Mrs. T. And here is my sister Amelia. But you need no introduction to her.
Deacon. Bless me, no. Miss Amelia, I'm delighted, filled with joy unspeakable to behold you again. (advances quickly with arms outstretched as though to embrace her. Miss. A. dodges him and crosses R., Mrs. T. following her and expostulating. The Deacon stops suddenly, reels and clasps hand to head) Oh, my head, my head!
Miss A. (sharply) Deacon, you're drunk.
Mrs. T. (startled; expostulating) Sister!
Miss A. Don't "sister" (imitating Mrs. T.) me! I can manage him. I never saw the man yet I was afraid of.
Pete. (aside, quickly) Dat's so; cross-eyed, bow-legged, big, little, great or small, dey's all de same to her. He's nebber been created.
Deacon. (L.) Miss Amelia, I protest, I sincerely, most emphatically protest against the injustice of your charge. I've had another sunstroke. (places hand upon brow) My head, my head! I'm—sick—deathly—sick! (advances a step C., unsteadily)
Pete. (aside) Yes, he's got de spirits yell infantum!
Miss A. You're beastly drunk. A pretty figure you must have cut, staggering along the streets, disgracing our whole family. (Deacon in front of sofa, raises his hand deprecatingly) Now, don't deny it; I'm ashamed of you.