Mrs. S. Wouldn’t it be a good plan to send Bridget to see?
Mr. S. Yes, and let her go at once.
(Exit Mrs. S., R.)
Mr. S. (soliloquizing). Some one asks, “What’s in a name?” If his name happened to be John Smith, he wouldn’t have to inquire. Why couldn’t my parents have called me Hezekiah, Ezekiel, or any other heathenish name rather than plain John? Then I should not have been victimized in this way.
(Enter Mrs. S., R., followed by a stranger.)
Mrs. S. This gentleman wishes to see you, John.
Stranger (inquiringly). Your name is Smith, sir? (Mr. S. nods.) John Smith, I believe.
Mr. S. That is my name, though I wish to goodness it wasn’t.
Str. No wonder, sir, no wonder. When I call on professional business, people almost always wish they were somebody else.
Mr. S. And what is your business, if I may be allowed to inquire?