of young men—but my Arthur's none of such. I cannot believe it of him. The daughter! If I could find her, she would settle the question. (It begins to grow dark.) I must help the old man to find her. He's sure to come back. Arthur does not look the least like it. But—(polishes vigorously). I cannot get this boot to look like a gentleman's. I wish I had taken a lesson or two first. I'll get hold of a shoeblack, and make him come for a morning or two. No, he does not look like it. There he comes. (Goes on polishing.)
Enter GER.
Ger. William!
Col. G. (turning). Yes, sir.
Ger. Light the gas. Any one called?
Col. G. Yes, sir.