PHŒBE. Yes, sir. (looking round and not seeing TRIPTOLEMUS) It’s all right—he’s gone!
BUNNY. Run over to Mr. Cheesecake’s, and enquire why that confounded waiter he promised to send hasn’t made his appearance yet.
PHŒBE. Yes, sir. (aside) And at the same time, I’ll see poor dear Triptolemus safe off the premises!
Runs out at little door, L. back.
TRIPTOLE. (peeping out at little door) Deuce a bit of a staircase can I see. (seeing BUNNY) Holloa! (quietly closing the door again)
BUNNY. Ah! here’s Cockletop again! (seeing COCKLETOP, who comes in at C. from L.) Well? (going to him) Any news of your nephew?
COCKLE. (still very red in the face, and making another ineffectual grasp at BUNNY’S hand) I’ve been round to his lodgings again—had another fire lighted, and another bottle of Sherry—no news. Suppose we say the poor boy is ill in bed?
BUNNY. (L.) Better say he’s dead!—that’ll settle the matter at once!
COCKLE. (suddenly, and looking off at C.) Ah! I think I see him!—look, there!—come along!
(seizes BUNNY by the arm, drags him up the stage, and off at C. towards R., BUNNY struggling violently—TRIPTOLEMUS quietly opens the door, peeps in, then comes cautiously out—he is dressed in COCKLETOP’S black paletot, and has got on a light flaxen wig, exactly like the one that BUNNY wears)