Drawing Rooms, Second Floor, and Attics: A Farce, in One Act

by John Maddison Morton

BUNNY. Why, what’s the matter?

COCKLE. Hush! (same play repeated)

BUNNY. I ask you again, where is “our dear——?”

COCKLE. Hush! (same play repeated, then making two or three attempts to seize BUNNY’S hand, and missing it)

BUNNY. (aside) He’s been at the negus.

COCKLE. I love you, Bunny—dearly, Bunny! do I love you, Bunny? (looking pathetic, then smiling stupidly as before, and making another failure in seizing BUNNY’S hand)

BUNNY. Once for all, Cockletop, if you don’t instantly explain, I’ll have you put to bed! Where is your nephew, Mr. Triptolemus Brown?

COCKLE. (smiling stupidly) I don’t know.

BUNNY. Haven’t you seen him?

COCKLE. Distinctly, about an hour ago, running up Compton Street like a madman towards his lodging. I ran after him, shouting all the time—followed him into the house, then up three flights of stairs—found the door slammed in my face—burst it open—rushed into the room—empty!—nothing in it!