MRS. F. And what’s the matter?—you look as pale as a ghost.
EUCLID. Ghost!
HOLD. Ha! ha! ha! talking about ghosts, I expect my friend Fable. You will be delighted with Fable—a strange fellow, who thinks a legend is attached to every house—a firm believer in ghosts, goblins, and all sorts of curiosities—and no wonder, for he himself is a greater curiosity than all he believes in. But I hope we have not interrupted your studies? We want your decision on a geographical discussion. I maintain that Petersburgh is sixty degrees, north latitude—
MRS. F. Sixty-one and a half, my dear sir.
EUCLID. Sixty—
MRS. F. One and a half. Obstinate creature.
HOLD. Well, do not quarrel. Mr. Fergus Fable, my old friend’s son, will be here in a minute, and expects to find us a quiet family.
Enter JULIA, R.
Here, Julia, you were at school last—what is the lattitude of Petersburgh?
JULIA. I forget, I am sure—and the terrestial globe is gone to be repaired. (pointing to cover, which conceals FANNY.) It seems to have come home.