Just. Pshaw! pshaw! pshaw!—it is not melted, child—it is the same as no sugar.—Oh, my foot, girl, my foot!—you kill me. Go, go, I’m busy. I’ve business to do. Go and send William to me; do you hear, love?
Lucy. And the old man, papa?
Just. What old man? I tell you what, I’ve been plagued ever since I was awake, and before I was awake, about that old man. If he can’t wait, let him go about his business. Don’t you know, child, I never see anybody till I’ve drunk my chocolate; and I never will, if it were a duke—that’s poz! Why, it has but just struck twelve; if he can’t wait, he can go about his business, can’t he?
Lucy. Oh, sir, he can wait. It was not he who was impatient. (She comes back playfully.) It was only I, papa; don’t be angry.
Just. Well, well, well (finishing his cup of chocolate, and pushing his dish away); and at anyrate there was not sugar enough. Send William, send William, child; and I’ll finish my own business, and then—
(Exit Lucy, dancing, “And then!—and then!”)
Justice, alone.
Just. Oh, this foot of mine!—(twinges)—Oh, this foot! Ay, if Dr. Sparerib could cure one of the gout, then, indeed, I should think something of him; but, as to my leaving off my bottle of port, it’s nonsense; it’s all nonsense; I can’t do it; I can’t, and won’t, for all the Dr. Spareribs in Christendom; that’s poz!
Enter William.
Just. William—oh! ay! hey! what answer, pray, did you bring from the “Saracen’s Head”? Did you see Mrs. Bustle herself, as I bid you?