LARK. Eh—why—the arm that held the sword!
MRS. L. The sword!
LARK. Yes—no, I mean the pistol! (aside) Now to find Woodcock, and put him on his guard. (turns and sees WOODCOCK, who enters at L., with his left arm in a sling—aside) Huzzah! he’s got his arm in a sling!
MRS. L. (looking at WOODCOCK, who comes slowly forward, as if very much ashamed of himself) It is true, then. Unhappy man, I pity you!
WOOD. (assuming a very penitential voice and manner) I don’t deserve it.
LARK. (aside) Confound it! he’s got the wrong arm in the sling! Ahem! (making violent signs to WOODCOCK to change arms)
MRS. L. (looking at WOODCOCK) Why, how’s this? (to LARKINGS) You told me Mr. Woodcock’s wound was in the right arm!
LARK. (confused, R.) Did I?
MRS. L. Yes—you distinctly said “the arm that held the pistol.”
WOOD. (very quietly, C.) That’s quite right! I’m a left-handed Woodcock.