TRIPTOLE. Certainly not, sir, if it will gratify you. Cribbage—I’ll say it again—cribbage!
CAPT. H. Ha, ha, ha! good again! (TRIPTOLEMUS rises and makes another bow to the CAPTAIN)
COCKLE. Now, then, to see who deals. (cuts the cards) I wish you’d cut, sir.
TRIPTOLE. (aside) I wish I could.
COCKLE. Perhaps you’ll deal, sir. Ah, me! I only wish I was sitting down to cribbage now with my poor dear Triptolemus!
CAPT. H. (savagely) So do I!
(TRIPTOLEMUS during this has gone on dealing nearly all the cards in the pack in one heap on the table)
COCKLE. Holloa, that’s wrong! I’ll deal for you. (to TRIPTOLEMUS, as he deals the cards) Do you know, sir, you are something like my poor nephew.
(the CAPTAIN looks intently in TRIPTOLEMUS’S face, who nervously wipes his face with a handful of gloves, which he lets fall on the stage, instead of returning them to the pocket of his paletot)