Bijah. Wal, I agree with the major. This is getting monotonous; my blood boils for excitement; even the sight of a pretty face wouldn't go bad. That reminds me. (Takes picture out of pocket.) If I can't do that, there is no law to prevent me from looking at a pretty girl's picture; and “by gorry,” she is worth looking at. (Kisses picture.)
Polly. Well, I never! Now, I should just like to know—another girl, has he? I'll pay him well for that; deceiving me with his soft speeches.
Bijah (turns). Bless my soul! if here isn't a sweet lass now. What! ho! my pretty maid; where are you going?
Polly (disguises voice; courtesying). If you please, sir, I have cakes to sell. (Uncovers basket.)
Bijah. Here's luck. Just what I've been looking for. I'll take half a dozen. (Gives coin; bites cake.) My! what cakes! “Is this heaven, Uncle Tom?” (Bites again.) These bring to me visions of Polly's kitchen and her pies.
Where'er I roam, where'er I be,
No cakes can equal Polly P's.
This is richness. (To Polly.) Why do you hide your face? Let me look at you.
Polly. Indeed I can't.
Bijah. You can't. Wal, I can. (Tries to raise her head.) Come now, give me a kiss. (Polly suddenly raises head, throws back hood and discloses herself to Bijah's astonished gaze.)
Bijah. Polly—Polly Primrose!