Mr. C. Well, I supposed you’d know that I should need something by this time.
M. It was only an hour ago that you took a bowl of gruel, and I didn’t think you would wish for anything more so soon.
Mr. C. It was full three hours ago. And I want a cup of tea,—hot, mind you,—just as soon as I can have it.
(Exit Maria, R.)
Mr. C. (soliloquizing). It is strange that some people haven’t sense enough to know what a sick person wants, without being told everything. I always thought Maria was a good nurse; but she is no better than the rest of them. (Enter Maria.)
M. Here is a nice cup of tea for you, uncle.
Mr. C. (tastes it—throws down the spoon and turns his head away). It’s hot enough to take the skin off my mouth. I don’t want any more. Throw it away.
(Maria pours it away. She then takes a fan, and gently fans the invalid. He bears it a moment, then says:)
Mr. C. Don’t keep that fan going; I shall take more cold.
M. You said your face was hot.