Ger. Don't let in any one calling himself Waterfield.
Col. G. No, sir.
Ger. I'm going out with Mr. Warren. I shall be back shortly.
Col. G. Very well, sir. Exit into the house.
Ger. (to WAR.) I can't touch clay again till I get that fellow out of my head.
War. Come along, then.
Exeunt GER. and WAR.
Re-enter COL. G. polishing a boot. Regards it with
dissatisfaction.
Col. G. Confound the thing! I wish it were a scabbard. When I think I'm getting it all right—one rub more and it's gone dull again!
The house-door opens slowly, and THOMAS peeps cautiously in.
Th. What sort of a plaze be this, maister?