Sus. You live lobster!
Pol. I'll have to lock you up, I see. One violent. T'other incapable.
Sus. You're another. Mattie, my dear, come along home.
Pol. That's right; be off with you.
MATTIE rises.
Mat. Let's go. Sue! Let's get farther off.
Sus. You can't walk, child. If I hadn't been so short o' wittles for a week, I could ha' carried you. But it's only a step to the cook-shop.
Mat. No money, Sue. (Tries to walk.)
Sus. O Lord! What shall I do! And that blue-bottle there a buzzin' an' a starin' at us like a dead codfish!—Boh!
Enter BILL.