LUKE SHARP, his hair dishevelled, his cravat awry, and with TRIPTOLEMUS’S hat and coat in his hand, enters hurriedly, followed by ARABELLA, L. door in flat.
ARABEL. Don’t make a disturbance, Mr. Sharp, and I’ll explain everything.
SHARP. Then begin with these here articles of male attire—this coat, this hat—how did they come for to be in your apartment? they can’t be your aunt’s, and you ain’t got a uncle! then whose is ’em?—why don’t you answer—whose is ’em?
ARABEL. I shall not condescend to answer you, sir.
SHARP. You won’t! then nothing remains for me but to precipitate myself headlong into the area below! (rushing to window)
ARABEL. (pulling him back) Don’t be a fool!
PHŒBE. (ditto) Don’t be ridiculous!
SHARP. (looking down, and seeing TRIPTOLEMUS on the balcony) What’s that?—a individual without a coat and hat—it’s he! (shouting down to TRIPTOLEMUS) Holloa, you sir, below! I’m only sorry that I’m up here, and you’re down there!
TRIPTOLE. (without) Are you? we’ll change, if you like; you come down here, and I’ll go up there—ha, ha!
SHARP. (in a fury, rolls TRIPTOLEMUS’S coat up in a lump and flings it down to him) Take that!