AGATHA. Capital!
THWAITES. Which it is capital!—just like you, sir.
WHITE. (draws AGATHA aside) I say—this person—rather familiar.
AGATHA. Yes, I know—I’m quite annoyed. He’s our greengrocer. ’Pa jokes with him in the morning when he buys the vegetables, and now he’s come to wait in the evening, he don’t understand his position at all.
WHITE. I think I’ll take the liberty of dropping a hint. I say, Mr.——
THWAITES. Thwaites, at your service, sir. Cards ain’t common in our business; but my address is——
WHITE. Of your address, Mr. Thwaites, I have not the slightest doubt. But I would speak a word with you.
THWAITES. And I’ll listen if you talk for an hour. If I take up the newspaper, is it to read about politics? No! About plays?—No, I should rather think not! About pictures? bother, no! I look to see if Mr. Whitewash has been saying something for some poor devil in the Central Criminal Court. That’s my intellectual treat!
WHITE. (flattered) Indeed! ha! ha! Really, my dear Miss de Windsor we should do wrong to check this diffusion of intelligence among the masses.
Enter DE WINDSOR, C. from L. C.