Doub. Did it for the best, indeed! Deuce take you! By your officious attempts to serve, you do more mischief in the neighborhood than the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, all together.
Pry. Well, there’s gratitude! Now, really, I must go. Good-morning.
(Exit Paul Pry.)
Doub. I’m rid of him at last, thank fortune! (Pry re-enters.) Well, what now?
Pry. I’ve dropped one of my gloves. Now, that’s very odd—here it is in my hand all the time!
Doub. Go to confusion!
(Exit.)
Pry. Come, that’s civil! If I were the least of a bore, now, it would be pardonable—But—Hullo! There’s the postman! I wonder whether the Parkins’s have got letters again to-day. They have had letters every day this week, and I can’t for the life of me think what they can—(Feels hastily in his pockets.) By the way, talking of letters, here’s one I took from the postman last week for the colonel’s daughter, Miss Eliza, and I have always forgotten to give it to her. I dare say it is not of much importance. (Peeps into it—reads.) “Likely—unexpected—affectionate.” I can’t make it out. No matter; I’ll contrive to take it to the house—though I’ve a deal to do to-day. (Runs off and returns.) Dear me! I had like to have gone without my umbrella.
[CURTAIN.]
John Poole.