Biddy. And it’s into the room you’d best walk up, had not yees, five jantlemen, that sleep?
{The five walk into the parlour—CHRISTY preparing to follow, carrying whiskey bottle and, jug—turns back, and says to BIDDY,
Is it dumb they are all? or innocents?
Biddy. Not at all innocents, no more than myself nor yourself. Nor dumb neither, only that the Scotch tongue can’t spake English as we do.
Christy. Oh! if that’s all, after dinner the whiskey punch will make ‘em spake, I’ll engage.
{Exit CHRISTY.
Biddy. ‘Tis I that am glad they’ve taken themselves away, for there’s no cooking with all the men in the fire.
Enter Mr. ANDREW HOPE, Drum-major.
Mr. H. A gude day to you, my gude lassy.
Biddy. The same to you, sir, and kindly. I beg your pardon for not knowing—would it be the drum-major, sir?