Little P. No, sir; so he said, and I was vex’d to hear him speak so of you, and I believe I might take up the whip, and give him a cut or two on the legs—it could not hurt him much.
Pick. Well, child, I believe I must forgive you, and so shall John too; aye, aye.——But I had forgot poor Poll—what did you roast the parrot for, you young dog?
Little P. Why, sir, I knew you and my aunt were both so fond of it, I thought you would like to see it well dress’d.
Pick. Ha!—ha!—ha!——
Little P. But dear aunt, I know you must be angry with me, and you think with reason.
Miss P. Don’t speak to me, I am not so weak as your father, whatever you may fancy.
Little P. But indeed, aunt, you must hear me, had I not loved you as I do, I should not have thus offended you, but it was merely my regard for your character.
John. Character!—
[Exit, Pickle kicks him off.
Little P. My dear aunt, I always heard that no lady’s keep parrots or lap-dogs, ’till they can no longer keep lovers—and when at school, I told ’em you had a parrot, the boys all said, then you must be a foolish old maid.