Enter Young Loveyet, Humphry, and a Negro with a trunk on his head.
Loveyet. Did you hear him say so?
Humphry. Yes; he said how he was intend you should have Miss Mary Airy, or Airy Mary, or some such a name.
Loveyet. Say you so, father?—I believe I shall do myself the pleasure to baulk you. I want you to go a little way with my man; but you will be sure to make no mistake.
Humphry. No, no, never fear me; I an't so apt for to make blunders as you.
Loveyet. [Looking at his watch.] 'Sdeath! I should have been with her half an hour ago.—I know I can depend on you. Here, Cuffy, go with this gentleman.
Humphry. Why, if I am a gentleman, Mr. Cuffy needn't give himself the trouble;—I can carry it myself.
Cuffy. Tankee, massa buckaraw; you gi me lilly lif, me bery glad;—disa ting damma heby. [Puts down the trunk.]—An de debelis crooka tone in a treet more worsa naw pricka pear for poor son a bitch foot; an de cole pinch um so too!—
Loveyet. No, no, you shall carry it;—your head is harder than his.
Humphry. To be sure, my head is a little soft.