BOLT. Now look ye,—how does master take care of his money?
MIZ. By locking it up.
BOLT. Then that’s the way we’ll take care of the shop—I’ll lock the door, and you shall shut the shutters.
MIZ. Oh, come, come! I sha’n’t go, nor you sha’n’t, either. It wont do, Charley; better be boxed here, than get in the wrong box.
BOLT. Well, I’ve made up my mind; the next job is to make up my body: I must dress.
MIZ. Well, you may enjoy your own holiday. Pleasant day, and fine weather to you, and a prosperous return;—I sha’n’t go.
BOLT. You have no grandeur of soul—you don’t love fun.
MIZ. Come, don’t say that; damn it, I live upon fun—he, he!—you know I do. Give us your hand, Charley. I’ll go! Oh dear, a day’s pleasure!
BOLT. You’ll go, will you?