Cal. (rising and taking another chair). Of course—age before good looks.
A. H. (sinking down into rocking-chair). In my day, children warn’t allowed to make fun of their relations.
Mrs. L. Caleb doesn’t mean anything, Aunt Hannah, but he ought not to speak so.
A. H. (severely). P’r’aps he don’t. This aint the fust time he’s been sassy to me.
Cal. Well, why can’t you be jolly, like other folks? I have to make fun so’s to make up for your lookin’ an’ talkin’ so dismal.
A. H. (sighing). Well, I shan’t always be here to trouble you with my looks. When I’m gone, maybe you’ll wish you hadn’t laughed at me as you have. (Bell rings.)
Cal. (eagerly). There’s the door-bell. Shall I go, mother?
Mrs. L. Yes, for I must go upstairs to get some pieces to mend this coat with.
(Exit, R.)
(Cal. goes out, L., and immediately returns with a letter. He pretends to be studying the address.)