Mrs. T. Don’t you see—I’m your own Laura—your dear wife?
Todd. My wife! but where’s the other? Where’s my rattlesnake?
Mrs. T. Why, Sam, you’re not awake yet—you’re still dreaming. You would sit up last night over those papers, (goes to table, C.) and you’ve been smoking a filthy cigar.
Todd. An opium cigar! that’s it! Then I’m not a brigand with two wives! Laura, my love, come to the arms of your doting husband. (they embrace—door bell rings outside)
Mrs. T. There’s the policeman who was to ring the bell at five o’clock. You know we start at six.
Todd. Oh, yes, to be sure! I’ll be ready in five minutes. But first a word with our friends. (to audience) If I have been dreaming that you are pleased, pray don’t dispel so pleasant an illusion—but, with your usual good nature—give me a lucky omen for my dream to-night and to-morrow.—“What will they say at Brompton?”
Mrs. T. R.
Todd. L.
Curtain.
THOMAS SCOTT, PRINTER, WARWICK COURT, HOLBORN.