Bill (aside to Susan). What's the row? What's that 'ere gent up to? I've been an' had enough o' gents. They're a bad lot. I been too much for one on 'em, though. I ha' run him down.—And, Mattie, I've found the old gen'leman.
Mat. My father, Bill?
Bill. That's it percisely! Right as a trivet—he is!
Mat. Susan! take hold of me. My heart's going again.
Bill. Lord! what's up wi' Mattie? She do look dreadful.
Sus. You been an' upset her, you clumsy boy! Here—run and fetch a sausage or two, and a—
Col. G. No, no! That will never do.
Sus. Them's for Bill and me, sir. I was a goin' on, sir.—And, Bill, a chop—a nice chop. But Lord! how are we to cook it, with never a fryin'-pan, or a bit o' fire to set it on!
Col. G. You'd never think of doing a chop for an invalid in the frying-pan?
Sus. Certainly not, sir—we 'ain't got one. Everything's up the spout an' over the top. Run, Bill. A bit of cold chicken, and two pints o' bottled stout. There's the money the gen'leman give me.—'T 'ain't no Miss Lackodare's, Mattie.