Coddle (rises, shuts doors and window, sets gun in corner, then sits near Whitwell. Shouts.) Now, my dear friend, let us have a little talk; a confidential talk, eh!
Whitwell. Confidential, in a bellow like that!
Coddle (shouts). I wish to be perfectly frank. I asked you to dinner, not that you might eat.
Whitwell (aside). What for, then, I’d like to know?
Coddle (shouts). Had you been a married man, I would have sent you to jail with pleasure; but you’re a bachelor. Now, I’m a father, with a dear daughter as happy as the day is long. Possibly in every respect you may not suit her.
Whitwell (picks up hat). Does the old dolt mean to insult me!
Coddle (shouting). But you suit me, my friend, to a T; and I offer you her hand, plump, no more words about it.
Whitwell. Sir; (Aside.) She’s humpbacked, I’ll stake my life, a dromedary!
Coddle (shouts). Between ourselves, sir,—in the strictest confidence, mind,—she will bring you a nest-egg of fifty thousand dollars.
Whitwell (aside). A double hump, then, beyond all doubt. Not a dromedary,—a camel! a backtrian! (Bows.) (Shouts.) Sir, I appreciate the honor, but I—(Going.)