Austin. You mean I wasn’t always? Old boy, you are in the right. This shall be a good change for both you and me. We have lived too long like a brace of truants: now is the time to draw about the fire. How much is left of the old Hermitage?
Menteith. Hard upon thirty dozen, Mr. George, and not a bad cork in the bin.
Austin. And a mistress, Menteith, that’s worthy of that wine.
Menteith. Mr. George, sir, she’s worthy of you.
Austin. Gad, I believe it. (Shakes hands with him.)
Menteith (breaking down). Mr. George, you’ve been a damned good master to me, and I’ve been a damned good servant to you; we’ve been proud of each other from the first; but if you’ll excuse my plainness, Mr. George, I never liked you better than to-day.
Austin. Cheer up, old boy, the best is yet to come. Get out the tongs, and curl me like a bridegroom. (Sits before dressing-glass; Menteith produces curling-irons and plies them. Austin sings)—
| “I’d crowns resign To call her mine, Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill!” |