Deacon. (slightly hilarious) Oh, she's bright!——
Wheeler. And so amiable?——
Deacon. (joyously) Ain't she kind——
Wheeler. Yes, I think her the perfect pattern of a saint.
Deacon. Oh, she's angelic, my boy, she's angelic. I'll tell you something, if you'll keep it a secret. I'm in love with Amelia.
Wheeler. I'm not surprised at that, for I can't see how any body can help loving her.
Deacon. Yes, sir, I'm clean gone; and I'll marry her, too, see if I don't.
Wheeler. I hope that you may, with all my heart.
Deacon. Say, I think that you are the nicest fellow I ever met—I do, indeed,—and you have got—to be my—groomsman. Don't say no—for I'll—not—listen—to—it—(head falls on folded arms resting on table. Maudlin drunk)
Wheeler. The drug is taking effect. (takes Deacon's coat from chair, searches pockets, finds large pocket-book, takes check from it and examines it) Here it is, drawn up and signed. (starts to put it in his own pocket) No, I won't, for it will soon be mine at any rate. (Replaces it and doubles up coat and lays it on table L. of Deacon)