PHŒBE. (pretending to be very busy picking up the linen) Only the wind been and blown the linen about—that’s all, uncle.
POLICEMAN. Ugh! Well, as I don’t suppose you mean to give the wind in charge, and as I don’t see how I could take it into custody if you did, I shall be off.
Exit at door, L. C.
JONATH. Come along, Phœbe, come along, I say.
PHŒBE. (looking anxiously towards window) Yes, but let me finish picking up the clothes first.
JONATH. I’ll help you—there. (they put linen into basket) And now come along. (takes hold of one end of the basket and PHŒBE of the other)
PHŒBE. (aside) Poor dear Triptolemus! what will become of him?
JONATH. Now, come along, will you?
Exit with PHŒBE, door L. C.