BOLT. Eh, that’s the hat;—his castor’s an unlucky star;—those are his unmentionables. We’ll turn down the next street.
MIZ. But this damned street has no turning for the next quarter of a mile! Confound it! you must be so fond of enjoying yourself.
BOLT. We’ll run.
MIZ. And attract his attention: a tallish man and a short one.
BOLT. (Knocking at door, F.L.) Then we’ll call on Mrs. Stitchley. Yes, that’s the name on the plate.
MIZ. We don’t know her; who the deuce knows Mrs. Stitchley?
BOLT. No matter; he mustn’t pass us. Egad, he’s just here! (Knocks again; door opens; they run in;—just as door is closing, COTTON runs across from R. to L.)
[SCENE III.]
Room at MRS. STITCHLEY’S.