Just. Will you take a glass of anything this morning, Mrs. Bustle?—I have some nice usquebaugh.
Land. Oh, no, your worship!—I thank your worship, though, as much as if I took it; but I just took my luncheon before I came up; or more proper, my sandwich, I should say, for the fashion’s sake, to be sure. A luncheon won’t go down with nobody nowadays (laughs). I expect hostler and boots will be calling for their sandwiches just now (laughs again). I’m sure I beg your worship’s pardon for mentioning a luncheon.
Just. Oh, Mrs. Bustle, the word’s a good word, for it means a good thing—ha! ha! ha! (pulls out his watch); but pray, is it luncheon time. Why, it’s past one, I declare; and I thought I was up in remarkably good time, too.
Land. Well, and to be sure so it was, remarkably good time for your worship; but folks in our way must be up betimes, you know. I’ve been up and about these seven hours!
Just. (stretching). Seven hours!
Land. Ay, indeed—eight, I might say, for I am an early little body; though I say it that should not say it—I am an early little body.
Just. An early little body, as you say, Mrs. Bustle; so I shall have my goose-pie for dinner, hey?
Land. For dinner, as sure as the clock strikes four—but I mustn’t stay prating, for it may be spoiling if I’m away; so I must wish your worship a good morning. (She curtsies.)
Just. No ceremony—no ceremony; good Mrs. Bustle, your servant.
Enter William, to take away the chocolate. The Landlady is putting on her shawl.