Pew. Right you are, and so I am. But what is looks? It’s the ’art that does it: the ’art is the seaman’s star; and here’s old David Pew’s a matter of fifty years at sea, but tough and sound as the British Constitootion.
Kit. You’re right there, Pew. Shake hands upon it. And you’re a man they’re down upon, just like myself, I see. We’re a pair of plain, good-hearted, jolly tars; and all these ’longshore fellows cock a lip at us, by George. What cheer, mate?
Arethusa (without). Mrs. Drake! Mrs. Drake!
Pew. What, a female? hey? a female? Board her, board her, mate! I’m dark. (He retires again behind, to table, R., behind settle.)
Arethusa (without). Mrs. Drake!
Mrs. Drake (re-entering and running to door). Here I am, my dear; come in.
SCENE III
To these, Arethusa
Arethusa. Ah, Kit, I’ve found you. I thought you would lodge with Mrs. Drake.