Weber. Beggin’ your pardon, Miss, but I reckon hit’s de number ob passengers dey’s carryin’.
(Song.)
Enter Archibald Nutt.
Nutt. Oh, Miss Gotrox, how delightfully lovely you look this eve.
Weber (business of fainting, etc.). Oh, Elizabeth, the cook stewed the cat.
Miss G. Why, Archie, I’m so glad to see you. How’s mother?
Nutt. Why, I’m angry at my mother.
Miss G. Angry at your mother? How terrible. Why so?
Nutt. Why, mother wants me to come in at eight o’clock, and I’ll do nothing of the kind.
Miss G. You won’t?