MRS. R. Oh, I be a going to show him more than he wants to see, don’t thee worrit. (Aside to Mr. Purtwee at door c.) Ah, they’d make a pretty couple, wouldn’t they?
MR. P. (Looking at them.) No, no, we must make ’em one.
(Exit Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Purtwee c. door.)
ALLEN. (After a pause, r.c.) Well I’ve got thee the cow, anyhow, and it’s a beauty.
DEB. (At tire in a tone of severe and offended dignity.) Thank you, Mr. Rollitt, it is very kind of you.
ALLEN. (After a pause, with exaggerated politeness.) Don’t mention it, Miss Deacon—quite a pleasure!
(Allen crosses to l., whistles—a pause—pretends to take off leggings. Puts foot on settle.)
DEB. Thee may bring me over the butter.
ALLEN. (Looking up.) Hulloa! come back again! Butter, certainly! (Takes it from chair off l. on staircase, crosses with it, and holds it for Deborah while she takes some.) Jolly good butter this week; who made it? Thee?
DEB. (Other side of plate.) Of course I did! I make all the butter now, and the cream.