Mary. Ah! What has he done?
Brown. He has done me, ma’am—me, Brown; that’s what he’s done. Cut me out with Ma’amselle Cheri Bounce.
Mary. Cheri Bounce! Ah! (Aside.) She that’s to sup to-night with Widgetts.
Brown. I’m an ’airdresser, ma’am, my name’s Brown, and I’ve a professional engagement at the Opera House, where I cultivate romance and ringlets amongst the ladies of the ballet. There I first beheld the lovely Cheri Bounce, the very image of the wax Wenus in my shop window. I loved her, not for her foreign grace, but for her native hair. Oh, she had such a head of real hair; and, oh, the showers of tears and the bottles of Macassar oil that I’ve poured upon it nobody would believe! Well, I toasted her for two years regularly, and at length she consented to become Brown. Well, we were to have been married, I had bought my wedding suit, when this fellow Widgetts, came to take the curl out of my happiness. We quarrelled about him last Saturday, and grew so warm that we’ve been cool ever since. But that’s not all. This very day, I heard that she had accepted an invitation to sup with him to-night; but I’ll prevent that; he shall fight me—one of us must fall—let him choose his own weapons—curling irons if he likes.
Mary. Don’t be rash, Brown. Widgetts has deceived me and wronged you; we must take a better way of being revenged on him.
Brown. How? What way? Tell me! I’ll do anything to be down on Widgetts.
Mary. Then you must assist me in a scheme I’ve just thought of. Here, carry this stuffed gentleman into the kitchen there.
(Pointing to dummy figure.)
Brown. This chap! Come along, old fellow. (Takes him up.) Why he’s a regular railway speculator—nothing but a man of straw.
Mary. (Taking a gown and other articles of female attire out of her basket.) Aye, here’s a gown, petticoat, and stockings—(takes a pair of green boots out of her pocket)—and a pair of green boots. Now, Brown, you must dress the figure in these clothes.