Sir J. B. Zounds! don't you see it's my forehead?—but, however, I forgive you, since—ha! ha! ha!—I'm so pleas'd at your winning the race to-day, and beating the mounseers, that, if I'd twenty daughters, and each with a plumb in her mouth, you should have them all.
Tall. [Looking at his Tablets.] Plumb! Oh, true, Sir Jackey, my lad, I have you down here, for a fifty.
Sir J. B. How?
Tall. That you owe me.
Sir J. B. Me? I never borrowed sixpence of you, in my life.
Tall. No, but you lost fifty pounds though.
Sir J. B. [Alarmed.] Lost! oh, lord! I had a fifty pound note in my pocket book—[Takes out his Pocket Book.] No, 'faith, here it is.
Tall. Then you may as well give it me, Jackey.
Sir J. B. Give it you! for what?
Tall. Why, don't you know you laid me fifty pounds upon the colonel's Joan of Arc, and didn't my Whirligig beat her?