Wid. You must run directly to the tavern, over the way, and order them to send a roast fowl and lobster, in the shell, here, at nine o’clock.
Twill. Roast fowl, sir?
Wid. And lobster. He—hem! I expect a particular party to sup with me.
Twill. Coorse you’ll want cigars, sir?
Wid. No. The party, Twill, is a lady and don’t smoke.
Twill. A lady! Tare my agers, sir. Does the lady bring the lady’s maid with her?
Wid. Don’t be impertinent, Twill, but listen to me. The party I expect is Ma’amselle Cheri Bounce, a splendid creature, who dances on a limited income, with the strictest regard to propriety, at the Opera House, and gives lessons to private pupils in the pokar and the waltz ah do tongs.
Twill. Whoo! She must be a switcher. (Going.) I’ll run directly, sir.
Wid. Stay! I must make myself attractive for the interesting occasion. Give me the coat that has just been finished for Sir Chippin Porrage, and the waistcoat that’s to be sent home to-morrow morning for the Honourable Cecil Harrowgate’s wedding. (Twill hands a dress coat and waistcoat from the table, L.) I’ll give them an air of gentility by wearing them this evening. That will do. There, be off now.