Humphry in new clothes, reading a newspaper.—Toupee shaving him.
Humphry. Pray now, master barber, what does Constitution mean? I hears so many people a quarrelling about it,—I wish I cou'd get somebody to give me the exclamation of it; here it is among the news too. It's spelt C, O, N, con—S, T, I, sti—consti—T, U, tu—constitu—T, I, ti—constituti—O, N, on—con-sti-tu-ti-on,—but your city folks calls it Constitushon; they've got such a queer pronouncication.
Toupee. Vat you please, sare?
Humphry. Yes, it pleases me well enough; I only want to know what it magnifies.
Toupee. Je ne vous entens pas, monsieur.
Humphry. Why, what outlandish dialogue is that you're a talking? I can't understand your lingo as well as the Schoolmaster's, with his monstrous memorandums, and his ignorant mouses.
Toupee. You be 'quainted with monsieur de Schoolmastare, monsieur?
Humphry. Yes, mounsieur; he and the consumptive old gentleman, old what's his name, was a wrangling about that confounded name that I was axing you about;—caw—con—[Looks at the paper.] aye, Constitution.
Toupee. Dat Constitution is no bon;—de Schoolmastare vas strike me for dat. By gar, I get de satisfaction!
Humphry. He talks as crooked as a Guinea niger.