Box and Cox: A Romance of Real Life in One Act.

by John Maddison Morton

Mrs. B. Why the gentleman who has got the attics, is hardly ever without a pipe in his mouth—and there he sits, with his feet upon the mantel-piece—

Cox. The mantel piece! That strikes me as being a considerable stretch, either of your imagination, Mrs. B., or the gentleman’s legs. I presume you mean the fender or the hob.

Mrs. B. Sometimes one, sometimes t’other. Well, there he sits for hours, and puffs away into the fire-place.

Cox. Ah, then you mean to say that this gentleman’s smoke, instead of emulating the example of all other sorts of smoke, and going up the chimney, thinks proper to affect a singularity by taking the contrary direction?

Mrs. B. Why—

Cox. Then, I suppose, the gentleman you are speaking of, is the same individual that I invariably meet coming up stairs when I’m going down, and going down stairs when I’m coming up!

Mrs. B. Why—yes—I—

Cox. From the appearance of his outward man, I should unhesitatingly set him down as a gentleman connected with the printing interest.

Mrs. B. Yes, sir—and a very respectable young gentleman he is.

Cox. Well, good-morning, Mrs. Bouncer!