BOLT. And don’t I look well? A’n’t I the thing? Nothing like the shop, eh? Nothing against me?—nothing counter?
MIZ. No, we have sunk the shop, with a vengeance! Hatchment, the undertaker, will be calling to know if master’s dead.
BOLT. Well, but where shall we go?
MIZ. I’m afraid we’ve gone too far already.
BOLT. Zounds! man, don’t keep watering my spirits in that way; and don’t pull down the corners of your mouth, and make it look like a horseshoe on its legs. Laugh at our setting out, at least.
MIZ. Ha! ha! ha! I will, for I’m thinking there will be devilish little chance of laughing when we return. Eh—what’s that? (Looking off, R.H.)
BOLT. What are you staring at now?
MIZ. Don’t you see something like an old man?
BOLT. Lord bless you, Bobby! it’s the young women I always look at, not the old men.
MIZ. That old man may look at you, notwithstanding. Oh! he draws nearer.—Oh, the devil! it’s the old gentleman—master, I mean.