Mary. What d’ye want? Is the table laid?
Wid. (Aside.) D—n the table. (Returns to table, and bawls out.) Supper’s ready!
Mary. Ah! (To Cheri Bounce.) Come, my dear.
(Widgetts seats himself at table.)
Mary. What!
Wid. (Jumps up.) Beg pardon—I vacate.
(Mary White, R., and Cheri Bounce, L., seat themselves at table.)
Mary. Now, my dear ma’amselle, here are fowl, and lobster, and kidneys.
Wid. (Aside.) I wish they were sticking in his gizzard.
Mary. Now then, waiter, be alive, and take your tin.