BOX. Mind your own business, Bouncer!
MRS. B. Dear, dear, Mr. Box! what a temper you are in, to be sure! I declare you’re quite pale in the face!
BOX. What color would you have a man be who has been setting up long leaders for a daily paper all night?
MRS. B. But, then, you’ve all the day to yourself.
BOX (looking significantly at MRS. BOUNCER). So it seems! Far be it from me, Bouncer, to hurry your movements, but I think it right to acquaint you with my immediate intention of divesting myself of my garments, and going to bed.
MRS. B. Oh, Mr. Box! (going).
BOX. Stop! Can you inform me who the individual is that I invariably encounter going down-stairs when I’m coming up, and coming up-stairs when I’m going down?
MRS. B. (confused). Oh—yes—the gentleman in the attic, sir.
BOX. Oh! There’s nothing particularly remarkable about him, except his hats. I meet him in all sorts of hats—white hats and black hats—hats with broad brims and hats with narrow brims—hats with naps and hats without naps—in short, I have come to the conclusion that he must be individually and professionally associated with the hatting interest.